Leaves of Autumn

I will whisper it
to the autumn leaves

I will tell them why
the trees slumbered in a lullaby
I will reveal to them
how all tears have gone dry
it was when
you promulgated my verdict:
“good bye”

It was still the sunshine’s reign
as I recall like ‘twas but yesterday
but before I can brace my self
for that mortal dagger
driven to my chest
the chilling sun
and the freezing moon
started to sing a melancholic tune

Nurtured in the soft breeze’s caress
and nourished in dew
brought forth colors
that are changing in hue
for what seemed the start
of a colorful show
marked the end of the summer glow

what else is there to say
but to let the light leave with the day
and this darkness that had befall
be there to stay while bells they toll

I will whisper its dismal moan
to those in twigs still holding on
oblivious to the truth
that it won’t last for long

I will whisper it
to those caught in midair
as they drift farther and farther away
from their beloved they just left bare

I will whisper it
atop the mounded heap
which to earth
did terminally cede

fool’s show it is indeed
for the varied colors that abound
speaks loudly
of the end
without a sound


The Piercing of Teresa

I came to execute
The verdict of Teresa
On that appointed eve

Like a soft breeze
Pounding the curtains
I entered unseen
As a pup she laid
Duped that her
Satin and laced sheets
Would get her covered
From the judgement
That would befall her

Then braced myself did I
To enforce her sentence
Cold and swift

Arrow in hand
Steadily aimed
Dug deep in her skin

This I did
Over and over again

Instead of her body
And eerily silent dead
I heard
Her forceful

As the steel bored deeper
I heard a
Slapping sound

Was I amused
Where the blade had been
Not a trickle of blood
Nothing did I see
But it got more crimson
Like ripe tomatoes
Begging to be picked free

I turned to her face
Contorted it was
Her eyes blocked the faint light
Mouth’s an open vessel
Begging for the rain to trickle
In the dead of the night


The Old Man And His AM Radio


One old man
When he is around
He’d sit by the porch
A cup of tea in his hand
In an idle afternoon
While the scorching sun
Retires after burning rice paddies
Mountains, dirt roads, and faces
At times it leaves torrential rain
That reminds us of its promise
It’s sure to be back in the morning

But what I remember oh so vividly
That while he sips his bitter tea
He’s all ears on the stereo
Not on music stations
But tuned in on A.M radio

I didn’t understand
His penchant for the agony of twiddling thumbs
With the occasional curses
Murmurs, smirks, and grunts
About politics in all its
Nobility, hypocrisy, and bullshitry

It was a mystery how he could bear
Listening to news
On what transpired from within and without
And listening to the host
And repetitive commercials
Peddling lies and whatnot

But he didn’t mind
Just looked far away
With the all-familiar grin
What he labelled as circus
Worked out fine for him

Almost three decades passed
No longer do I see him
In the rain nor setting sun
Nor his hot cup of bitter tea
That cools him down
But something remained
Which transcended him and his life
As I sit with headsets on
To the AM radio tuned
More generous in my cursing


In A Parallel Universe

 In there you took notice,
In there you smiled;
In there you said "Yes!"
In there you said "I do…"

If only astrophysicists and cosmologists would uncover,
The wormhole from here to that realm,
Chocolates, red roses, my love so tender,
Care and affection fit for my queen I’d offer:
In there you speak, still mesmerized I'd listen;
With your whims I’d laugh out loud;
While your hormones surge and your feelings become a blur,
Which makes a love quarrel with me so enticing and gratifying,
On such days I’d just lock you in my arms,
And plant a kiss on your forehead,
If your mouth wont shut I’d kiss your lips;
I’ll know when you feel the blues,
No words are needed I’m there with you;
When you no longer heed your tummy’s call,
I’d take its place and remind you to get nourishment,
So you wont faint and I’ll worry not;
When you’re exhausted in chasing your dreams,
That you feel the need to stop and shed a tear,
I’d be the ears that will hear your silent screams,
A shoulder and pillow soaked with your fears
For locked in a quantum entanglement, our hearts and minds entwined;

With me you need not wear a mask prolonged
Need not always be staunch and strong
'Cause it’s the lovely and intelligent lady behind that I love and long
And when I die and be reborn in cosmic karma
I hope I’d wake up to that new era -
Where I am taking care of you
A world where I love you as much as now I do
And there you will love me too...

What If I Meet the Anti-Me?

What if I meet the anti me?
The once I thought
obliterated during Big Bang
long lost then found
the volatile concoction
the catalyst
the critical mass
the same badass

They said he’s me
and I am he
It’s just that we have
opposite charges
What does that even mean?
Is this the Yin and Yang
of Oriental origins?

And from where is he exactly?
How can he
just pop out of nowhere
from nothing?

By who’s authority
is he summoned
into existence?
And in the same way
be gone in an instant
in a fraction of a second?
Can he just leave
and come back no more?
Is he even aware
that when we meet
the borrowed energy
by which we both exist
will return to the Source
and cause us
to cease just being?

Is he my evil twin?
Or am I the evil twin?
Would he embody
the things I envy?
Will he complement
my imperfections?
Will he turn green
of what I already achieved?
Or will I be the one
to flood the Himalayas
and turn the desert green?

Shall I punch him
to break his nose?
or will the anti-me
give me a hug
and a pat in the back?
And end up
releasing energy
and obliterating ourselves
in the process?
Or will it spark
a new cosmos
same as what
we know today?
Or maybe it already did?

The God of Tactical Interrogation and Cross-Examinations

Daddy and son, both cops, talking to each other:

Son: Dad, can you shed me some light on tactical interrogation and cross-examination?

Daddy: (without even looking up from the broadsheet he’s reading) You’re barking at the wrong tree son. There’s someone more skillful at that, better than anyone who wears the badge. Go and ask your mother…

“In God’s name, I command the fires of hell for your soul’s eternal damnation!”

Condemning, in accordance to one’s own biases in the guise of “doing God’s work” is never, not even close to God’s way.

Recall the story of Mary Magdalene and Zacchaeus. Did Jesus slap their faces with the tablets of the ten commandments and ordered the Heavenly Fire to consume their wretched souls because of their sins?

No he didn’t.

Instead, He showed them love and forgiveness which led to their repentance and conversion, finally forsaking their old sinful ways.

Love, genuine love, is what will win souls and not the fear of the fiery lake of brimstone and sulfur. If we ain’t doing that, we should ask ourselves: really, who’s work are we implementing?

Wherever You Are – One OK Rock

Gonna be Japanese someday!

(Nevermind that the intro is with an icky similarity with Aiza Seguerra’s Pagdating ng Panahon. Once you get through that, all will be good I promise.)

I’m telling you
I softly whisper
Tonight, tonight
You are my angel

二人は ひとつに
Tonight, tonight
I just to say

Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now
I don’t need a reason
I just want you, baby
Alright, alright
Day after day

Stay with me
We carry on

Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now

Wherever you are, I’ll never make you cry
Wherever you are, I’ll never say goodbye
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now


Wherever you are, I’ll always make you smile
Wherever you are, I’m always by your side
Whatever you say, 君を想う気持ち
I promise you “forever” right now

Wherever you are
Wherever you are
Wherever you are

Violence for no one in particular

Do exercise caution
When treading on my shadow
Lest it gobbles you up
And leave no trace
Of your

Never lay a hand
To where I’ve trodden
For they are full of neurotoxins
A quark of which
And you’ll be
Laid waste

And when you whisper
On my back
Never let
Those murmurs
Leave a trail
Let alone
Reach me
And neither
Should your words

They take no responsibility
They’re just passing
Like the wind
And they’re gone

They will betray you
For they are fleeting
And they’re gone
In an instant
Poof just like that
Yet you will remain
To suffer
The wrath
In my hands

Don’t Talk to Me

Too afraid
To be vulnerable
Laughed at
Viewed with flaws
Reduced to
Something smaller
Than the grand image
We see in the mirror

Who wouldn’t want
To appear awesome
His shit
All figured out
The ultimate idol
The envy of many

Or either we ask
The world
To mind its own
Fucking business
And for it to never
Give a fuck at all
Except to tread
Ever so softly

The façade
We all maintain
We make so great a fuss
With all our might
Futilely wishing
The respect and awe drugs
To perpetually remain
And keep us high and floating

Or that which
We have worked
For so long
Not letting anyone
Or anything
Not even ourselves
Destroy the
Old and familiar comfort

The scars we hide
Too afraid
That the other being
Before us
Will conjure
The ghost of the past
Out of our scars

Aversion of such
Is human
But to face them
Armed with all
The goodness
One’s heart can muster,
Is the virtue
Of the divine
Warrior god
That found
Its home within

The Man on Fire – A Tribute To The Black Mamba

The round leather
on fire
not put off
by any bounce
on the floor
or its sojourn in
or hitting the boards
the rim
and eventually
the ring

One thousand shots missed
meant 10 thousand sinking in

The fire in the leather
borne of a flaming hand
from a heart ablaze
which can only come from
no less than the divine

That fire
might have
succumbed to the sky
but it found its home –

In thousands
Hundreds of thousands
Millions upon millions

Rest in peace brother

Halimuyak sa Madaling Araw

sa kinasasabikang umaga
na tigib ng ligaya
ang bumungad
sa aking diwa

Basa sa hamog
ng madaling araw
mga talulot na nakalukot
sa masidhing dampi
ng haring araw

Ramdam ko ang
init na nagbabaga
na di maikubli
ng mala-nyebeng
ihip ng hangin

Aking hinawakan
ang nagbabagang apoy
mga daliri’y di napaso
ni nasunog ay hindi
Bagkus ay naramdaman
ang mainit na pag-agos

At aking narinig
isang sigaw na
walang tinig
sa kagubatang
makipot, madilim
na aking sinuong
habang nilalagari
ang kableng
sa lahat ng
kamalayan sa mundo
ay nagdurugtong

Ang kalaliman
ay binagtas
upang di malunod
mahigpit ang kapit
ng aking mga kamay
sa matatayog na

At matapos
ang mahabang sandali
muli kong narining
ang sigaw na
walang tinig
habang nasasaksihan
ang pagbulwak
ng kalawakan

A Thousand and One Reasons to Be Thankful For

The Sun woke up
this morning
to see me outta my bed
Took over from the Moon
my sentry
the instance the Darkness
gave way to the Light
I exhaled yesterday
as I breathed in tomorrow
All revved up
my engine
in full chime
Ready to
take possession
of another
historic day

Dream Past The Nightmare

We don’t hold tomorrow
Such a pity
We have plans
grand as the heavens
Funny thing is
tomorrow has got
her own plans as well
which usually
screws us like hell
Which is why at times
I don’t make any plans
to save myself
from disdain
of life as I know
But how will I relish the future
if I can’t savor it today
And how will I know if my wishes are granted
if I don’t dream of it
at this very moment?

Change, Whether It Is A Friend or An Enemy, Is Completely Up To Us


In dealing with changes, we can:

  1. protest all we want, violent or otherwise, day-in and day-out, and
  2. pound the pearly gates ‘til kingdom come, begging for the inexorable change gods currently knocking at our doors to reconsider and be back on a more convenient time.

Or if we know better, we can stay calm instead of going bananas.

It is completely understandable if we are tempted to think we can argue with it and have our way in the end. But we know all too well that in offering resistance, we are only prolonging the agony, unnecessarily.

It is either we welcome change with flying fists up until the last ounce of our blood and die without seeing the dawn break, or, we can make a good friend out of that motherfucker.

Fortunately, we get to choose our battles. Let us then choose wisely, shall we?


Lakay: Apay siasinno mət dayta baru nga nubyu dayta anak mo Ribeyng? Kasla nagdulpət kən nagbuyuk mət ti langlanga na?!

Bakət: Anya kan lakay, baam kadin uray ta Amirikanu mət suna. Ti nagan na kanu kət Tim Macky T. Paul-Teet

Lakay: ‘Su mət lang a!!

(The) Name’s Not At All Relevant


I yanked a string too strong
that made the church bells chime
and the fabric unraveled:

And there she stood
just her and nothing more
nothing between my eyes and
her golden skin and
succulent curves
in all their glory
set free from whatever
covered her
and thrown
onto my outstretched hands

She doesn’t like sopas

You don’t like sopas
and I don’t know why
Puzzles the hell out of me
Who doesn’t want a hot pot
of chicken soup
made creamy with evap
made colorful with
cabbage and carrots and
made gut-heavy
with elbow macaroni?

Detest is a word too strong
least priority maybe
but then, I could be wrong

Yet you made
one for me
just the same

“I still don’t
love sopas.
May never be.
But I’m
to learn
to love
the things
that you love.”

More than the
hot pot of sopas
before me
I thank you
my sweet balm
for all the love
and for keeping
me warm
For a thousandth time
again and again
to the heavens
I implore
good favors
for you
my lovely woman
who cooks sopas
for her man

Screaming Sanctimony

A condescending attitude is often mistaken as piety. Removing that illusion however, will reveal hypocrisy at its finest, the main reason Jesus reproached the Pharisees for being like whitewashed tombs that are beautiful in the outside but filled with dried bones and rotting flesh inside.

Now that paints an ugly picture especially when viewed from the outside. Because in as far as witnessing is concerned, nothing comes off as a surefire “turn off” than a hypocrite pretending to be a saint.

If we as Christians are to convert the gentiles and bring the wayward sheep of Israel back into the fold, we should instead come from a place of love.


Recall the story of Mary Magdalene and Zacchaeus. Jesus did not cite the 10 commandments to condemn them right then and there of their sins, nor did He summon heaven’s fury to devour their wretched sinful souls. He instead showed love and mercy through forgiveness, as His standpoint which eventually led to their conversion.

Out of love came forth mercy and actions within the context of love.

But a condescending attitude is begotten from a sanctimonious “holier than thou” mindset. And that, is the exact opposite of our mission as children of God which we claim to be, which is to spread His message of love to a lost world.

Whores are Words, and Words are Whores

Some words
I used sparingly
I abused
But alas
despite of which
complete strangers
their conclusion
have all become

I clothed them
in regal poetry
gave them purpose
through grand prose
which countless I’ve told

I, the maker
accorded them
their place in the cosmos
in the known universe and beyond
ergo, I own them
and they are mine alone

But what a joke
the muse played on me
for the wholeness
I granted them
defined them not
I got mocked.
For the pieces
defined the whole
which the whole
on them do not

As I established my kingdom
with them and their duty
to kiss my feet ever after
The whores were gone
prostituted themselves
in another’s hands

Conversation vs Fishing, There’s a HUGE Difference

When initiating conversation with a friend, avoid dodging reciprocated questions such as ‘how are you’ and ‘what’s keeping you busy’. It is both impolite and downright annoying.

Remember, it’s a conversation you’re trying to have, not a tactical interrogation.

– (The) Name’s Not At All Relevant

Reverend Joke

One day came good ole Reverend Father Joke
Grinned as he saw past some bloke
“Say son, I pray, give me some of that toke
For you see, my boy, I’m a bit broke.”

“Heaven have mercy for I almost choked!
Pardon Reverend, is this some kind of joke?”
“That’s my name alright” said ole Reverend Joke
With eyes closed sniffing the smoke.

Let me be the wind

Let me be the wind
that will whisper in your ear
“relax, it’s me my dear”

Let me be the wind
that will pass by your cheeks
to give them a sweet light kiss

Let me be the wind
that will meet head-on your lips
as in love my fingers dip

Let me be the wind
that will sway your hair
and expose your shoulders bare

Let me be the wind
That will caress your thighs
And carry your scent
In the valleys and heights

Dealing with The Embodiments of Pure Evil in the Workplace

I must thank God
and probably
so should you –

that instead of diabolical plots
and rhapsodic images
of your sweet affliction,
He manifested Himself
through reason
before anything
I envisioned
would irreversibly
come to fruition

I must thank God
and probably
so should you –

that instead of regrets
and abysmal sorrow
or that fiendish grin
and gratified puffs
at the sight of
a gasping prey
and the smell of blood,
I uttered a silent
wailing plea
Supplicated for restraint
within my inner sanctuaries
And stabbed my journal
‘til its blood filled the oceans
as it is tossed to and fro
by tempests and billows

The Curse of Blessings

The Curse of Blessings

What good is my art
if instead of
care and
vainglory and
come forth of which?

Is my quest
to be
intellectually extravagant
if my eyes
forsook looking up
and espoused the
delectability of looking down?

Is the by-product of
the disdain for
both ignorance
and the ignorant?

Shouldn’t it instead
beget forgiveness
and understanding
despite that
some people
are unforgiving
of your luminance
that improved
their blur
into shadows?

– (The) Name’s Not At All Relevant

The Ultimate Collision Course

In blinding speeds
and accelerations faster
than the speed of light
I orbit the innards
of a particle collider



Propelled by
the natural order of
who the hell knows
or who

without warning
lo and behold
my quintessence
millions, billions, trillions of them
laid bare
right before mine
very eyes

Then it dawned on me
I got smashed into God!

In the Face of Adversity, Don’t Run Away from God. Run Into God

Adversity and conflict
isn’t always
to opportunity
It will forever be
a thorn
in my soul
Yet, that
has caused me
to not run away but
to run INTO

Sure there is adversity
in daily existence
that you need
to keep slugging with
in spite of
being bored
to death
And while
I am
busy living
I am also
busy getting myself
to make that
daily existence
at least

Nevertheless, there
is always something
to be thankful for:
beautiful family
being fucking alive
and this art
that has become my
saving grace

But there
is something
special about those
nut-cracking moments:
You let loose of
your grasp
off yourself
and your advantages
both tangible and illusory
and find yourself
clinging instead
to the Rock of Ages
Only when you
do so
can you
tap the power
Power that
is greater than
anything earthly
or mortal
The kind of
power that
keeps the galaxies
afloat to light up
the vast depth
of nothingness

Adversity causes
one to
It yells at you
at the top of
it’s lungs
to get the
fuck out
of the ordinary
before you succumb
and watch the
best of you die
without seeing the
dawn break

But I haven’t
totally lost
my sanity
by asking
for my
share of
uphill goings
just to
always experience
God’s grand

With much
I ask that
I would instead meet


from highs and lows
and most especially
the mundane

500 Miles

This reminds me of tatay (God bless his soul) who introduced me to immortal songs. Songs that doesn’t respect any year or age or social class. Still haunting, still has the potency of thousands of onions.

While my penchant is rock and alternative music, these are the type of songs that tell me I am one with the universe.

Baby Talk

What others
Can only perceive
As gibberish
Is what glued Orion
In his place
And saved the Pleiades

‘Tis what holds
Neutrons and protons
When they would’ve
Repelled one another
And everything we knew
Disintegrated into molecular dust

What the mind in the dark
Held as prattle
Is responsible for
Nuclear fusion
That fuels the
Ball of fire
In the sky
Which radiates warmth
And illumines
The darkened soul

They cause strings
To vibrate
Where songs emanate
To hush a child
Enrage the oceans
Or bring together
The evil twins of Eta Carinae

It is what makes
The heart skip a beat
On that glorious moment
That two lips meet

‘Tis the language
Of the gods that
The rain
The breeze and
The dewdrops speak
Which Newton
Maxwell and
Failed to uncover

So shut up you stupid ghoul
And ask the heavens
To save your wretched soul
For what you mistook
As needless existence
Is what gives substance
To your very essence

American Hotdog

American hotdog she has got
It’s what the other ladies have not
Hotdogs of different races
Australian, Hungarian, Italian
Canadian, British, or German
But the most famous of them all
Is the certified all-American

Never mind that these hotdogs are
With large tomatoes in the face
And who the hell knows where else

Even the gramps
Who has trouble getting up
Let alone keeping it up
They are completely irrelevant:
The stench of death reeking in him
Nor that he is 4 decades her senior

Scorn her as much as you like
With much gusto until you relinquish life
I’m warning you though
You’ve been long dead before you make her cry
Whatever drug she took that made her numb
Anesthesia of hardships
Sedated in BS or whatnot
She’ll cling to her hotdog
Until he runs out of fortune
And that, she’ll tell you
Is a valid reason:

“I got an American hotdog
You dirt-poor dicks
Whatever says my kababayans
I don’t give a shit
Aint gonna toil anymore
Gonna buy me an I-Phone
Premium bags, and shoes
Bear the coffin-dodger’s child I will
Gotta be laid in bed of cotton
Gotta let him fuck me
Till he passes out and die
Gotta suck him hard
Till he bleeds dry
Fuck true love
What can you get out of which
If your stomach is empty
And you can’t buy all your impulses
So what if he smells putrefied
So long as I lay in bed of greens”

Thus she clings on
To his horrid face
So long as he gives her
A queen’s privileges

Lady Bel

Thank God for Lady Bel
When there is none to lend a hand
She is there
A silent assassin
Coldly executing her mission

Her attitude reminds me
Of a lesson I already mastered
Or so I thought I did
But when I saw my current state
Compared to hers now
Damn, I know I already forgot
The grit of a bloodied soldier
To just be there
Present in the moment
Slugging it out
Regardless whether
The going gets uglier or not

She is in the flow
Like an exemplary soldier
Keeping at what she does
Even when it sucks
While I’m here
Engaged in a similar firefight
Albeit engaging two fronts
Banging my head
Trying to cough up a witty line
For this poem and prayer
For Lady Bel

Bless Lady Bel o Lord
Bless her good heart
Via what she is at the moment
A rock, a solid one
I can learn, relearn rather
Lessons long forgotten and gone


Bitch she was
She is
And always will be
In as much as I’d like to say:

“Bitch she may be
But there is a bitch
Far better than she
And her name is spelled

But I’d rather invoke her not
For wishing another’s misfortune
Is never my lot

But it was only then that I realized
Bitches themselves
Bitch each other around

Struggles of a minimalist who wishes to write extravagant poetry

The minimalist
Willingly calloused himself
Stripped off his senses
Scarce in words
As much as thoughts
Gets upset not with a
Few clothes
A few jeans
Or zero mobile data
Afraid he’ll be creatively bankrupted
By social media

Despite having revered as god
He has locked horns with minimalism
For poetry’s sake
Unfamiliar feelings he now writes
With inappropriate words
Of a child quivering before a dentist
The motocross rider as he somersaults
A lover whose tears from the raindrops you cannot tell
To be answered “yes” or “I do” by a lady

The things he shuns
To not let his feelings run
Stoicism rivalling that of Marcus Aurelius
A layer of rock
That take eons to wear

He then realized
He has flesh and blood
He can grin
And he can fuckin’ cry!
He’s not a machine gun
That eat bullets
And spew them who the hell knows
How much rpm

Now he aches to write poetry
Vivid and teeming with life
And the feelings he trained himself to abhor
The superfluous often thrown to the dogs
Like a whore
That will make him sore
With a red carpet and open arms
He now welcomes home

Albeit, he writes clumsily
A virgin lover in a quandary
Whether he’ll
Kiss her or fondle
Screws up his words, falters and all
Still he writes some more
For non other than he can fathom
It’s only poetry that will save his soul

Song Writer’s Block

Kalangitang walang bahid ng ulap

Lupang nadurog at nangalikabok sa hirap

Hiling ay inspirasyon

Na ako’y gahasain

Pangarap maging rakrakan

Na naging ungguyan

Kinalabit ang frets

Strum lang ng strum

Mistulang sinto-sinto

Walang kapararakan

Papel na tadtad

Ng hangin at katahimikan

Kamot ulo

Suntok sa pader

Tatayo, di-dyinggel

At balik nanaman

Anong nangyari sa creative time?!

Buti pang kumain

O nagbatil nalang

Tumitingin ng walang tinitignan


Habang hinahaplos ang gitara

At ang kalyo sa daliri

Naging pigsa

Kakakanta ng “Nakarmang Pulis” ng Radiohead

I want to write poetry Lord

I want to write poetry Lord
Poetry that is torn
From the flesh and guts
Poetry that constitutes
The same
As the stars
The rotting bone clenched in a canine’s fangs
Or fart

I want to write poetry Lord
The poetry about whores and saints
Corrupt politicians
Capitalist fiend incarnates
Murderer commies
Rabid “de-most-crazies”
Of Republicans and Democrats
The proletariat and intelligentsia

I want to write poetry Lord
Poetry that will make her heart race to the moon
And back to earth
With an itch she can’t stand
Until I’m finally found

Friday Eve

Float, float in space

Goes my gray matter

In the event horizon

It lingers

Round and round it goes

Hurled with

Great force

Sustained by a child’s ardor

Fueled by

Accretion of man’s

Animosity towards his fellow

Much more violent

Than the fury

Of the deities at Olympus

Or the wrath of a million nukes

Time warped

Like buckling steel

I could dodge a bullet

Fired inches before my temple

Oh for the black hole to suck me in

Before the lead

Find its mark

But then my eyes I’ll shut

And find that rest

While another black hole

Accelerates en route

Towards me

In blinding speed

Scribbling Inside A Moving Bus

Red lights puncture my eyes

Shrill blaring horns

Incapacitate my ears

Mind adrift

Savoring the blank


While I sit

Pen and paper in hand

In unintelligible scribbles

The bogie beside thinks I’m loon

Stares far away

Then bows head

Write a few words

Then looks away once more

Ad infinitum


While I sit

Freezing in the aircon

Steamed in fumes and carbon monoxide

Soulless ghouls

Board and alight


Hell I learned to cherish

The creative me unleashed

The good aspect of traffic

Gazini Ganado Kumain

Your smile transports me in time

To a lunatic asylum

Where I cut my self to bleed words

It bled air instead

Where I grasped them in the air

My hands caught wind


Your touch made me pound the Pearly Gates

Demanded God to let me in


“I thought you sent her to take me in?!”

“No I didn’t. Just driving you nuts that is.”

“Where is her reward then? She did one heck of a job!”


Could’ve said “congratulations”

Or something witty

That’d tattoo me in permanently

Deep in her memory


But I just said “sure”


(Damn it!)

Public Service Announcement: Calling The MIAs To Take a Stand in the Water Concession Fiasco


Where are these so-called social justice warriors when you need them the most?

Where are those who claim to be stalwart advocates of the sanctity of human rights?

Why can’t there be outrage and rallies held with slogans and effigies condemning the Ayalas, Pangilinan, and accomplices in the government in “gang-raping” Filipinos’ basic human right to uninterrupted supply of clean, potable water guaranteed by the constitution? Where are your calls for unity urging citizens to keep an eye on the government and be vigilant to demand protection for the people from the evils of capitalism specifically the recent the Php 7.4 billions that we as taxpayers are doomed to pay because of the onerous contracts? Why can’t the Panday Sining do their art with this theme in mind? Where are the “pro-people” minions of Joma? Did the Reds have their battlecries changed? Whose interests were they brainwashed to protect at all cost to begin with?

Where is the Church who rabidly stands for the people in the name of God as they claim to be? Surely you remember when Pope Francis said that Capitalism is “Terrorism Against All of Humanity”, don’t you?

Are you hesitant to make a stand for the truth just because the man who criticized the unbecoming of the Church is the same old man who made a lone, treacherous, and possibly his last stand alive against the formidable gods of the business world and their malevolent corporate greed?

Where is the Commission on Human Rights and the rest of the human rights groups who are itching to engage the ICC despite that it is a blatant disrespect to our sovereignty? And be that as it may, why can’t they ask the same ICC to pore over the onerous contracts that bleed the people dry especially the poor? Or are they just specializing on EJKs, specifically those allegedly committed under the Duterte administration?

Were you afraid of taking the side of the common people because it’s tantamount to biting the hand that feeds? Is hypocrisy the new definition of working smart?

Where are the saccharine-lipped politicians who promised heaven and earth during election campaigns? Can you abandon your current ease to protect us despite that a lot of you derive your campaign funds from these capitalist demigods? And when you win don’t you become marionettes to big wigs subject to “utang na loob” for your “success”?

Where are the self-proclaimed allies of the president who vowed to serve and protect the welfare of the people alongside him? Is your allegiance a transferable commodity commuting from one profitable place to another?

Have we developed double, triple, quadruple, perhaps even multiple standards on morality just because certain situations favor us?

Is it difficult to take a stand just because we got too comfortable and we benefited tremendously being in the middle and upper echelons of the capitalistic world which we fostered and fomented?

Have we ultimately succumbed to Mammon almighty?

Kick Ass Attributions

In our Christmas party, my former expat boss in my previous company (who happened to be our country manager in my current employment) stopped at the table where I and several officemates are seated and asked me “do they serve Redhorse here?” referring to a local beer.

“No, only Heineken and draft beer” I replied.

Why was he looking for Redhorse? My fellows asked me.

Because that reminds him of me, I said with a little chuckle.

During our night-outs in my previous company, I always prefer Redhorse beer over any other alcoholic beverages. It has a more potent kick than any other brands so it gets you inebriated in no time. And thanks to its macho commercial presentations with local heavy metal bands, you are most often revered as a badass. Back then when my boss would see me drinking Redhorse, he would compliment me of my choice and would eventually get his own. Hence the comment.

Redhorse = Me. Wicked!!! \ml/!!!!!!

A special friend once attributed me to a song which she heard playing on a radio. The song was Killing in the Name by one of my all-time favorite band Rage Against the Machine. The moment she heard it, she told herself ‘Shit, he’s near’ which she eventually related to me when I got there.

I can’t stop grinning after that.

Because of my long and curly hair, I am often mistaken as a member of a rock band. I said no, I am not part of any band even though it is still one of the many items in my bucket list that I pine for. Nonetheless, I sport this rock and roll look like I am a member of a world-famous heavy metal band. I own my looks and I am confident and unapologetic of it.

Which is what, or so I thought, made a stark contrast with the general atmosphere of a corporate world where almost everyone is prim and proper to look more sophisticated. I didn’t care. So long as I am doing what is asked of me, I am donning this personality because it’s the authentic me.

One office-mate in particular commented that I have similarities in style with Ryan Rems. I never really know the man but whatever. Like myself who chose rock and roll, he definitely has chosen well.

The Price of Writing is More Writing

Celebrating your small wins as a writer is not by dwelling on your success but by writing more.

Never get too inebriated by your success. You were celebrated not by people’s praises for your ingenuity but for that piece of your heart and soul which you bled on paper, courageously shared to the world, and consequently touched somebody else’s emotions.”

The Name’s Not At All Relevant

Chicken Feet Adobo


It’s been years since we’ve had this dish of chicken shank and toes (sans the claws and spurs of course!) cooked in soy sauce. And so when we found a stall near our home where they sell fresh chicken and chicken feet, we didn’t hesitate on our indulgence.

There is so much to go through to get so little when savoring this particular dish. But that is where the fun is. And it’s quite funny that you will munch on the fowls’ lower extremities that are sometimes formed into crooked “dirty” little fingers.

To eat it, you must flay them one toe and shank at a time using your teeth to get the cartilage and whatever skin there is, which is really not that much. It’s just like getting only 40 percent of the total weight apiece.

These are oftentimes sold as street food grilled on embers (barbecued) and not as a main course. Initial preparations involve boiling it long enough until its toes are tender enough for it to become chewable before broiling. As such, it isn’t a dish that in itself can satisfy your hunger immediately. You’d have to allot time for you to enjoy it.

This weekend, both my two kids insisted on having chicken feet adobo despite my protests to let them have the meaty fried chicken instead. Two grown boys whose meals weren’t just a spoonful and I have to debone one toe and shank at a time to get the small fruit of my labor of love. My wife left the table leaving an inaudible yet explicit message. Lunch extended for hours, as expected.

Domestic Diplomacy


Three diplomat gentlemen were gathered before the start of a caucus.

Diplomat 1: What kind of relationship do you have with your wife?

Diplomat 2: Ours is bilateral.

Diplomat 1: Damn, you’re lucky. Mine is unilateral.

Diplomat 3: Tough luck. Before we got married it’s bilateral. Right after the wedding it’s unilateral.

Diplomat 2: Did you file a diplomatic protest?

Diplomat 3: How can I? A few years down the line it improved to hegemony!

The Toxicity of Writing About Politics

It’s a bit tiring writing political blog entries.

Tiring in a sense that I get literally hungry and it calls for immediate decompression after writing. Funny that while I turn to writing to decompress, I need to decompress after writing about politics.

It’s a welcome break to get out of the default state of mind by the way. After the everyday blues, the busyness in the workplace and relatively tranquil family life, there’s a place for the socially enraged and disgusted me to let itself loose and get articulated.

In my many moments of silence, my mind is usually focused on fundamentals of life if not totally blank in order to stay in the moment intoxicated with inner peace.

But when I, among the many, start to deal with politics, the state of having a blank mind takes a backseat. The indifferent suddenly becomes a frenzied partisan who would rather die than surrender his views. You inevitably partake with both the divisive and the toxic.

Yes I take sides, if that isn’t already obvious. The politically, morally, and intellectually correct side. Where before I choose to not give a fuck, now I do for the sake of my children who will remain in the system long after I’m gone. My views may not make much of a difference but collectively with other shareholders, it might make the necessary dent which will become the catalyst for the long overdue overhauling of the Philippine society.

So yep, that pretty sums up my motivation. To aid in a collective effort to remove the blinders from Filipinos in order for them to see the elephant in the room and take necessary action. As a nation, we are already light-years behindhand in facing squarely the things that are crippling us as a nation.

Which is why I am an avid reader of Get Real Philippines, a site who earned its reputation for piercing the victim mentality and other justifications on why the Philippines remain a sorry lot (credits to Gogs for his kickass tagline). Behind the occasional glitz and glamour, the fundamentals of the Philippine society still lie in shambles, thanks to Juan’s ever pathetic excuses.

And if you notice that some articles here are the same with what’s published in the site of Get Real Philippines, that’s because the ghost writer and the writer behind this post and the rest of this blog are one and the same.


There are a couple more articles there that are written by me. Yes, me. The voice might not be recognizable but it’s me alright, haha!

How I Found My Flow


Before I was able to discover my flow, work and writing were, well, work. But when I finally learned to enjoy what I was doing, things started to fall into their proper places.

Work when viewed in itself is taxing and enervating considering that you have to present yourself 8 hours or more in a day. But since you have bills to pay and mouths to feed, and the fact that you’d be doing it for more than half of your life alive, you might as well change your frame of mind regarding work. You have to love it, you have to enjoy it. It’s for your own health.

Flow by the way, based on my lexicon is where you are neither too bored nor overly stimulated while doing your work or hobby (I didn’t coin the word. Just adopted what flow meant exactly for me.) Just the feeling that you can keep on doing it all day.

My flow started to manifest itself the day I threw the “trivial” and “obvious” labels out the door. Whatever learning that comes is treated like the long lost and found secrets of the universe — with reverence and awe.

That and generously granting myself forgiveness. Where before I immediately berate myself for not knowing something seemingly obvious or simple, I am now quick to forgive myself. And instead of wallowing in self-pity, I immediately take action before any self-sabotaging thought pops up.

Rather than constantly judging my capabilities with other people as archetype, I focused on my improvement instead. I acknowledged my strengths and devised ways to further their enhancement. I also acknowledged and made necessary changes of my shortcomings.

The day I stopped making excuses marked the commencement of my flow.

Real Men Say “Thanks”


Gadgets get obsolete and beliefs inevitably become outmoded. But while we men evolved from savage, bloodthirsty warriors to 21st century gentlemen, some things stay universal.

That includes expressing gratitude. Or should I say must include.

An individual who knows how to say thanks with all sincerity is already at a premium nowadays where self-entitled kids and adults abound. Specifically, us men. Thanks to social media, being a 150 pound slab of beef full of himself is fast becoming the norm.

However, contrary to the misconception that expressing gratitude makes a man soft, it is in fact the opposite. We need to include this to our daily rituals if we want to become the mother-fucker every boy envies.

Saying thank you requires courage to admit that there are things in life that can only be given to you via grace.

Saying “thank you” speaks a lot about your robust emotional health and mental fortitude.

Saying “thank you” means you are secure about yourself.

Saying “thank you” lets you become vulnerable and tough at the same time.

Saying “thank you” makes you a certified badass.

And finally, let me give you my heartfelt thanks for dropping by to read:

Doumo Arigatou Gozaimasu!

Walkathoughts: Intro

photo from scoppnest.com

I don’t take the MRT when I commute to work. Instead, I take the bus. This benefited me in two ways: first, I get to rest. Traffic is horrible that’s true but those hours in traffic gets me dozing for a few minutes. Second and more important is, I was able to ditch my subconscious programmed-mind momentarily to meditate and access my creative mind. I don’t access my phone in those instances for fear of snatchers so it was solely my imagination at work penned on paper. By the way, much of my posts in my past and present blogs were written while the bus painstakingly inches forward during the rush hour. 

On a leisure, can I walk from Ayala to Cubao instead of taking a ride? I found the thought appealing. I may not be the sporty guy but I sure do love to walk. And so I thought it would be a good way to burn calories, fats, and to sweat out. Thinking how rigorous it will be and considering that I am already going home late every day exhausted and depleted of strength and will, I didn’t give it a serious thought just yet. 

That is until the April 22nd, 2019 earthquake. The shaking was so severe that we had to evacuate the building. A lot of us have gone home instead of going back inside the building thinking worse is yet to come. So I headed to Ayala MRT bus stop to get a bus ride to Farmers Plaza in Cubao. When I arrived in EDSA-Ayala, a multitude of people are already in the middle of EDSA scurrying to board the already jam-packed city buses. It isn’t always the case that a throng of commuters are waiting for buses but I soon realized that MRT shut down its operations because of the seismic activity earlier. I tried to wait for a few minutes until I realized that the traffic jam almost didn’t budge at all. 

Oh boy, this is it. 

From EDSA Ayala to Farmers Plaza Cubao is 10.0 km according to Google Map. I didn’t even have the necessary warm ups earlier but it was either I wait eons for a bus ride or I start walking to close the distance. At first it was fun, finally fulfilling what I’ve only been thinking of. And besides people of all sorts are walking alongside me in a mass exodus to go home.  

My knees and legs are already shaking as I pissed in Robinsons Pioneer but I continued nonetheless until I reached Crossing (EDSA corner Shaw Blvd in Mandaluyong) to grab some food at Jollibee for me to sustain the remaining 5 kilometers. So near and yet so far! Perspiration was gushing like blood flowing through a cut artery. 

Finally I arrived in Cubao after about 2 hours of walking. My lower extremities were totally numb and my knees are ready to buckle anytime. Thank heavens I was able to make the walk without fainting or getting mugged along the way. It was a hell of a night but strange enough, I felt good after as I conquered one physical challenge that I initially thought I couldn’t make. 

And so from there, I planned to make the walk regular. Not from Ayala though. From Greenfield District in Mandaluyong to Farmers Plaza Cubao is 5.80 km according to Google Map. So halfway should be manageable and it is ever since. 

A lot had been going on in my head while doing the walk. I love it. No distractions, not even a glance at my phone. Just plain walking and meditating in the otherwise hellish traffic. 

Just a word of caution though: if you want to try this yourself, be sure to concentrate on your environment or you might be oblivious to the traffic light that already changed or the fellow next to you who is uncomfortably too close. And of course check your physical condition before doing this one. 

I’ll post the “thoughts” part on the next installment of Walkathoughts. 

Cheers mates! 

Mortality Thoughts

Me and ex-girlfriend had been to the wake of the old man whom we bought flower pots from. He adeptly crafted flower pots out of old tires which we patronized. He was a good fella, quiet, soft-spoken and artistic as evident in his handiwork.

Our recollections were on how he touched lives in his own simple ways, ours included.

This made me pore on the certain, inevitable future when my life reaches its conclusion: will I be remembered as a good old man? (I hope He would grant me a total of 70 years to live.) I seldom ponder on thoughts as morbid as death but this is the inexorable truth so whether we admit it or we admit it, might as well consider it while alive because we can’t do so in death, eh? This led me to the following questions:

  • Have I touched anyone else’s life enough for them to remember me?
  • Will I be able to see myself in the people I’ve been with as I watch them in my spirit form?
  • Will I be leaving enough traces of myself that added value to someone else’s life?

Only God knows 4W+H. I can only do the work and try. I don’t believe in wasted efforts in doing worthwhile stuff anyway because no energy is destroyed as per thermodynamics. It can only be converted from one form to another. Give something affirmative just for the heck and love of it. The universe will eventually channel them back to you in unimaginable ways.

When it’s finally lights out for me (hopefully 4 more decades from now,) in my wake, I want heavy metal music playing. It would be the best sendoff, rocking my way to the pearly gates and knocking on heaven’s doors.

And when I’ll be buried six feet under, I hope I would be worthy of the epitaph:

Here lies the man who rocked, who looked like Kirk Hammett, badass lover boy, badass husband, badass dad, good friend, rock and roll man, unapologetic, did what he said he would do, did worthwhile things instead of pondering on them, and a writer who touched hearts and minds of many.

Here lies the man who lived while alive. And is now knocking on heaven’s doors waiting to be opened.

I Lost, The Day I Won the Jackpot

If there was a time I wish I didn’t win in a raffle draw, it was when I won a TV during our 2011 Christmas party.

Displayed in a conspicuous area in our venue were the raffle prizes: oven, blender, single gas stove burner, and a TV which happened to be the first prize.

Of course my officemates were all hyped about winning the TV, all except me. How can I? It was a 30-inch cathode ray tube TV weighing a gargantuan 25 kilograms! My initial thoughts were one, how will I be able to bring it home in case I win (I have no car) and second, no thanks. I’d be happy to win anything there was but THAT television.

The party went on as usual. I could care less if I won’t be able to take home anything so long as my tummy’s happy. So I’ve had my fill, drank a couple of bottles or so of booze, and got pretty much contented having small talk. I paid little to zero attention while others were playing games and while winners of the raffle draw were announced occasionally.

I was still talking with an office mate when I suddenly realized that excited eyes were on me. It was then that I understood what happened: the “grand prize” winner was just announced.

Oh shit.

My face glowered letting off a “what the f… REALLY?!” look. I couldn’t believe that my potential problem of taking home a dead weight is actualized. I tried to trade with the other raffle draw winners in a desperate attempt and even offered to give it to anyone for free (Letting go just like that of a three thousand pesos CRT TV is, uhmm sort of a no-brainer. You know what I mean…)

Nobody accepted the offer. I thought I heard each of them say I’m not stupid.

Or it’s either they deemed my offer too good to be true or they are just too polite to laugh loud in my face for my “good fortune”.

Unfortunately, the story didn’t stop there.

Due to the TV’s enormous size, I was compelled to pay one additional seat beside me. Towards the end of my commute about a kilometer from Ortigas Avenue to our apartment, traffic jam is so severe that everything was on a standstill. Which leads to the vexatious realization that I cannot have a ride home. And also, the sky was gloomy which added to the mockery. Thankfully my brother in law was there to share the required muscle and inconvenience.

A few days after the ordeal, Rex an officemate, offered to buy the TV for 2000 pesos. He almost took a fist to his face. Seriously? 2K in exchange of the dead weight and all the hassle? No freakin’ way!

Separate Lives – by Stephen Bishop

One of the most underrated love songs of all time hauntingly sang by Phil Collins and Marilyn Martin.

While I don’t have a first hand experience of how Stephen Bishop might have felt when he wrote the song (I never wanted to know how it felt first hand anyway!) I can’t help but sing along with the melancholic melody.

I hope I also have the talent to write gut-wrenching songs such as this one aside from writing prose and poetry. So little time, so much that I want to do…

Separate Lives
Stephen Bishop

You called me from the room in your hotel
All full of romance for someone that you met
And telling me how sorry you were, leaving so soon
And that you miss me sometimes when you’re alone in your room
Do I feel lonely too?

You have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
I can’t go on just holding on to time
Now that we’re living (living) separate lives

Well I held on to let you go
And if you lost your love for me, well you never let it show (never let it show)
There was no way to compromise
So now we’re living (living)
Separate lives

Ooh, it’s so typical, love leads to isolation
So you build that wall (build that wall)
Yes, you build that wall (build that wall)
And you make it stronger

Well you have no right to ask me how I feel
You have no right to speak to me so kind
Some day I might (I might) find myself looking in your eyes

But for now, we’ll go on living separate lives
Yes for now, we’ll go on living separate lives
Ah, separate lives


Baket 1: Ayna! Umay kayun kaarruba darsən yu ti rumwar!

Baket 2: Apay aya Shana anya la unay ti pukkawəm?! 

Baket 1: Kət addadtan sumungsungadən ni Bunggaw!

Baket 2: Siaasinnot kunam dayta um-umay? 

Baket 1: Ayna kət ni Bunggaww daytay iksikyutib asistant ni Dutirte idey nga sinadur itan! Addadtoyen ni saərr Bunggaw ayna apu! Bunggaw! Bunggaw! Bunggaw!…

I Love You – With No Strings Attached

Quote above by Antoine De Saint-Exupery

I said I love you,
Of course you heard it right;
Am not playing yo-yo,
In case you think I might…

Once a girl had a dream –
Of the world that she would conquer;
Once a boy had a dream –
Something far more loftier: the dreamer girl…

On “VP” Leni as Drug Czarina

What PRRD actually did when he opened the door for “VP” Leni is to unmask her glaring ignorance of the true state of the drug problem (which she exposed herself anyway) and her true motives. Too bad we are in a democracy that he had to offer the post out of fairness, for a chance for Leni to prove herself that she can do better despite that the current drug war is working well.

The vast majority, myself included, even clamor that the ongoing drug war be waged even more aggressively such that there will be more apprehensions, more confiscations, and more stones unturned to reveal the big wig protectors and distributors, in whatever social echelon they may be. If it becomes bloodier because the users and peddlers will choose a violent ending, in the name of implementing law and order and including lawful self defense of law enforcers, then so be it.

Anyhow, at this early point in time it clearly shows the indisputable fact that she doesn’t know shit what she is doing and that she is just using the role given to her for political gain instead of offering tangible help in putting the lid on the drug problem. Need proof that she’s getting “all over”?

  • She had been criticizing the drug war for trivial reasons. Trivial because recently she said she needs to have a look at relevant data on the current drug infestation in the country. So what exactly had been her bases in the past in criticizing the drug war?
  • She doesn’t say anything about her own plans on how to curb the drug problem. Ever since she became the front liner of the Yellows who fell from power up to now that she was appointed as drug czarina, she was all talk and no suggestions. And;
  • Now she wants to involve US and United Nations in the local drug problem. Her shrill cries for human rights, along with the yellows from the start of the drug war up to the present, makes it obvious that she wants the world to know that she had finally been involved in the drug war. Why? Because it would give them a crack at demonizing PRRD in the worldwide community because they can no longer convince the vast majority of Filipinos. And hopefully, they’re fervently praying up to now, that this will finally be their ticket in impeaching PRRD.

If Maria Leonor Robredo’s game plan (if she ever has one to begin with) means fewer arrest of drug addicts and pushers, fewer seizure of the illegal substances, endangering law enforcers because of softer apprehension procedures, I hope she gets kicked out of ICAD immediately.

You don’t even need to be a law enforcer to realize that there is a time for diplomacy and a time for decisive action. Once a drug addict succumbs to the influence of illegal drugs, he is already an inexorable walking omen of violence and death. The same with peddlers and suppliers who are all out in protecting their “business”. The only language they both can speak with are the sound of their pistols. How can you even reason with such people and expect a bloodless anti-drug campaign?

When she talks about saving a single soul, is she just trying to sound cutesy and appear motherlike to mask her air-headedness and the greed of the Yellow puppeteers to which Leni remains a marionette to?

Drink what?!

photo from argentina-travel-blog.sayhueque.com

Paris, and I were talking about a friend and officemate Ely who just left for another office. She recounted that they frequently get in touch as a group and they do so in a drinking spree.

Ely doesn’t drink anything tinged with alcohol so I was surprised when Paris told me that they went for a dose of never ending stories downed with booze.

“What did Ely drink?” I asked her thinking it was either San Mig Light, ladies’ drink, or anything with a minuscule trace of alcohol.

“Iced tea.”

Yellowtards Hit All-Time High Moral Bankruptcy With Tweets Mocking Earthquake Ravaged Mindanaoans

When subjected to extreme situations where it means either life or death, the primal response of the human brain brought about by thousand years of evolution is either a fight or flight response. It is where things are reduced to essentials and the superficial and the miscellaneous take a backseat. To come out alive of anything that threatens survival is the only goal at hand. No matter what it takes, he’s got to stay alive. That is how HUMANS should have supposedly evolved.

How about Filipinos? Now that’s a good question.

Politics have never turned so amusing than when PRRD was sworn into office. This is perhaps because the common tao might have figured out that they finally found a level ground where they can deal with the Yellowtards. Before, most just turn a blind eye believing that speaking out will only go so far. That’s because in the long run, it will eventually amount to nothing considering that the elites have the monopoly of the manipulation of their greatest asset: public opinion. But thanks to their monumental gaffes and including those who are persistently educating the public with the truth, the match is now even, if not lopsided.

Change has come indeed. The once formidable Yellows may have finally met their nemesis which was evident in their catastrophic loss in the 2019 midterm elections.

They have definitely gone down. But of course they won’t give up that easy without a fight. Their occasional goofing around are manifestations of them being the epithet of the slugger who is still swinging while going down hard. However, the boxing is far from over. The opponent might have hit the canvas but he is far from out. And so the slugfest continues.

It’s an amusing political circus with highlights headed by “VP” Leni Robredo with her words of wisdom. Entertaining as they are, they are fast becoming a bore and nuisance.

But it may not only be the Yellowtards who are becoming amused and too preoccupied in devising ways to gain the upper hand in the propaganda war. The problem in engaging with such war, whatever the motive is, is that everyone may become oblivious to the essentials such as the immediate alleviation of sufferings brought about by the recent earthquakes in Mindanao.

It’s as if the hypothetical boxing arena with all the people inside is on the verge of being obliterated by a threat outside but the crowd is still pre-occupied with who’s gaining the upper hand in the match. Instead of momentarily setting their differences aside to unite in one good cause, what they do is throw jabs that are not at all relevant with the dire situation at hand.

First came the drug war. People seem to have forgotten that the casualties seen every day are but the tip of the iceberg that the drug menace has become. It’s hard to understand why some people want to stop the war “that isn’t working” that made the streets relatively safer than before. Is it that hard to see that curbing drugs will lessen future casualties? If the drug war evidently protects our children, why can’t they unite with the government’s efforts against the drugs while closely monitoring the prudence of law enforcers during the conduct of their duties?

When ISIS almost turned Marawi City into a terrorist state, the military needed to execute martial law as part of the efforts to subdue Isnilon Hapilon and his allies. As expected, it was maliciously tied to the martial law during Marcos. The worst part is that the soldiers and policemen, which includes those who are faithfully fulfilling their mandates to protect the people and state at the cost of their lives, are being vilified and accused of unfounded claims of abuse.

And then the recent gaffes by Leah Navarro and Yolly Ong in their hypocritical sorry-not-sorry apologies. If the “you are a Romualdez and the president is an Aquino” blunder sealed the fate of Mar Roxas, the Yellow’s recent politicization of the deadly earthquakes is a clear manifestation of their all-time high moral bankruptcy. Natural calamity victims, both DDS and non DDS, being subjected to mockery just because the current president hailed from Mindanao? Really? How much further low can you go?

It clearly shows how morally unfit the Yellows are to lead, considering that they have to identify who is pro and anti, to qualify who is more deserving of help.

And it just shows that public service is only secondary, if not the last on their list, to their political agenda. Their greed for their lost power no matter how they disguise it with perpetrated lies disseminated by main stream media, leaks out eventually revealing their sinister motives. It’s amusing how they seem oblivious to the fact that they themselves are putting the final nails of their own political coffins without help from anyone.

And for the rest, it’s easy to fall into the trap of gloating over the faux pas of the opponent and becoming rabid, condescending, and quick to condemn without looking internally. One should not forget that beyond all this political spectacle, humanity should take precedence above and over everything else especially when, like the immediate needs of the victims are needed the most.

Picking Scabs


Nothing works best in exhuming presumably “dead” anger than picking scabs. The drying laceration can become a nasty, pus-laden, infection-throbbing gash instead of drying up and turning to scar. If it is painting a loathsome portrait in your mind, imagine this type of infection happening inside your heart and mind.

That’s how it went when my rage over my past experiences in a hellhole was brought back to life via a conversation with a former office mate. I thought I was finally in control of my anger since it hasn’t resurfaced in a while.

By nature, we tend to focus on strong feelings of anger that’s why they are more poignant when brought back from memory compared to good but forgettable ones. We hold the latter loosely in comparison to the former.

Yep, loose thoughts wander without causing damage like a loose particle idly floating around. But with enough energy and focus, they can become the deadly gamma rays that can fry the hell out of anything they come across. Couple that focus now with rage and it can form a radioactive and volatile concoction. I realized how potent that mixture was when I observed myself as I was, out of nowhere, ready to enter into a brawl with anyone with the slightest provocation in the guise of “defending” myself. It’s that sudden. Left uncontrolled, it won’t stop and respect any reason like a charged particle travelling at the speed of light.

No wonder people die or get hurt during a road rage or during a seemingly harmless confrontation.

But before I ended up from being the adorable Jack-jack to the abominable flaming demon baby, I was lucky to manage the sharp turn from this maniacal rage build up to a dead calm. Thank God I was able to get past this potentially dangerous mindset. Well, momentarily at least.


I often neglect this but every time I let the thankful me take over, I almost instantly feel better despite how shitty things are at the moment. In those instance, I remind myself how blessed I am to have such epiphanies, horrid as they may seem, where I can learn a lesson or two. And they are also opportunities for me to correct my erroneous views of the world, among others that would otherwise be hidden from me while I’m blinded with rage.


I’ve had all sorts of prayers while going through that tough time with difficult people: early morning prayers during my commute, scribbled short agonizing prayers that when combined becomes as thick as a normal book; bathroom cubicle prayers when I felt I can no longer make it through the day alive; on my commute back home and before I lie in bed to close my eyes and call it a hell of a day. If not for God who heard my many many many supplications, I wouldn’t have made it in one piece.

Stop reacting to every stimulus

To avoid picking scabs I figured I needed to stop talking about it with my former office mate. So God help me. If it becomes a scar so be it, it’s going to be that anyway and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. At least it’s going to heal.

Loving a Lady Writer/Blogger

photo from burckhardsource.org
  There are those who write just to sell
In their necks attached a choking bell
Demands acknowledgement wherever they be
Attention whores you can readily see
At face value they can fool a lot
Surface fun but depth has not
Truly it makes a fast food story
But ‘tis fleeting, cheap, full of vainglory
But seeing eyes one cannot fool
Wont ever get past through a hardened soul
Tested by fire from hell she emerged
Can tell the lies and the stink that lurks
Then there are that get stripped and naked
Of the lies the soul had long been burdened
The solid self once thought it was
Now lay in pieces and ripped apart
Battle hardened, a war vet, and territorial
Died and lived, reduced to essentials
Her scars she no longer hides
Wears them like armor such a lovely bride
As such you see a woman and not her face
Just her soul, heart, her core, and base
Only when you love her without the need for the tangible
There lies true love so few are able

Masa, who?

Hindi ka pangmasa.

If your target audience is the general populace, this is the last thing you’d want to hear.

I’d like to reach a larger audience other than my immediate circle. Especially the “marginalized” who follow anybody just because they have no other choice. I wish to connect with them, the group who I have similar preferences with:

  • The minimalist,
  • The quiet,
  • The contemplative,
  • The one who believes in the convergence of quantum physics and mysticism,
  • The people who knows the abundance in having less, and
  • The lucky ones who know the bliss of possessing a still mind.

I wish I’d find them (or they find me via this version of art) to let them know that one of their ilk shares similar experiences that they can truly identify with and call their own.

Haven’t thought it’d be this tough after hearing the verdict (which is the opening sentence) from a friend. I thank God for her brutal honesty nonetheless. At least now I know, or shall I say, at least someone else told it straight to my face.

Someone else pointing out my weaknesses is not something I am fond of, nor will I ever get used to like. But you have to be grateful that what you needed to hear but don’t want spelled out to you, will come from someone whom you will not take offense. I can’t thank heavens enough for those people.

And I wouldn’t have cared less if the “masa” cannot process my message to be honest, if not for those who need to hear that somebody else understands and that they too, every one in fact, are in need of a creative outlet. Yes, there is untold exigency for people to immediately discover and follow his craft before he uses up all his life credits for nothing.

Why? Because getting to know one’s calling is his only salvation.

Anong paki mo sa Kirk Hammett hair ko

As we mature, we learn that the world doesn’t really give a fuck on how we conduct ourselves contrary to what we believe. In those harum-scarum years we desperately yearned and painstakingly did our homework to blend with what’s in so as not to be left behind. Yes we did, even if it is in complete violation of our personal values.

And instead of ourselves creatively defining our own “presentation”, we willfully succumbed to the convoluted image of us as an aftermath of allowing the world to desecrate us.

On the other hand, we learn that the world does give a shit after all. It coaxes and nags persistently until we give in to its insane and unrealistic demands on us. It is indeed fortunate for those who realize that those who mind don’t matter in as much as those that matter don’t mind at all.

I see this everyday as I walk nonchalantly with my untied Kirk Hammett hair. I can read through the minds of those who stare. While one percent expresses disapproving cues, 90 percent of the remaining 99% is frustrated with themselves for not having the audacity to express themselves as loud as I do with my rock and roll get up.

Having a healthy way of self-expression by the way, is essential to one’s mental health. And in my case, it includes growing a long hair and not giving a fuck.

My Social Experiment Regarding Perception

It’s fascinating to see the results of my simple, self-conducted social experiment that measures how people react to what I have written. I seldom have small talks with my fellows so I thought it was such a good idea if I will share them what I have written instead in order to break the ice. At least, I have their undivided attention while they are reading. But instead of an open mind, I think their defenses are immediately switched to red alert, ready to feed the hungry waste can with whatever I gave them.

It’s fascinating and at times downright frustrating because their reactions are completely opposite of my expectations.

Case in point is when I asked some of my officemates to read an entry that I have written in my past defunct blog. I believe I’ve written it with wit and funny sarcasm enough to elicit a smirk or a hearty laughter from them.

Just that, a piece designed and aimed to make someone laugh. That’s all. Go see the previous post and be the judge.

When I asked the first respondent to read the blog entry, his reaction was an awesome “witty jabs you got there.” He was my officemate before in a previous company and we were able to share discussions about politics, and other stuff that are “deep” in nature.

The next one, a former officemate of more than 6 years, after reading said in a jolly “it’s ok” tone and recounted his own tale of experiencing (though indirectly) harassment from the reds. Great, I said to myself. I reminded him of his own related experiences.

The third respondent is a lady who was a fellow employee in my previous employment. Our work relationship is collegial in nature but with the prominence of a junior and senior ambience. What she told me is that the post I asked her to read is very long. Owwwkey, I told myself wondering whether I got my message across. Later on I asked if she had a hard time telling whether what she was reading was legitimate and whether I was dead serious. She said yes.

The fourth and final respondent was also an officemate in my previous employment. I was already a senior back then and he was entry level so our encounters before were limited to pleasantries and lot of student-mentor instances where we conferred regarding technical stuff. We retained the friendship despite that we separated companies eventually and saw each other again after a year or so. What did you just send me sir? He asked in an apparently innocent and respectful manner. Why, it’s supposed to be funny. What do you think of it? I followed up. It looks a bit legit with traces of sarcasm, he said. Did you really think it’s legitimate? And do you think it’s highly unlikely of my personality to write such things? I pressed on. Well, kind of? Came the reply.


I may never have gotten the response I expected of them but I learned, relearned rather, basic truths on social interactions:

  1. Your personality will always be associated with every interaction you have with people be it a quick conversation or something written like what I did in my social experiment.
  2. Even if you tell the funniest jokes but if you’re not the funny guy, the joke will be on you. Put that in contrast with comedians who can tell the lamest of jokes and the audience will still roll on the floor laughing. Perhaps it is because of social conditioning. Initially, what I say will always be taken seriously and will remain as such even after I crack a joke or two.
  3. People’s response to any stimuli will depend on their previous experiences. And in reality, it is seldom that their response is influenced by the stimuli outside of themselves. So without enough experience on a certain stimulus, people will most likely reward you with blank and confused faces.
  4. Or, it may mean I still have a long way to go to be the charismatic gentleman that I wanted to be. Perhaps a few more fine tuning is required to attain the perfect social calibration that will enable me to approach more and help more in the process.
  5. Give. But in doing so, restrain yourself from expecting that something favorable in exchange will return to you. Just like what Buddha said, attachment is the source of our misery and suffering. It’s not giving freely if you’re expecting something in return. In that case you’re playing yoyo.
  6. Keep on interacting and giving even if your original good intention is mistaken for something else. Pause and consider if you must but you have to keep on slugging it out until you find your rhythm and the mastery of conducting yourself in front of others.

At times it will look like you have thrown tons of efforts that just got sucked up in a blackhole. Despair not. No effort is lost in the universe (remember the first law of thermodynamics, also known as the Law of Conservation of Energy which states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed; energy can only be transferred or changed from one form to another,) provided it is done out of good will e.g. you have good motives. What goes around comes around, so you better be throwing good stuff around if you are expecting the same good stuff to come back and knock you out.