Thursday, April 26, 2007
On Thinking... and Mace Windu
The Cookout. Coach Carter. Lean on Me. Undercover Brother. You Got Served.There's got to be something behind watching black movies for the past three days. Something about them African-Americans subtly protesting their discrimination, and looking cool in anything they wear while they're at it. Think Dave Chappelle, then think Randy Jackson, then think Morgan Freeman, then think of every rap artist you know of. After all that, think Mace Windu.
*echo* MACE WINDU!
Maybe I'm just overthinking things. Again.
If there were only a way to totally keep myself from thinking about short stories, poetry and paranoid visions of what life in the near future will be like at three o' clock in the morning, maybe I'd get some sleep for a change.
Bleh, I'm ranting again. And those who may have read the last post I made about "bitching" will see that I hate bringing nothing but rants online. It spreads the negative vibes through the cables and whatnot, into your eyes, all the way into your brain.
But that's just me.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
The Prospero Pichay Paradox
Pichay: "Pangarap kong tuparin ang mga pangarap niyo."
IF the above statement is true
THEN Pangarap ni Pichay -> Pangarap "niyo"
Place Person A into the situation as one of Pichay's referents. Person A, one of the voting masses, is an avid supporter of Pichay, so much that his greatest dream in life is to make sure Pichay's dreams come true.
Therefore
Pangarap ni A -> Pangarap ni Pichay
which brings us back to the first THEN statement
Pangarap ni Pichay -> Pangarap ni A -> Pangarap ni Pichay
wherein the logic has brought the entire proposition back to its starting point, creating a cycle that repeats itself an infinite number of times
Pangarap ni Pichay -> Pangarap ni A -> Pangarap ni Pichay -> Pangarap ni A -> Pangarap ni Pichay -> ...
ZOMGWTFINFINITELOOP!
Hell hath no fury than a 4Boys dormer bored.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Parent Moment, and a Cipher Haiku
The family's eating lunch together. I'm talking about how weird a movie "Borat" is, and to illustrate I sing the first few lines of the Kazakhstan National Anthem:Me (singing): "Kazakhstan greatest country in the world... All other countries are run by little girls..."
Mom: Tayo 'yun a.
*long pause*
Me: Asteeg.
Mom: *echoes* Asteeg.
Everybody: *laughs in the manner a TV show family does when it's time to end the episode*
...
What the post title said. The haiku title is the only clue.
PIROUETTE XIII
Cryptologist's blues
All she got from her man was:
"Vybirlbh"
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Intentionally Unedited Emo (Don't Say I Didn't Warn You)
You've always been untouchable. And everybody's been comfortable with it. You never gave anyone, the least of being me, opportunity. Which is why I approach you on every level of communicative consciousness I can utilize. Yet even on the alternates, you are aloof, radiating the heady scent of untouchability through wire and wave. Maybe I really have become addicted to your aura emanating from your eyes and sighing out the edges of your softly-spoken words to counter the brutal brashness that defines me. Yet my nature insists on not resisting, of denying my own noise just to listen to silence, in case your soft-spokenness gently vibrates the air with its brand of alternated, parallax widsom, which I will patiently listen to, whether or not my ideologies scream at me for doing so. If only I could find the way to turn you tangible. Yet something in me seems to enjoy the neurosis of keeping the intangibility the way it is, to always leave me with the longing and suffering that allows one to write such nonsensical, yet intrapersonally of the utmost importance forms of literature. Still another part of me operates under the extremely opposite idea that behind the opacity of all your barriers there is the tiniest spark of a desire to one day be tangible, to descend the millions of steps that have placed you on the peak of your own purgatoric mount. So here I am, pulling a Florentino Ariza, waiting my fifty-one ears for an answer to the question I know I have not asked at least to my knowledge, though some deny that I have not done so. Probably it's because I'm afraid of the accompanying change that would occur, as damnant quod non intelligunt, gnothi seauton and so on, to shorten the thousands of years of an apparent phobia of change. I've been told to wait countless times, to make sure this is simply not a paradigm upheaval, one of the most misconceptionalized psychological phenomena for man, with his capacity for dramatic fear in knowability. That there will be a moment when thought will become reality, filtered from the mind to the brain and consequently to the very tips of one's appendages, synchronizing itself with physical reality and physical activity. This passivity is a curse. Or is it a trial, the reward of each being the soundness of reason increasing with every moment a decision is not made? Yet temporality also makes me suffer, for there is the lingering paranoia that in a different geographical disposition another entity thinks horrifyingly similar thoughts. And should that entity reach his marshmallow point first and circumstances turn him into the Florentino Ariza who comforts your sorrowed head with a lap cushioned by promises to bring my heaven to your earth, for you have already brought your heaven to my earth.Who would I be in the quarantine, then?
Your subtleties
They strangle me
I can't explain myself at all
They strangle me
I can't explain myself at all
-All-American Rejects, "It Ends Tonight"
Saturday, April 14, 2007
The Randomized and Un-transitional Process of Disjointed Thinking During a Friday the Thirteenth
It was Friday the 13th, and I couldn't sleep last night. The vibes were all weird, and I found myself leaving for Los Banos a whole hour earlier because there was nothing to do and everybody else was asleep.Maybe it's getting grades that were much higher than I expected, or the day being a Friday the 13th, or going back to Los Banos, but the whole day I was on this weird high, not unlike the high one has when one is sleep-deprived. Strange, though, was the fact that in spite of having literally zero hours of sleep the previous night, I was in a more energized state of high that I would be with sleep. So energized, in fact, that I walked around Los Banos, Megamall AND Greenhills, just to calm myself down.
And I'm still not sleepy.
...
In "The Storyteller" by Mario Vargas Llosa, one of the legends of the moon's dimness compared to the sun was brought about by shit. Yes, shit. Kashiri, the moon, took the form of a man and sought a wife among humans. A demoness, pissed at the idea that she wouldn't be the mother of the sun (yep, in the story, the sun's the moon's son - pun intended), she ambushes Kashiri and wipes her shit on his face. Ashamed, Kashiri returns to the sky without removing the shit off his face, which explains the dimness.
*Back to reality (Note: true story)*
A very dirty girl was the first passenger in what was to be the jeepney ride home this evening. She sat down behind the navigator's seat as the rest of the passengers boarded. Upon sitting, one would immediately smell what was undeniably the smell of human shit in the immediate vicinity, so everybody covered their noses. She was quiet for the duration of her trip, though it was nothing unusual, as people are almost always quiet when riding in a public vehicle surrounded by strangers. Strange, though, was that the smell of shit lingered instead of being left in the terminal area, where it supposedly belonged. The girl hurriedly and wordlessly gets off before the vehicle climbs Antipolo's incline road. The passengers beside her immediately check the place where she sat, and their suspicions are verified: there is an unmistakably shitty-looking stain where she sat.
"Probably LBM. Poor girl," says the one closest to the girl at the time, checking her white pants for other stains.
"I thought I stepped on something on the way here," said the old man who sat across her.
And there I was, beside the old man, remembering the tale of Kashiri as the jeepney stopped at a gas station, the driver whipping out a bunch of rags.
...
I haven't been dreaming lately, and it's scaring me. On one hand, it could mean that I'm perfectly content with my current life situation. On the other, it coud mean that I'm either very forgetful these days, or I'm simply out of weird things to imagine given the drudgery of my present situation (which would really suck, by the way).
...
Now I'm sleepy.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Ocnarf's Guide to Taking the Plunge
Introduction:I would like to tell you first off that though taking the plunge may seem hard, it actually is a lot easier as it looks, if one is guided in the proper manner, which is hopefully the reason why you are reading this self-explanatorily entitled "Ocnarf's Guide to Taking the Plunge" instead of a possible myriad of other reasons I'd rather not discuss. Not now, at least. Maybe next time.
Oh, and before I forget, here's the warning, put in all-caps so that you know it's a warning...
WARNING:
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, UNLESS YOUR HOME IS IN AT LEAST FIVE FEET OF WATER. DOING SO MAY HARM NOT ONLY YOUR CHILDREN, BUT ALSO YOU. THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK MAY NOT BE DEEMED RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURIES CAUSED BY IRRESPONSIBILITY, LACK OF SAFETY PRECAUTIONS, OR PLAIN STUPIDITY.
DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME, UNLESS YOUR HOME IS IN AT LEAST FIVE FEET OF WATER. DOING SO MAY HARM NOT ONLY YOUR CHILDREN, BUT ALSO YOU. THE AUTHOR OF THIS WORK MAY NOT BE DEEMED RESPONSIBLE FOR INJURIES CAUSED BY IRRESPONSIBILITY, LACK OF SAFETY PRECAUTIONS, OR PLAIN STUPIDITY.
Step 1: the Wind-Up
The Law of Energy Conservation states that energy is neither created nor destroyed, only that it changes its state. Apparently, whoever named this law must have been very, very observant. This step is, therefore, dedicated to that very intelligent fellow, for this step remembers his law by primarily concerning itself with focusing most of one's energy into the potential state, which means there should be minimal movement in this step. This is so that there is sufficient kinetic energy for the amount of motion involved in the next step of the process, which is...
Step 2: the Jump
This is the step where we are able to prove Isaac Newton's First Law of Motion that states every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it, which is essentially a restatement of Galileo Galilei's concept of inertia, which in turn is a modified restatement of Aristotle's concept of kinesis.
In short, people simply love copying each other's work. And don't you tell me the thought of copying someone else's work never, ever crossed your mind. Ever.
All this, though, has no relation to our third step, for this discourse has apparently branched into an inexplicably annoying piece of insanity. Nevertheless, for formality's sake, I present you with the third step...
Step 3: the Plunge
Now that we're back on topic, this is the step where we reap the benefits of inhibiting our movement in the first step, for this step is essentially a follow through to the energy in the second step, following the laws of gravity, kinetics, and a load of other things you probably wouldn't bother with unless your course or job depended on being so esoteric, the pinnacle of which may be seen by spectators as a big, messy splash (not in picture).
Congratulations, you have just learned how to take a plunge.
Subjects: Me (red shorts, doing a 360-degree spin), Cousin Miguel (red and gray suit, gray and black shorts, doing an good old cannonball)
Venue: Cavinti, Laguna
Date: April 5, 2007
Friday, April 06, 2007
Stupid, Fun
Part I:One of YouTube's most popular videos nowadays. Alanis sure knows how to lower one's IQ level.
Part II:
Boredom is good. It opens your mind to new things. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing is up to what you open up to, though.
Sometimes, one just needs to dumb things down a notch.
(This is what happens when the "It's finally summer! I can catch up on all the sleep I've lost" mindset wears off...)
Monday, April 02, 2007
Three Hundred Nitpicks, and a Day at the Mall
Jan: "You're over-analyzing. You should have just enjoyed it."Me: "I was. I'm only analyzing it now that we're out of the moviehouse."
This after long-time-no-see-high-school-friend Jan responds to a discussion between me and Krista about the movie "300" 's testosterone factor, which my have played a big part in why she admittedly didn't enjoy the movie as much as me and my two high school friends did.
I dunno. Maybe the "critically-thinking-Iskolar-ng-Bayan" mindset is getting to me. That, and the bottle of red wine I got as a "Best Critic" award during English 103 (Critical Writing) class.
So I think back to the movie we just watched, with all its blood, guts and nipple exposure. I think to myself that maybe there's really no sense in trying to deconstruct a movie that's undeniably good, albeit testosterone-charged, eye candy.
Then something like this comes up.
Big, golden (like the bling-bling and briefs of Xerxes, shown above) LOL.
Dairy Queen was running market research in Glorietta that day. We were hanging around the mall's smoking area when this suspicious-looking lady with a handful of papers comes up to us and asks us if we were free for ten minutes of product sampling. We think of every excuse we can come up with, but she's persistent. My spontaneous (sometimes, unfortunately, to the point of stupidity) side gives in, and they lead me to a suspicious looking corner behind the Dairy Queen branch. A sigh of relief when I see a bunch of tables and lots of people running around with trays full of orange juice, milkshakes and ice cream running around. And besides, it's their loss if they decide to serve bad quality versions of their products.
Ten minutes later, I emerge with a banana split in hand, amidst requests from my friends who, thinking I am but a clone of a now-abducted Franco, are asking me to prove my identity. I offer them the banana split, which they avoid in the way one would react to a supposedly anthrax-laced letter. And they ask me again to tell me where the real Franco is.
Life is gooooooood.
Moral of the story #1: Free orange juice, strawberry shake and banana split is never a bad thing, except maybe for a full stomach.
Moral of the story #2: Researching is really difficult, even if it doesn't appear to be. Convincing someone to spend several minutes of his life away answering questions is harder than you think, because with all the abused trust (illegal recruiters, "medical missions" and the like) in the Philippines today, everyone will be suspecting you of foul play, no matter how noble your goals really are. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to be the gullible one every now and then, unless you're really unlucky.
Ten minutes later, I emerge with a banana split in hand, amidst requests from my friends who, thinking I am but a clone of a now-abducted Franco, are asking me to prove my identity. I offer them the banana split, which they avoid in the way one would react to a supposedly anthrax-laced letter. And they ask me again to tell me where the real Franco is.
Life is gooooooood.
Moral of the story #1: Free orange juice, strawberry shake and banana split is never a bad thing, except maybe for a full stomach.
Moral of the story #2: Researching is really difficult, even if it doesn't appear to be. Convincing someone to spend several minutes of his life away answering questions is harder than you think, because with all the abused trust (illegal recruiters, "medical missions" and the like) in the Philippines today, everyone will be suspecting you of foul play, no matter how noble your goals really are. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to be the gullible one every now and then, unless you're really unlucky.
