July 29th, 2008
- I love walking. Those who knows me know that I got this ‘worried man pacing back and forth” mannerism. But walking from Ortigas MRT station to our building is a degrading stroll to hell. Can anyone spell tedium more clearly than this? Yes, I like the thought that this exercise may be just be the final solution to burn my flabby abs off. I like the idea that it can give me enough time to reflect about the state of calamity my life is in. But man, this isn't your typical walk to the park. I really need to walk for almost 500 meters. Every noontime, and every night to and from work. So I’m thinking of buying a rad bike. It may sound comical to see a BMX with all its glory straddling a polo wearing Arab in the busy streets of Ortigas but hey, it’s worth the humiliation. Unless our bosses send me some four wheels, I’ll keep this future scenario in mind good as done.
- I find all kind of science boring except for some occasional dash of biology and a visual take on woman’s anatomy but it amazes me how electricity can be inflicted on all the corners of our building to shake our balls off without us even being aware. There is electricity everywhere in our god damn building! Literally! I look like a neat freak using a hanky to grip the comfort room’s door knob. For what it’s worth, it’s a smart way to trip things off back to monotony.
- The thing with popularity is that it’s like a drug. You can get used to the euphoria so even if you crave anonymity, once you’re there, you’ll get the withdrawal feeling of super isolation like nobody cares anymore. You can’t blame me for being accustomed to it since I’m like a pet dog displayed in a pet shop’s front window way back childhood. I used to be a Caucasian-looking cuddly baby treated like a Sto.Niño by every preggy woman in our town-looking city (I swear this is literally true. According to my aunt, neighbors and unknown women would come to our house just to get a glimpse of me and if they are lucky to caught me down in our front yard, they would plead for a chance to cradle me on their flabby arms, believing that such action will let their tummy-monster inherit my features. Ah, so much for Filipino culture.). Then in high school, everyone knows me as that sweaty, lanky clown doing an impromptu Jim Carrey impersonation in every corner of the room to the delight of my fellow sweaty nincompoops (and to the disgust of the ladies). Eventually, I graduated to be a working-class school counselor who strut his inner Morrisson on the local rock bars at night. Now that I am in manila, I feel like I’m trapped in rehab. A lone ranger.
- Someday I’m gonna make my mark here in this scary big city. Ika nga namin ni Daniel “ someday, girls will be screaming our names beyond the four corners of the bedroom wall”. Obviously this was all drunken talks but I’ll settle with this for now and maybe laugh along with you. for now, for now…
- I raise my eyebrows on people who gave up their rock n roll dream citing they need to face reality. REALITY?!? Practicality, well that I can digest but since when did you start counting money as a reason for playing songs that you love, or songs you yourself wrote? If the gift of music is not reality then fuck the matrix, I don’t know what’s real anymore.
- Poverty can certainly breed boredom. So let me just say thank God for porn.
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