My Brilliant Aphrodisiac (Another stupid realization!)

Say, what time is it(looking at the tray's date: 2 fourty-five pm, 28th of November Decade clock)? I just turned 27, a few days back. Carefully I wanted to un-wish(if it's possible) to not die somewhere in my 28th year of existence.
Julia 10(mint) happily obliges to my computer whims, and I found out that I don't really buy too much with open source software than previously felt. Well my windows 7 works well, though it is true that it attracts a horde of digital viruses, well am not going to remove it anytime soon. I try to find some sort of nirvana in my virtual world that might be useful in my real world.
I spent another week, looking gloomy ahead. I'm afraid that my beloved wife is carrying another child. It should be good news right? Well if milk comes free, or that raising another child entails no tussle and bruising, then the answer would be a definitive yes. But you got to understand that I have a 2 then and 1 year old-ers. I work two jobs, and even on weekends I burn my ass on sidelines just to meet ends.
Ah.
I gotta figure out something.
Chocolate, anyone got one? It's been sour tasting lately.

un-Jazzy Life

"I am stuck for the nth time in this rut". I used to say between curses, looking above as if to blame something, someone. My teeth grinding in dismay over calculated loopholes and unmerciful dissapointments and suddenly realizing there's no one, or nothing to point my fingers to, but me. That's when I break into my crooked smile, my tongue caressing my rotten front tooth, and heaving a big sigh, I mimic Buble' -- "That's Life", this is.
That's when it hit me. This thing called life, is just too big for me to dissect and compress into formulas influenced by authors emotionally detached or intellectually unnerving. That's when I slowly come to my senses, this is never meant to be published before it's written, that's when I am humbled beyond the same lines of defeat and recognition. I give up.
Sigh.
I give up, on thinking too much, trying to hold on things that was not there in the first place. I give up on being too far fetched with my crooked ideas, with my day clear fantasies, with my obsession with anything and everything prosical and beautifully vague. I give up on giving up.
With fist on my chest, I may start plucking those strings instead of hooting that sax.

Incredible Days

Let's just start off with a 'kawabanga' then lay it to rest. What's a 'kawabanga' by the way? Well it's a line from a movie that I tend to forget, adopted by yours truly in explanation of the expression 'I got played'.

Incredible.

Just plain incredible.

These past few days, I thought I was making progress with something noteworthy. Got my internet going, paid three electric bills, accepted the fact that I won't get paid with my last project. I thought life will still move on. And it did. But not with some sad then turning out funny incident.

-Sigh-

The story was too perplexed to be introduced to you dear people so I'd ellaborate it the way my past High School Teacher explain with enviable bravado his self discovered formulas: A who's with B met C in a digital chit chat, got comfortable, established a connection, A began threading the imaginary polygonal with C only to find out that C was with D. WTF.

Well that's life.

Back to Reality.

It was for most part a self inflicted reality until it was no more.

So A, lemme ask you, dear sir a Q, 'Gonna die on your lap, eh?'

-Don't think So.

KAWABANGA.

Impertinent Blues

There were days when the sun does not feel right, or the nights are too animated to be excited about. There were moments when being alive is only half the dish that were served right. These were the dog days. The days of having your eyes wide shut. Creeping feelings are never bashful, always at the door, looming larger then the ray of hope they block. Ah, the never ending cycle of the remorseful poet.
Sometimes, you grin in disbelief at what is in front of you: another scripted day of familiar hours, boring minutes, killing seconds.
I wanted to write a book but struggled at its content. I could spurt out hundreds or thousands of empty words, in the end, it'll only serve my unforgiving boredom.

What to Write.
What to Think.
What to....

Well. Just give up already

Unforgettable

Most times, a slob like me, just heats up this crazy butt's on the chair thinking 'bout nothing about. Killing time, wasting those precious seconds away, knowingly that they weren't going to come back again. Sometimes I pick up a book from my loyal shelf and browse for something to jump start the stubborn head of mine.Or listen to tracks that would re-wake my disinterested self.(Browsing eminem, drake, some rock, a little jazz). Or browse the web for some headturning news(nba.com), crazy tips(lifehacker), or watch some korean shifu(youtube). All this just to go away(mentally and emotionally) from the rut that i'm in. (Ok I may be, overblowing everything.. but you know, living in a D bracket of the society, you get the idea).

What's wrong with me? I may have some of the tools to be potentially successful by economics standard. I spit social skills like they were used tissues, dismiss academics like they were a bunch of bully kids not to be taken seriously, suave like an asian double O seven(now this is really narcissistic), and would run under the radar like a torpedo going for the kill. And that may be the problem, I'm still under the radar.

Look this is not about the fame, the thrill of being known, the free whilly notion of having your name be uttered between gasps, that would be nice. But it's not 'bout that. This is... I get it now, this is about the battle within me. I am waging a war within the walls of my medium frame. A battle that at 26 leaves me vulnerable in other aspects of what I can in life. But I feel, that I am not going to loose this one. How? I just realize, that I'm done with whining, I'm done with having to point my fingers to anybody, I'm done with getting up more emotionally tired in the morning than when I slept the night before, I'm done with soft drinks, cigarettes, girls, anime', kobe bryant. I'm done with all of them. They're no longer part of my main system.

A new program is being installed.

A program that doesn't shun those hunger days, those days of being irresponsible, useless, and downright imbecile. A program that would have me embrace every scar that i have in my body and mind, as if they were badges that would identify me when I finally get swallowed up by me.

Now I see: I wan't to live, and take every good and bad from it. I wan't to bleed life, and alas, what everyone wants to be, unforgettable.

Fab Four in the house

Kurt -- introvertly seated nearest to the door. It might be the economics of having to sprint if ever the 'Kumander' calls. The guy is oozing with the coolness of a chimp chilling in the South Pole while the crazy bunch of penguins look forth in astonishment. Just got back from Nabua, and perpetrated our gathering for today( a sacred thing, in the bottle-necked thing).

Nonong -- Beside the bulking kurt, always wide awake listening (or imagining to the rigntone) of that loyal cellphone of his, for a second, where somebody, from 300km + away, might dropped a few bombes of 'hello' or 'wattup!'. Hell his gonna get his. Really.

Malvin -- Hehe, the glue that keeps the mongering alive. Tell that to his 'esmi' and he might chuckle a couple of super spurts. Eh super spurts? Super spurts. His babbling some notable advice to the guy at his left. Hopefully he never listens. Waddyouknow, we speak in crazy martian langauge.

Yours truly -- eh, not that great, but not that sober. Just the right kind of color to the wheel. Eh. Like eh is the center of the world. Thanks to Matador and Redhorse, the night might as well stay perpetual.

My Much Ado About Nothing

Can somebody explain to me that settling for a bottle(1; uno; isa) of smb light is not really a man's thing. But here I am, my lazy keystrokes, inspired by the singularity of the taste of sparkli-ness of a 5% alcohol/volume of a drink(hardly a drink). But hell, the hard humm of a downloaded Rock Ballads of 2009, playing freakishly good in my speakers. It couldn't get any better than this. Believe me.

A few ticks before, I was asking my self what to do to kill time. Poetry or this blog. I've written poetry before with the disillusionment that Poe's spirit is drunk retiring at the tips of my fingertips. Shame. So I settled with my freestyle mumblings in the blogger, knowing nobody's going to ever lay eyes on this bored pages anyway. But it feels good, really, the smb light bubbling down my throat and a song entitled: "Ready when you are", by a band thousands of miles from where I am. So good I am continuing typing, right? Right.

Before these rock ballads, I was listening to the beat of the artistry of Eminem. Got my head banging with the sound paintings of this now very sober artist. "Love the way you lie" keeps playing in my head minutes after, and Rihanna could not get any louder. I give the album a 9.5 out of 10(the highest so far in my imaginary review chart).

Ah. The bottle's out, and the feeling before fleeted away. Might as well finish this post. Adios.

GMG vs. GGM

Bishop Fulton Sheen perhaps the Ernest Hemingway of the Evangelical world since St. Albert(the orator), was mummified in his countless bestsellers(if there one be in the church's catechumen list), rolls of movie films, and the rewarding mp3 clips; all can be found in bishopfultonsheen.com.

I came accross an audio clip yesterday about his lecture of the 'Meaning of Life', an essential teaching that maybe, just maybe the thing that I needed the most.

He tells in his high pitch brusque voice about the story of two different individuals waking up in the morning, one joyfully muttering "Good Morning God!" and the other grudgingly "Good God Morning!". He slowly explained how the latter is an expression of someone wanting a meaning to life and the other having found the meaning of life. Continuing he excitedly share how a certain old lady tried to commit suicide and he, being the kind bishop that he was, begged her to postpone 'it' for nine days. With fulton-nesque way he detailed how he prayed for the old lady like he never did before, praying that she may found her meaning of life. The Good God listened and the postponement became permanent.

At about this time, I fell asleep. The following morning I took up an exam and failed. Previously I would ran amok and tell everyone it is the end times. But not today. I suddenly found the meaning of my life. Bigger than certificates, more important than achievements.

Tomorrow when I wake up, I'd pray joyfully, "Good Morning God", and not "Good God Morning" like what I had been doing. Tomorrow I'd wake up with more to my life than I had ever looked before. Beside me, my awesome wife, and my two wonderful daughters and you bet, there's no better way to wake up my morning with. GMG!

the day after. Friggin hangover.

I swear, I am never gonna drink again. Or get drunk for that matter. Deep inside this promise will stand for about a couple of days then will be forgotten as soon as that bottle of Red Horse is opened.

The nagging headache that keeps slapping this huge stubborn skull of mine is almost unbearable that I am prompted to say short novenas at 6 in the morning. At 6 in the morning. 6! Get that?

Ah. Now I officially hate these drinking sessions.

For the past few days, I am building an aspect of myself that I think will really help well in whatever I do later. The aspect of stoicism, discipline and behaviorism. As cheezy as it sounds, I kinda bought into the whole thing. But last night every bit of discipline went crashing out of the window. I went from a well mannered zebra to a very very unruly chimpanzee. Sad.

What I really hate in getting drunk, aside from the hangover, is the memory that you could have said something the night before that you might regret the day after.

From now on, I am never, never getting drunk again.(At least for now). Asan na yung kape?

NBA 2010 finals final.

I just had my heart stitched up on its place watching the final 6 brutally effing minutes of the finals between the purple and gold(lakers) and greeeeenn(boston). Well i was rooting for and with two thirds of the basketball junkies in this hardcourt crazed side of the world, the lakers no less.

And here's how it went.

Bryant who was supposed to go for 40 friggin' points suddenly succumbed to his dislocated finger, and shot an awful 6 out of 24. His offense was such that it made me sick having him on such lofty heights in my all time list. Every brick that he made, made me squirm with anguish and fear. Well what an awful time to have an off night. On the other hand, he negated his shooting masterpiece-less with other things, like cleaning the glass like a madman(15 rbs) and making clutch(expected) late in the game. In terms of deserving a ticket for a theater seat with The Great One, he has, in my opinion, a couple of championships to prove his worth. For now, he's a row behind MJ.

Gasol was again, brilliant on the home floor. Going for 19 and 18, and displaying some tenacious plays down the stretch that would have those who first labeled him 'soft' look like crybabies. I think he came close to taking home that Bill Russel trophy.

But the real story of the game, aside from the glowing evidence(or the lack thereof - C's side) of rebounding, is Ron Artest, who had a roller coaster ride from being a hero to goat to hero to goat again and finally the long arm of luck fell to hero. His postgame interviews are Oscar worthy, and me being a fan of the lakers, am so happy for a dude who journeyed through teams in the nba, initiated some of the most notorious misconduct on the court to the ultra cool character of the game to end all games.

Finally the greens should never be ashamed of themselves. They over achieved this post season, beating the dwade and the heat, the overhyped lebron and the cavs, and finally the then conference champions dwight and the magic.

There's so much to write about not just the game but the whole 2010 success season for the nba, but excitement took the best of me. For now, i'll settle with kobe and fish winning their fifth title.