the zeppelin of burning dreams

good lord. i went crazy going over the sites of local comic artists. i'd like to think i'm a little bit smarter after absorbing the words and works of gerry alanguilan, arnold arre (who isn't exactly as sucky as i initially thought him to be), edgar tadeo, as well as checking out Alamat Comics just for the hell of it.

i think, maybe if i tried submitting my works to some of these comic people, maybe they'd get me as a writer? what? a gaiman in the making?

how i wish. sheesh. can't even get "three years" to finish right.

and once again i curse bruce for being a motherfucking slack-assed tamad excuse for a comic artist.

yeah, wise guy. you hear me? you're not my deep heaven penciller any longer. i'm demoting you to inker and having obbie do all the pencil works. you'll have more fun spending more and more cash just to get the proper pens to ink the pencils juuuuuust right.

how's that bite ya? eh? jackass.

andijustfinishedwatchingxcaliburonaxnandbythegodsitwasjustoneoft
hedumbestshowsonearthimeanlistentothedialogueandwatchthecrapp
ycgeffectsohmygoditlookslikesomethingstraightoutfromoneofthosecgs
equencesinsyphonfiltergodhowiwishtodestroythewriterandcreatoroft
hatstupidseries.

ineedtowriteican'twriteineedtowritepleasehelpmewriteiwanttowriteb
utican'tforsomereasonandsomyskillsmightmeanderawayfrommeandiju
stdontwantthattohappen.

i'mblabberingaren'ti?

EDIT: yes, xcalibur doesn't have an e. and i fixed that earth thing. be happy. as for the triple god. well. can't do anything about that.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Ninth Level of Hell - Cocytus!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	High
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Extreme

Take the Dante's Inferno Test

Disorder	Rating
Paranoid:	Very High
Schizoid:	Low
Schizotypal:	High
Antisocial:	Low
Borderline:	Very High
Histrionic:	High
Narcissistic:	High
Avoidant:	High
Dependent:	High
Obsessive-Compulsive:	High
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! --

Your wings are BROKEN and tattered. You are
an angelic spirit who has fallen from grace for
one reason or another - possibly, you made one
tragic mistake that cost you everything. Or
maybe you were blamed for a crime you didn't
commit. In any case, you are faithless and
joyless. You find no happiness, love, or
acceptance in your love or in yourself. Most
days are a burden and you wonder when the
hurting will end. Sweet, beautiful and
sorrowful, you paint a tragic and touching
picture. You are the one that few understand.
Those that do know you are likely to love you
deeply and wish that they could do something to
ease your pain. You are constantly living in
memories of better times and a better world.
You are hard on yourself and self-critical or
self-loathing. Feeling rejected and unloved,
you are sensitive, caring, deep, and despite
your tainted nature, your soul is
breathtakingly beautiful.

Image is a painting by Natalya Nesterova,
source:ca80.lehman.cuny.edu/.../
images/fallen_angel.jpg


*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla






Your element is Air. You are an artistic person
with a unique sense of style. You are
intelligent; although prone to wonder in
thought which, prevents you from paying full
attention to most things, constantly active and
most likely like to sing. Constantly moving the
air is a force of nature. One moment you can be
a breeze the next a tornado.


What's your element
brought to you by Quizilla



You are a Saxophone! You're smooth talking, &
mello. Play on!


What instrument are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Medieval Weapon Do You Fight With? Take the quiz!

damn you lyn. four fuggin hours. and the green wall. what the hell was that?!

for those of you who fancy themselves to be gifted with patience a mile long and love puzzle games, check this out:

http://server-admin.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/motas/mystery/

and i swear to you. you won't be sleeping for a while.

EDIT may 7, 4:45am: i have feeneeshed eet! i have feeneeshed eet! i am amayzeeng! i have feeneeshed eet!

*runs around hitting things, like his dog*

i have this fascination for beautiful things. almost a gay-like fascination, except that i tend to go after women rather than men. even in los tribulacciones de amor i find myself going after women with a certain spark of beauty, both on the mould and in the filling. and it extends to all aspects of my life. my hair is almost hermetically arranged in such a way that it often looks good, although most of the time those strands of little somethings tend to stick out like a beautiful pineapple arrangement. my mobile phone fascination starts and ends with presentable fashion templates. i also enjoy eila's writing, which could be the most pristine i've seen in ages. i enjoy bruce's comic art because of his obsessive fascination for clean cut lines and beautiful figures.

my life revolves around beauty. and it worries me for some reason.

I'm an obssesive-compulsive when it comes to the things I like. I don't get addicted to too many things, but the things I'm interested in I can really go on for ages about. Like writing theories and philosophies, or conventional and classical philosophy. And i play the bass and ethnic guitars like an asshole, but I can probably make a paper on music theory and guitar structure that would rock even Ramon Jacinto's world (don't quote me on that).

Now, GeneShaft, however.

GeneShaft is an anime (dated some years ago) that borders on science fiction and chauvinism, with a little detour through the realms of fatalism. Science fiction in the sense that the story takes place in the distant future (21XX) where a very cyberpunk (no i'm not talking linkin fuckin park here. more of william gibson and neal stephenson and isaac asimov) generation of humanity could very well have lost all but a dwindling sense of family and kinship. Why, exactly? Genetic engineering had evolved into such an advanced branch of knowledge that the very "skills" and genotype / gene color of a person are determined during the process of the fetus' development. Though this would normally be a highly ideal state of things, the situations comes with a whole gamut of ups and downs springing from the very effects of genetic engineering itself. Humans have, in a way, evolved from their 21st century predecessors thanks to gene manipulation; as stated early on in the series, not every human being is born with the same set of genes, thereby gifting each person with specific skills (the snow queen, mir lotus, for instance is gifted with the highest set of skills; sergei sneak has cells which replicate themselves; the possiblities of genetic makeups is endless). However, this utopian schema controls all aspect of each and every individual, down to the last double-helix; siblings have become rare, since any kind of attatchment to anybody or anything is considered to be counter-productive (emotions have come to play second fiddle to genetic intellect; you are given a specific set of skills for one purpose, and anything that diverts you from that purpose is counter-productive)..

When viewed from certain perspectives, some of the themes established throughout the series could be quite hilarious. Consider, for instance, the absurd male=female ratio of 1:4 (the reasoning behind this is vague). Male gender types are given dominant roles in the militaristic society of GeneShaft. Hiroto Amagiwa is the captain of the Bilkis, Mario Musicanova is its sub-captain. Sergei is a lord and a general, and Jean is the head of a fleet. Can you say chauvie pig? Perhaps. However, this is balanced by the fact that the story actually revolves around the female stars of the show (and there are lots of em, people. this show knows fanservice down to the last letter). Not that the males are left out in the story; they happen to be the turning points of GeneShaft's tale. You could say that the writer knew what he was doing when he came up with the show's script. Watch the show, and you can feel the control and mastery of the story (it's nearly airtight!).

So why am I going on and on about GeneShaft? Because of the mastery of the show's execution. Thirteen episodes, and given that limited amount of airtime to work with, the personalities of ten characters were fully developed; a straightforward story was seamlessly told (except for that last episode, but oversights are forgivable, in these circumstances); the action sequences and quality of animation were nearly perfect; and all that fanservice! WOO!

Another thing that caught my eye about GeneShaft (or my ear) would have to be the soundtrack. It was like reliving "The Legend of Black Heaven" all over again, listening to the manically overdriven crying guitars and insane wahwahs (I'm a wahwah person. sue me). Special mention to the battle sequences and the ending theme, Broken Camera. For some reason not that many people enjoyed the ending credits due to what other reviewers have stated as "that almost Kurt Cobainish wannabe whine" which I think is unfair (but which i shall not comment about on this post since a discussion on rock music theory would totally ruin the mood).

And finally, the last thing I love about the show are the character names.



check out the names and related art at my geneshaft album.

Don’t fight the tide.
That was the last thing
I heard the sailors shout.

So, no, I don’t want to swim
together with you.
Is that so bad?
Will you persecute me
every nautical mile you go,
cry expletives in imitation of
bullhorns and foghorns in the
placid dusk ether
though your words
break up on contact,
lost –
in the blinding sea or deafening fog.
And all for what, exactly?
Just because
you were alone?
Find no floaters here.
Hitchhikers do not occupy bodies of water.
Its vast ocean
as far as eyes can wander;
meander; I wonder
if maybe that speck
coloring the current,
is you, or me, in retrospect.

Don’t swim too far
says the lifeguard.

Don’t forget to breathe.

Say hi to the sailors for me.

And whatever you do
don’t fight the tide.

just one thing to say right now.

IF YOU CAN'T STAND STRONG COMMENTS ON YOUR MORE SENSATIONAL POSTS, THEN DON'T LET PEOPLE COMMENT. FUCKING CUNTS.

dammit. i'm not the only opinionated garrolous junkie out here who can deconstruct each and every thought you have listed down on the page. i'm actually a mild critic, as good deconstruction critics go. if you don't believe me, go look for maddox on the net, and you'll see.

i mean, if you post something tackling a sensitive topic, you have to remember some things; people are bound to react. you can't really control how they do. and most of your ideas (if not all - depends truly on who's reading your post) could be erroneous in more ways than six. sometimes, your opinions aren't exactly clean: if you come across an obsessive compulsive moralist / analyst, your idea is dead. you have to keep your mind open to other people's opinions, and analyze their opinions in RELATION TO WHAT YOU HAVE WRITTEN AND NOT WITH WHAT YOUR IDEAS ARE. remember, a good critic breaks apart the content, and not the author. anybody who thinks otherwise is an ass. period. and finally, try to see the topic from the critic's point of view. you may not have liked lord of the rings in film, but if you look at it from peter jackson's point of view, he's a war / skirmish fanatic, so its understandable and forgivable. PUH-LEEZE. if you can't even take criticism and reply to it as intelligently as possible, then DONT FUCKING LET EM POST. SHI-YEET. DONT FUCKING ERASE THE COMMENTARY OR BLOCK THE PERSON WITHOUT GIVING HIM/HER YOUR REASON BECAUSE THAT'S JUST PLAIN FUCKING STUPID AND DISRESPECTFUL AND DUMB.


dammit.

just finished adjusting the neck tension / bridge height of the ibanez. the strings were beginning to feel a bit rubbery, so there. tightened the damn action. not that i've been using it much recently. once or twice, for practice i guess? i must remember to get in at least thirty minutes' worth of exercises per day, lest i get rustier than i already am. but the action's real impressive now, just a little bit more than two fingernails' worth of height from the 12th fret marker, and hardly any fret buzz. i find it amusing that i actually stumbled upon that setup quite by accident.

setting my body clock straight. been sleeping at eleven-ish the past few days, waking up at five thirty-ish, which is actually quite a feat for me. despite my dislike for working when humans are around, i need to do this. this is gearing up for something big in the future.

"sleepwalking awake" is turning out to be more than the headache of an editing job than i first thought it would be. when i came up with that story, it was supposed to be from the point of view of a person whose mind was gravitating in between a rude awakening and a lifetime of dreaming, but then, that plot turned out to be disastrous; tons of conflicting imagery, plot situations that lead off to nowhere, and strange out of place paragraphs. it still remains one of my favorite stories to date, but it needs a little bit more makeup before its grand debut.

oh yeah, before i forget. for those of you who're reading this and live in the metro manila area, my band, MHS, is going for an audition gig at Freedom Bar (Anonas Boulevard) this saturday, May 15. the gig's at NINE pm, so if you'd like to pass by and give us a hell yeah, please do so, by all means. :D we need all the support we can get.



edit, thursday: yeah, i changed the time of the gig from ten to nine pm. (actually the freedom bar people changed the time. damn.) so ayun. its at nine pm, freedom bar, anonas boulevard. i think there's a prod after our audition, featuring makiling ensemble, silent sanctuary, nityalila, and paramita (i'm not sure about paramita. i forget the other band)

strange. i dreamt about cibo matto last night.

strange also that i found that my mind's rendition of miya hatori is some cute nihonnese chic.

even stranger is that i would wander around a mall like glorietta in house clothes and rubber slippers, looking for a cibo matto poster so i could get their cd from tower records at greenbelt for free.

but the strangest thing of all is that now, i'm hankering for a cd of theirs. for real.

and so i take the "Antione de Saint-Expury's The Little Prince Test." you may wonder, however, why i even care to jabber on about it rather than just post it like so:



You are the fox.


Saint Exupery's 'The Little Prince' Quiz.
brought to you by Quizilla


and lo. perhaps one of the most comprehensive online tests i have seen made. the questions do not border on instinctive reading and mouse clicking, they involve what i would like to call quality reading time.

for someone visually impaired such as i (and steadily getting worse, apparently) quality recreational reading would almost be taboo; however, i am a self-proclaimed paragon of reading. as a child i would rip through a book with the speed of a lexus, reading like a madman til the wee hours of the morning. and even now, i continue to keep an almost impeccable record of reading; i have an impressive miniature library of recent works of literature ranging from the noise giant Don deLillo to the obsessive-depressive Irvine Welsh, to the flightful-fanciful Haruki Murakami. I have trudged my way through the infallible logic and metaphysics of CS Lewis, wandered through Tolkien's middle earth from its creation to Adouin's abrupt adventure, laughed at JK Rowling's predictable plots, immersed myself in the beauty of Michael Ondaatje's language, and gotten mystified with the quiet gothisism of Melinda Haynes. i have what most people would refer to as an impressive literary vocabulary.

yet upon going over de Saint-Expury's La Petit Prince, i could honestly say that never have i come across a book with such honesty and quietude. the scope of the tale's magnitude in story and language is so intense that harsh, garbled imagery could not even insert itself anywhere in the book's pages, yet the blinding gravity of its words almost leaps out at you; lambent, ever so cautious with the little prince's language, the slightest of situations coloring the landscape of the story with salient waves of the ethereal, blanketing the harshness of reality with colorful flights of fancy; it IS a boa constrictor digesting an elephant, and that, in itself is beauty enough.

the story makes you stop and think. and i must congratulate the online quiz's author, for it achieves the very same effect. these are intelligent questions you go over in the litte prince test, questions that reflect how you think in this life and given certain situations, how you compromise. the simplistic questions mask a deeper, more touching question that you yourself cannot suffer yourself to answer, thus you eagerly await the result of your test in order to assuade your quivering ego, in order to sate your id. i am not what i feared myself to be, i am wholly something else and i need not be afraid! while knowing, in the long run, that you are fooling yourself. truth is often veiled by the senses for the very fact that the whole truth cannot be swallowed by the human psyche in one blow. the process begins with birth and ends only in death. do not fool yourself. your character is not stable, nor will it be stable with actions that you assume stabilize yourself. but don't fret. you are gifted with things that ensure you survive these insecurities, these realities.

take the test with a quiet mind. silence your surroundings, mute the stereo. darken the lights. let the speakers of your brain echo in the rumbling and unquestionable philosophies of the little prince. and listen

slip up

clapping

sparse

surfing

i'm home.

recent movies that i watched and liked:
- the new peter pan movie (hook flies, and he likes it!)
- adaptation (obvious reasons)
- finding nemo (my niece has been watching this nonstop. i love the turtles)
- orange county (the last part, anyway)
- punch-drunk love (fantastic movie. slow start, but it picks up from there to an unexpected yet eagerly awaited end)

recent books i've read / am reading
- If on a Winter's Night a Traveler / Italo Calvino
- some book by Don DeLillo (forgot the title)
- The God of Small Things / Arundhati Roy (good writing, just not my kind of story)
- Hard Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World / Haruki Murakami (my bible)

recent media
- Drifting Classroom (a post-apocalyptic manga that i'm enjoying immensely)
- Angel's Share (Tsutomu Takahashi with a comedic edge)

recent photo:

Tadeo broke out the bread. The little hut was nearly dark, with the torches burning out even before the meeting began. "We are all gathered here to-day to reaffirm the faith which shall lead us to eternal salvation. We are here to protest the increasing pressure the Catholics are exerting against us so-called pagans."

The circle broke out in a single murmur, "Agreed."

"They call us pagans. But we, the worshippers of the Mother and the spirits, are the true heirs of this planet these religious hard working humans are abusing and destroying for their own gain. We are the ones working for the glorious rebirth of this planet. And they call us pagans." The words left his mouth with a dribble of spit. The sand at his feet scattered as he moved.

More murmurs. Rivulets of sweat smeared the dark flesh of the gathering, the stench of humanity thick in the heavy atmosphere. A young woman was quaking in one corner of the semicircle, though she was wrapped in a thick blanket. Her eyes showed the fear the goats of the mountains of Buenos Aires have for el chupacabra.

"Woman." Tadeo had in his hands a dirtied dagger. "Your blood shall be the wine that we shall feast upon. You shall be the sacrificial lamb."

The woman nodded, and haltingly got up, allowing the blanket to fall and reveal her naked body. Tadeo waited until she was three paces away from him, then leapt up and enclosed her stomach around the cold blade. Her body heaved, coughs and gasps caught in her throat, blood lacing each spit that escaped her lips. Tadeo wrapped his arms around her and kissed her slowly in the mouth, whispering comforting litanies in her ear. "This is for the future."

Her scream was cut short when he dragged the knife up through her stomach, through the valley of her breasts, stopping shortly where the bone became too tough to cut.

He distributed the bread. "Soak the wheat in her blood, then eat it. It shall lead you to true enlightenment." Nobody noticed the roach that crawled out from the open wound.

Hours later, Tadeo walked out of the hut with blood smeared all over him. Everybody who had been inside had been killed, with their throats removed or their stomachs emptied. Each and every organ that had been extracted, he carefully placed in the dead woman's body. This he buried in the waning moonlight.

Nobody saw him as horns sprouted from his head and his naked rump sprouted a tail.

Thus ended evening, and then it was morning.

"North of the national capital region, past the man-made bay of bataan, up the rugged mountains of the Philippine Cordillera mountains, was a little village of spirits. These spirits looked like everyday people, and their village was your everyday village that was sleepy in the mornings and afternoons, and dangerous at the dead of night. If you were lucky, you could chance upon a spirit in its true form at the small expanse of time between dawn and morning. If you were unlucky it would be feeding."

"Sometimes the spirits would wander out of their village for sustenance. This wanderlust would invade a pick of the lot during a night when the moon is at its darkest."

"It is said that the first meal of the said spirit rots instantly. The nutrients are then siphoned out with an absorbent material. A sponge would do nicely in most situations, however, most spirits use bread for greatest efficiency. The blood of the first victim incapacitates any living thing that ingests it."

"Now a team of special detectives are making their way into the little Cordillera village, with the hopes of clearing the mystery of these supernatural creatures. Are they indeed hostile, as folklore and hearsay insist they are? Or maybe these creatures are just as misunderstood as the next person?"

"All this and more in 'Eyewitness special assignment: Supernatural Detectives' only here where you belong! Back to you Arnold."

ksssssschhhhhhh

and here's the tiger v2.0 gracing my weblog. what do you guys think of it?

commercialism, here i come. those sites should pay me for advertising. :D

First, i want you to go to my profile and check out the number of people on my "friends of" list.

then i want you to go to the link called "vagrants" which is the page for the people on my "friends of" list.

notice anything strange?

fsckfsckfsckfsckfsckfsckfsckfsck

still can't write. still don't know why that dude / dudette appears in the vagrants list. bass skills are waning (i just know it). and to top it all off. . . . . . .

i am all fucked up.

hate me.