the zeppelin of burning dreams

Things I'm doing:

- fixing the drivers for my battered cpu. And I thought the 'board was my biggest problem.
- waiting for the reports of my psych groupfellows to arrive in my email, so I could strategize the proper terrorization aspect of the report due tomorrow.
- reading Salvador Araneta's "America's Double-Cross" for my political science class.
- brooding
- eating macaroni

---

Its funny how people rely on the mainstream for the most basic of needs with the pure exceptions of feeding and waste (although the fact that McDonald's and Monterey are multinational conglomerates that provide the citizenry of the world with approximately 1/6 of the consumables in the now-skewed food chain can revise my statement) these days. The best books are those bundled up in stacks and shuttled of to the mainstream bookstores of the metro, and the best music comes from bands backed up by international record labels with enough money in their pocketbooks to buy out Antarctica. We're looking at economic upheaval here, folks, and the big guys up there (no gods live in the world of business permanently; if life were viewable as stocks, one could say that good old Lucifer would be holding majority of the cards on the table, with Buddha trying to buy him out, and a two faced god of Islam and Christianity bickering on which shares to buy for how much) won't be taking no for an answer. Its war, and there are no concentration camps here; you either go with the flow or ride the lightning.

I could very well say that I'm apalled, but then aren't we all? We're victims of our own doings and when we view ourselves, its like a little boy seeing a stray kitten on the road, stopping to pet the poor little thing on the head, murmur some words of affection and dismay, mingled with emotions of sympathy, but we all know in the end that mommy won't want little Boyong (Bobby, for you international non-Filipino folks) bringing home a cat that could very well have been the next side dish in a Chinese restaurant selling pork buns. No racism intended, but if you're hurt either because you're a vegetarian or you're Chinese, then good.

So I'm rambling on, I don't have a point, because for all that crap I just sprouted, I'm probably saying that we're in deep shit but we can't do anything about it because were in a hole and we have to crap as a natural action of living. Who says you can't have your cake and eat it too? We've been doing that for years now! Change cake with shit, and you've got the picture crystal clear.

Am I being logical? Mabye not, but then logic isn't the most important factor of living. Hell, logic got us into this mess in the first place. Logic dictates that we must control our environments, and maximize it for our advantage. For most people, the environments happen to be bigwigs, tycoons of several industries, and hell, they've managed it quite well. They're the ones maximizing all this shit. Listen, there's a pot of candy up at the rim of the hole we're in, and these assholes climb up all the shit and people, and they eat the candy, shitting more sweetened syrupy crap down to the lower guys. Maybe its not that black-and-white, but it sums up the picture of resource management. And that's logic working for you, dudes. Logic is what makes us human beings special, above all the other animals. The thing is, we didn't get rid of our other qualities that make us equal to the other creatures; we're canine, we have an advanced brain that is innately led by instinct, and we have a developed sensation of pride. Hah. The ultimate being.

i'm not exactly a bastard, but i am an asshole.

i've been lacking in exercise the past week. must make up for it.

"I Am A Cat" by Soseki Natsume isn't exactly the exhilirating read i expected it to be. a more imaginative and hilarious Charles Dickens. but dickens is so proper. it troubles me.

i lambasted the crowd during my teaching / reporting stint. yay me.

my sister thinks i take myself too seriously. i think so too. this makes me egotistic. but most people find me nice. is niceness a quality of egotistic people? i guess. i'm a living walking breathing half-human case.

i didn't win the palanca. not that i expected to win. but it would've been nice. gelo won again. and nat's boyfriend, rosmon. dean francis alfar won in the one act play and futuristic short story. i think black hole would have had a better chance if i entered it in futuristic short story, but then i'd be using the situation to my advantage. i want my stories to make it on their own. so i might never win, since i'm a deviant writer. oh well.

have you guys ever seen Kazu Kibuishi's wonderful webcomics? head over to BoltCity to check them out. Copper's one of the most fantastic reads i've seen.

man. i think i'm starting to get the idea of this research thing.

i did beej a misdeed, and i hope he didn't notice it, and even if he did, i hope he forgives me it.

some of my friends are irritating me right now. and they're not even here. argh.

my room smells of cat.

i'm rambling.

i'm a die-hard yoko kanno fan. cowboy bebop's a good enough starting point for any of the music she's arranged.

i missed razorback, loquy, and DRT last night. it was 150 clams to get in, as opposed to the 250 i previously expected it to be. dammit. i'm not missing pinikpikan (and anna dinglasan) on monday. i swear it.

ielgrab has been bothering me. terribly.

i think too much.

i'm sleepy.

battle realms is evil. it keeps you up all night. (yeah, i just recently played the damnable game, so forget your comments. i don't go with the bandwagon most of the time. i'm either early, late, or i miss the bus by a mile.)

i badly need unmentionable things. most people would get this.

netcafes have been giving me the haven that starbucks has been giving bruce. is this a sign of changing personalities, evolving characteristics, or am i reading too much in the thin guy / fat guy connection the dude and i share?

if people could understand obscure humor, i'd be a hit comedian.

that's it. i'm out of thoughts. kill me, McDonalds. hey, filipino folks. wendy's hamburgers are better value for your 72.75 pesos. the small fries is almost as big as the McDonalds large fries. And the burgers actually have veggies.

There were PETA plays this afternoon at SM Centerpoint cinema 1. 200 clams, and I couldn't even get in because I didn't have the cash to buy a ticket. Dammit. And the movies that have been showing recently are terrible. The things I would do for another "Eternal Sunshine on the Spotless Mind" or even another sci-fi rip off (the last one I saw was "The Time Machine" and I didn't think it was as bad as the art critics made it out to be) would surprise a lot of people.

It's not just the movies. Even the bookstores have bowed to popular authors. The shelves abound with Paulo Coehlo, John Grisham, Nicholas Sparks, Anne Rice. Books with very little (real) essence. What's my beef with these authors? They cater to the society of readers that live up to the tradition of today's fast-paced lifestyles. They live life on the fast lane, so their attention span is sacrificed by a whole lightyear. Most of the time, they look for raw entertainment. There has to be a protagonist they can easily identify, the twists must easily be seen, the language must be clear cut and honest. Sheesh. Where's the honor in writing a story?

Needless to say, I have become extremely hard to please when it comes to modes of entertainment, especially in books. I long for the intelligent paths of the minds of Murakami and deLillo, the linguistic finesse of Ondaatje and . . . . well, Ondaatje's hard to compare to any other writer, language-wise. I will ravage shelves for the intellectual near-fantastical fun of Gaiman, Gaardner (Gaiman is serious. Read murder mysteries and prove me otherwise). I wish to feed myself with more Tolkien-like fantasy (which does not include any of the post-mortem publications proliferated by his son for commercial profit), more raw POWER behind words.

Alas, as hinted before by my lack of funds to procure a ticket for the PETA, my wallet was not up to the monetary challenge imposed by the books of National Bookstore; my wish list grows heavy, with "The Crazed" by Ha Jin, "The Solitaire Mystery" by Jostein (dyos-teen) Gaardner, any book (if I could find one) by Salman Rushdie, and even "The Elephant Vanishes" by Haruki Murakami, although his "South of the Border, West of the Sun" is really my target, as well as Don deLillo's "Underworld" again, if I could find a copy. My heart sank as I browsed through National. Add "Life of Pi" to that list.

Then I managed my way (discovered would be a better word) to the Centerpoint Booksale. In the past, that store has rescued me time and again, what with the memorable "Enchantress from the Stars" being found within its den of used books. And voila. For one hundred ten pesos, I found "Corelli's Mandolin."

Yes, the very book where that Nicholas Cage movie was based on. And damn. Was it a find. Ever since Cholo Goitia showed me one of Louis de Bernieres' books, I had been fascinated by the eccentric writing style. Shortly after my introduction to the author, I went and bought myself a copy of "Senor Vivo and the Coca Lord" and I had a blast. De Bernieres has an impeccable talent to ramble like a drunkard but catch your attention while entertaining you and finally landing a low blow that you weren't expecting while keeping your mind distracted. Hell, I'd prefer a good de Bernieres book to an Ian McEwan novel any day. McEwan gives you a picture of how normal life can go astray. De Bernieres screws up that life for you and keeps on screwing it till it pops a cherry and everybody's happier for having been through the demented mind of the author.

The fact that "Corelli's Mandolin" is an even rarer find here in the Philippines makes my buy all the more fantastic.

For the longest time, it has been my hardest endeavor to illustrate the world of a serious (trained or untrained) musician to the uninitiated listener; the nuances of a melodic chord progression, thrills of a magnificently executed 64 note progression through six different scales ending with a high-pitched vibratto for a virtuoso performer (i think louie would agree with me on this, no?), or the collective technicality of a collection of musicians working together in a piece that transcends all genres of music; the technicality of such an endeavor, how each and every musician delivers his or her piece with militaristic precision (symmetry is not abhorred in the art, it is present and consistent; the symmetrical order is lacking only in the artist's life) led by a path of notes set on paper, a technicality that could almost certainly only be enjoyed by the trained musician which the listener tends to attribute to flights of fancy. This lassitude of the common man to music and musicians is what I have long tried to mend, with very little success.

And then along comes Louis de Bernieres with a sparkling section in "Corelli's Mandolin;"

She watched wonderingly as the fingers of his left hand crawled like a powerful and menacing spider up and down the diapason. She saw the tendons moving and rippling beneath the skin, and then she saw that a symphony of expressions was passing over his face; at times serene, at times suddenly furious, occasionally smiling, from time to time stern and dictatorial, and then coaxing and gentle. Transfixed by this, she realised suddenly that there was something about music that had never been revealed to her before: it was not merely the production of sweet sound; it was, to those who understood it, an emotional and intellectual odyssey.

The sheer genius of it.

This is what fascinates me about Dream Theatre and Liquid Tension Experiment, even though DT's vocalist teeters on the edge of annoying, the technicality is still there; this is what makes me prefer X-Japan and Dir en Grey over the likes of L'Arc-en-Ciel, where the latter's music speaks to the heart, but seldom to the intellectual musical side of the character; this is why the Gypsy Kings and Bela Fleck and the Fleckstones have my sheer admiration; technical music.

Music is a cataclysmic movement of humanity. Not something that is meant to be enjoyed as mere trifle.

Feel the tremors.