tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36526985556825941952024-03-14T19:48:59.319+08:00A Certain CallousnessOf which this boy is said to be possessed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-38326821519268900512012-07-23T21:40:00.000+08:002012-07-23T21:40:07.156+08:00Journal Entry No. 72312<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSrMXXZjK48poxMPCjNJeNgNZcnpcjB82Lmh9YcdWVfAS5PDPIJBbjOKOKv54JGdqnkEsYtE_xq8demyjoOp-z1o-CUl4F6qC90tqHgJRoXZJ9XbeYXrRLWia8VSJ6nvPWuYVtRD-AZnc/s1600/2012-07-23+21.30.27.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSrMXXZjK48poxMPCjNJeNgNZcnpcjB82Lmh9YcdWVfAS5PDPIJBbjOKOKv54JGdqnkEsYtE_xq8demyjoOp-z1o-CUl4F6qC90tqHgJRoXZJ9XbeYXrRLWia8VSJ6nvPWuYVtRD-AZnc/s640/2012-07-23+21.30.27.png" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-77736347604107402862012-07-15T19:28:00.001+08:002012-07-15T19:35:44.916+08:00Journal Entry No. 71512I'd like to share some songs that I've been listening to lately.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dxytyRy-O1k" width="640"></iframe>
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Linkin Park's new single is great, it's still their sound but updated with a bit of pop dance. Very catchy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/r0bS-YnLf4s" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ArZbbNaeXtk" width="480"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Crave You by Flight Facilities (feat. Giselle)* and Universe by Kids of 88. I discovered these two tracks from watching Teen Wolf, the MTV series. It is almost a complete waste of time. The plot is thin and the characters juvenile. The only consolation is getting to watch Stiles, the sidekick, be completely adorable.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtr0lzwK0muJzPI2F3LD4Y8z5zoqhNS9PyZQmNxmosNCKBqK9-EO7rGeWzmxh2bPzO2qsoutiGFiTFN6iROuOSlqbuoQOmywJ5k65Baaj_BA9aMH8HWYR8Y7bqMBlHLffFx8Nmh6GIgs/s1600/stiles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtr0lzwK0muJzPI2F3LD4Y8z5zoqhNS9PyZQmNxmosNCKBqK9-EO7rGeWzmxh2bPzO2qsoutiGFiTFN6iROuOSlqbuoQOmywJ5k65Baaj_BA9aMH8HWYR8Y7bqMBlHLffFx8Nmh6GIgs/s400/stiles.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
Lastly here is a track from Mondo, the debut album of Electric Guest. The whole album is fantastic, like the vocals on this song.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/JkhqeNM4JMU" width="640"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
*If you like it dirty, here is dubstep remix of Crave You: <a href="http://youtu.be/ZeaIvjoH1FY">http://youtu.be/ZeaIvjoH1FY</a></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-6641927544595454852012-06-25T13:34:00.000+08:002012-06-25T13:35:38.962+08:00He is our loverThe artist is a slut<br />
His body is not his when it is on stage<br />
It is the altar and the offering<br />
He is wanton and it is naked and<br />
He is naked in your face:<br />
<br />
His neck is taut<br />
His nipples are erect<br />
His hair spreads in his armpits<br />
His dick is limp against his pubes<br />
His belly heaves with desire.<br />
<br />
His face is not painted<br />
He paints with his face<br />
His eyes speak and only you know what they say<br />
For there are no words.<br />
The only language he knows:<br />
<br />
The raising of the head to receive grace<br />
The quivering of lifted fingers<br />
The rippling of sinew beneath the shoulders<br />
The stretching of the leg<br />
The curving of the feet.<br />
<br />
The artist is a slut<br />
He pleases himself with his art,<br />
Not you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.russligtas.com/2004/11/i-do-not-like-word-malandi-or-landi.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioMKKjbdGhInjjVsC1-i8uZzSc2IN2krBRayYPnwnD7LjSPHD2AAuTuVEQwGGfun2Hm6gYQHECKyTb-zRYo8_91vIpz5KVl5d0kjLRhh3Z0eh-jsYA5J6ogBa5nxl5X15hj5rDE2Q3wSk/s640/Agony+of+the+Page+TWO+small4.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-48501823352002674132012-05-27T00:14:00.000+08:002012-05-27T04:59:34.501+08:00Journal Entry No. 52712Jimmy 1.
As a single man, I compulsively imagine myself in a relationship with almost every new guy I meet. Often it is simply an idle thought, as when I hook up with a one night stand. Sometimes, when the line blurs between fubu and friendship, the speculation is more involved. Only rarely have my musings translated to action, and only tentatively at that. I can count my closest encounters to a relationship on one hand.
Which is why I know that Jimmy is special. Never have I pictured myself committed to someone as vividly as I imagine a relationship with him. I was in my house in Cebu last weeked. While doing the dishes I found myself wondering, when the time came, what the best way to tell me parents would be. Should I drop it like a bombshell, I wondered, at dinner for example, just take his hand and announce, "Ma, pa, Jimmy is my boyfriend." Or should I be more subtle, like have him around every weekend until they get it, or not. Their choice.
Whichever way, the point is, I have never been more hopeful for the future. Or more unguarded with my feelings.
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p-GWKBe-u8Q&sns=em">Music: Joe Goddard feat. Valentina - Gabriel</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-30409846322767455612012-03-24T19:08:00.000+08:002012-03-24T19:08:16.324+08:00Journal Entry No. 32412I went home to Cebu last weekend. The hard drive in my laptop needed to be replaced. It was still under warranty so I brought it to the store where I got it. It was also the perfect opportunity to see my lola. She had been sick the past month. Last I saw her, she had no strength to eat. She just lay in her bed all day. It almost broke my heart to see her so frail.
When I saw her again she was visibly better. Her eyes were bright and they crinkled as she smiled, standing in the kitchen when I walked into the house. 'Ay Andrew, you're here! I feel well because my grandson is home. I'm so happy.' I must get my cheesiness from her.
We went to see her doctors the next day. Her endocrinologist was worried that she was still losing weight. The next doctor had better news. The lung infection was still down. A few more months of antibiotics and she should be in the clear. It was almost 2pm when we finished and had lunch. She had vegetable soup and rice. I couldn't help but notice how she picked at her food. She barely finished half a portion. I told her to try and finish her rice. I ate the rest of the vegetables.
We dropped by the mall to have my laptop looked at. I left her in the car with my brother to watch her. Then we dropped by my office to have my measurements taken for the company uniform. By the time we got home we were beat. My lola went straight to her room to have a nap. I plopped down on the sofa and promptly dozed off.
I woke up to a text from my boss. She was flaming mad about something wrong in one of my accounts. It was no biggie really, but she just loves blowing things out of proportion. I came crashing down from my high. I felt doubt and self-recrimination take hold of me. I couldn't think straight. I wanted to get out of the house. I needed to get out of my head.
I told my parents I was going to meet some friends. Even though it was only 9pm I headed straight to Mango. My heart was pounding as I walked toward Doce, which was at the far end of the square. I didn't make it the first time. I turned to the right before I got to the entrance and made as if I just intended to go to the restroom, which happened to be nearby. When I got out I walked all the way back to the other side and bought a cigarette.
I took a few deep puffs to steel myself as I eyed the gay bar. It was ridiculous really. This was hardly my first time here. And it wasn't like anyone cared. Finally I stopped being a pussy and walked up to the entrance. I paid for the entrance, got my stamp, and walked in.
My high school friends didn't pop out of the other clubs to witness my public declaration of gayness. There was no jeering or hushed whispering or pointing of fingers. No one paid any attention. I breathed a sigh of relief (I didn't even notice I was holding my breath) and seated myself in the corner.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-75022539046264341752012-01-20T22:37:00.000+08:002012-01-20T22:37:08.282+08:00Journal Entry No. 12012The odd hours find me awake at the wheel making my patient way home. The insistent vaguity inside me is still there. It does not go away with the rising of the sun. It does not go to sleep like I do. It is there when I turn the eye inside away from the Sin it has just committed.<br />
<br />
The sin likes still beside me on the bed, smoking. Is it hot, the fire in hell, I wonder. It is hot in my hands when I cup his stubbly chin. It is prickly also.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='640' height='480' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/h5Jr4xIc-Zs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-62051900802991070912011-06-30T12:36:00.001+08:002011-06-30T12:43:11.874+08:00Journal Entry No. 63011A street hawker sat next to me on the ride back this morning. His hands were dirt stained and his nails untrimmed as he held his wares carelessly splayed on his lap: a wooden maria on the verge of tears and Christ crucified endlessly. His faded shirt and torn jeans were dusty on his dusty body. He was unwashed and unkempt but his soul electric had a rough edge that cut straight through all reason to my apartment.<br />
<br />
<br />
<object width="425" height="349"><param name="movie" value="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/A3XUSCEzvsw?version=3&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="https://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/A3XUSCEzvsw?version=3&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="349" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-55077540344826463862011-06-04T20:16:00.002+08:002011-06-04T20:19:13.569+08:00Journal Entry No. 60411<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">Vanilla ice cream and Yakult.<br />
<br />
Alarm wakes me at exactly 7. I turn on the tv and tuck myself snugly back under the covers. It feels good to pretend that it's six months ago; sleeping in, breakfast in bed, and modern family on the tube.<br />
<br />
At 10 my manager calls but I don,t pick up. I hop in the bath and take a quick shower. And then I text her back saying I,ll be in the office in 5.<br />
<br />
Our office assistant tells me I am red all over my face, and on my neck. She solicitously puts the back of her palm to my forehead and declares that I have a fever. It,s nothing, I say, just my morning rashes, but she,s not convinced. It might be dengue fever she stubbornly suggests, but i firmly disagree. It is only flu. And my morning rashes. To be sure she says to eat vanilla ice cream and drink Yakult.<br />
<br />
Later in the afternoon, I am chatting with a buyer. Can you believe it, I say, this girl is telling me to eat vanilla ice cream and I,ll get better.<br />
<br />
Why, she interjects, everyone knows that!<br />
<br />
Crazy people.<br />
<br />
I do as they say anyhow.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-88033117545588892042011-04-13T22:13:00.001+08:002011-10-24T10:58:13.584+08:00Journal Entry No. 41311I love pictures. Like me, they hardly ever tell the truth. Look at this picture of me. Lots of things could be farther from the truth, but I think this far enough.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For one, I don't really have a beard. All my uncles do but Mother Nature and Charles Darwin conspired to make me smooth as a baby butt with a few bristles here and there. Also, I'm not really cross eyed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
More importantly, in this picture I've bared almost everything when the naked truth is that I am back in the closet. It still feels somewhat comfortable, like I've never left, but having to watch what I say and do and the faux machismo I have to keep up with is grating.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Why the fuck do salesmen have to be so straight? Last week we had an area meeting and team building and boy you couldn't go an hour without someone bringing up the topic of sex and girls and other straight shit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The worst part is that I want so bad to be part of it. I want to be straight and unaware that almost every guy in my team is hot as hell. Or failing that, I wish I could just be cool. I wish I could be a bro and just shoot the shit with these guys.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But damn if I don't know how. I'm too quiet, too awkward, too distant, or too saddled with a boner that just won't let me be cool damn it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
God I wish I wasn't such a dork.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-54938262725325204182011-04-02T20:53:00.001+08:002011-04-02T22:07:46.111+08:00Journal Entry No. 40211Sit in the park and watch fish glide across the lagoon like iron filings tracing a magnetic field.<br />
<br />
Sit in the park in the early evening when the breeze doesn't know yet that it's summer and still pebbles the skin.<br />
<br />
Sit in the park while distant amplifiers blast disco records at each other.<br />
<br />
Sit in the park listening to a stranger beside you introduce himself and desperately attempt conversation.<br />
<br />
Sit in the park and watch lonely men, hungry men with searching eyes, play the game.<br />
<br />
<br />
Welcome to Bacolod.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-26024274639002979202011-03-10T06:48:00.000+08:002011-03-10T06:48:13.678+08:00Journal Entry No. 31011Well, yesterday was my first day of work at the new job. I got the office really fucking early. Like people 'have' to be there at 8 am, but I arrived like a quarter before. So I ended up sitting in the conference room by myself for a while. Good thing Carlie was there really early too. She handles key accounts here. First impressions; she seems really nice, a bit brusque in her movements for a girl, but I think she is a lady. A boy scout lady maybe. She chatted with me for a while about my schedule and then she turned me over to HR for my personnel orientation.<br />
<br />
The HR lady showed me some Power Point slides about the company, the org structure, the products, etc. And then the <i>coup de grace</i> - the Employee Code of Discipline. In which she read to me almost the whole handbook. It was godawful boring! There was only one section that interested me really: the one on sexual harassment. Apparently, it is considered inappropriate to ask a fellow employee about his sexual activities or preferences. There is one accounts guy who is gay. He is not loud but he is flamboyant a bit. I'll see whether anyone treats him different, or if there's any gay ribbing etc.<br />
<br />
After HR it was back to the sales office for more orientations. Berna explained the reporting system we have to use. She's one of those girls who you can say are really cutesy. You could say she is on the opposite end of the scale compared to Carlie. Funny thing is they are roommates. Ha! Anyway, there was a part of her explanation where it just got to me, how slowly she was speaking and how it was all so cutesy; plus there was a totally awesome Mario figure on her desk (and I'm not really a big fan of Mario I missed that part of my childhood but all of the sudden the guy just seemed so fucking adorable with his huge eyes) and the cuteness factor just overwhelmed me and I started giggling uncontrollably. Berna was looking at me like why the fuck was I laughing was anything she said funny? And I felt bad for her because obviously she thinks I'm laughing at her but I managed to say that Mario looked so funny and she just looked at him and back at me and I swear, if she was the type with arching eyebrows she would have arched them, but she wasn't so she didn't, we just went back to the lesson.<br />
<br />
And then there were two talks on accounting stuff which were just marginally interesting because they were things I ought to do eventually. It was a mishmash of things really, because the manager who was supposed to do the sales orientation was really busy. We decided instead to tackle all of the admin stuff first and that was it. 5 pm came around and with nothing else to do, I asked if I could go home. The manager was really apologetic for not being able to spend time with me, and then he made some comment about how I should enjoy this lack of anything to do while it lasts, and then he gave me his blessing to leave. So I left.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
You guys listen to this awesome trippy haunting remix.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-cFMn6IYhM4?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" width="640"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-14002898520728426962011-03-06T04:24:00.000+08:002011-03-06T04:24:57.686+08:00Journal Entry No. 30611I had half a pound of watermelon for lunch yesterday. Doesn't sound like much does it, but it took me almost an hour to finish. Okay, I exaggerate. This might give a better idea of what half a pound of watermelon looks like.<div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE_PjtBJYFnaJiM99DqLWgH5W8bs82vguvCSVGGPwjzFfF5FjGbDBqyq6Dxce2at73E7mxXyznq07CV7NrTAP2fd2_ncD5XoiG7Gx__GQ03CJ9MiiylqZJKOhM_nW72Ku2DsqC80Dxr8/s1600/Screenshot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHE_PjtBJYFnaJiM99DqLWgH5W8bs82vguvCSVGGPwjzFfF5FjGbDBqyq6Dxce2at73E7mxXyznq07CV7NrTAP2fd2_ncD5XoiG7Gx__GQ03CJ9MiiylqZJKOhM_nW72Ku2DsqC80Dxr8/s640/Screenshot.png" width="640" /></a></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>Oh Google, I don't know how I'm ever going to trust you again. </div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-86511438778886646182011-02-19T07:34:00.001+08:002011-02-19T09:03:47.601+08:00Journal Entry No. 21911I've been working my ass off and I didn't even notice. This is what I've been wasting my time on. Pure, old-fashioned goodness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtG8km219PcGxsqs0LvUvxAMPalNanNogk50Nmgz1GhpBw4ZaYCui9NCkB7lBVFmyArkPpUKpS9Iye5QxmboAt3rKOHlbBvQQqlqrI3LQ-3XksehUSMhMl_udb5YGKvWBc_zmSRGD-KM/s1600/pearlkinne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibtG8km219PcGxsqs0LvUvxAMPalNanNogk50Nmgz1GhpBw4ZaYCui9NCkB7lBVFmyArkPpUKpS9Iye5QxmboAt3rKOHlbBvQQqlqrI3LQ-3XksehUSMhMl_udb5YGKvWBc_zmSRGD-KM/s640/pearlkinne.jpg" width="515" /></a></div><br />
This is Miss Pearl Kinne of Detroit. "My mother used to tell me, 'A lady always wears a hat and gloves to work.'" Check out the frames she's rocking.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgux4eq3TW9bZ_SOzirnRH4PmKsPX1NZq3_d8O-L8okLslsLjTq-DvVeCUPyTExNHX4DhYozacNb1bRjN8NokkTvseUF2XSNSFtTO-5lohInLH88_dmYFg_Z7-XEwd-ZpL5U-pbX9edAYI/s1600/edpodolak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgux4eq3TW9bZ_SOzirnRH4PmKsPX1NZq3_d8O-L8okLslsLjTq-DvVeCUPyTExNHX4DhYozacNb1bRjN8NokkTvseUF2XSNSFtTO-5lohInLH88_dmYFg_Z7-XEwd-ZpL5U-pbX9edAYI/s640/edpodolak.jpg" width="486" /></a></div><br />
Ed Podolak, running back of the Kansas City Chiefs, before he grew old and a mustache to go with his age.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Found the photos on HAVI digital. Original credit: Detroit Free Press for Ms. Kinne's photo and Associated Press for Podolak.</i></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-69243962436949872722011-02-07T17:26:00.000+08:002011-02-07T17:26:59.032+08:00Journal Entry No. 20711My brother was born during a thunderstorm and he has the temper to show for it. When we were younger, he would flare up at the slightest provocation, which only encouraged us to goad him further. One time we were running around the house playing tag. Him being the smallest, he ended up being It most of the time. At some point this pissed him of so much that when we ran into the kitchen he grabbed a knife and backed me into a corner. His face was red and he had this look on his face, I thought he would stab me for sure. He was only six then.<br />
<br />
Ten years later he is still prone to outbursts. Thankfully he has given up physical violence in favor of skulking and angst, the first choice of teenagers all over the world. I, on the other hand, have renounced my role as tormentor-in-chief. God knows he has enough demons of his own, growing up in the shadow of his older siblings. Of late, I have found myself feeling more familial. It is as if adulthood has inspired a brotherly sense of obligation. Considering how absent I was in the years I was away at college these feelings are novel, even surprising.<br />
<br />
Ironically, now when I am home again and ready to provide friendship and guidance, it is he who is away for school. As such, I try my best to take advantage of the weekends when he is home. Last week I attempted to impress in him the importance of using the computer for more than just games.<br />
<br />
Sid, I told him, it's not good for you to be playing DoTA all the time. You don't even know how to keep the computer free of malware. You'll regret being so illiterate. I tell you, ten years from now, people who know how to do stuff on the computer, how to make stuff work, they'll be like the wizards and dragon riders in novels. And all the other people will be the bystanders, the peasants who get killed by dragons and stuff.<br />
<br />
To which he replied, in classic fashion: I'd rather be the dragon.<br />
<br />
Maybe this was not a very apt analogy for people who make malware (and tons of money) vs people who click on flashing links and download malware thereby unwittingly consigning their computers to be used by the former to make even more tons of money. But I thought it would make the concept more relevant to him. I was sadly mistaken.<br />
<br />
Yesterday we were in the sitting room discussing college. He had recently announced his intention to study packaging engineering. Being the supportive brother that I am, I did an online search for universities offering such a program. Being the mother that she is, my mom started suggesting other, better, fields of engineering. Or why doesn't Sid just blah blah blah.<br />
<br />
Ma, I really want to study packaging engineering, why can't you let me be?<br />
<br />
But I'm just trying to be helpful, she said.<br />
<br />
I was sorely tempted to point out that her advice had not been especially helpful in my case but that would have only come out as vindictive, and anyway the point was moot.<br />
<br />
In any case, I believe my brother will make his own decision. In that way he is like a dragon.<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>---</center><br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/3TLCkIGV2mw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/3TLCkIGV2mw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
In this track Bag Raiders have the energy of Phoenix, but darker. Not in a gloomy way but in a golden moody dusky way. The vocals are sensual; the beat compelling and dancey.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-78273925113807408702011-01-30T09:26:00.000+08:002011-01-30T09:26:37.971+08:00Journal Entry No. 13011Today marks the second week of my liberation into unemployment. Half of the time I am happy. The other half is spent feeling guilty for being unproductive. This is purely self-inflicted since my parents have so far made no comment, or even so much as implied by their actions, anything about my being home again. I didn't think it would be so hard to shut down the capitalist slave <a href="http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/mind-design/201101/is-your-brain-iphone">app in my brain</a>. Maybe I am trying too hard to be alternative and it's not the lifestyle for me. More likely I am not trying hard enough. You know things are shit when you can't tell the difference.<br />
<br />
<br />
But really I feel like I have accomplished nothing of significance. You could say I am in a state of somnolence although that wouldn't be very accurate as my mind is on overdrive. Lethargic passion if you can reconcile the two would be a good way to put it. Here is a track to illustrate what I am trying to get at:<br />
<br />
<object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/upnTg2GPgTM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube-nocookie.com/v/upnTg2GPgTM?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
At least I haven't been completely adventureless and I am glad because if there's anything worse than being unproductive, it is being counterproductive. Duh.<br />
<br />
Mission No. 1: Install Ubuntu. They make it sound like a breeze to switch and maybe they are telling the truth, but things are never easy for me and this was no different. It took me a whole day to get the spare PC in our condo running on Ubuntu, in the process carelessly locking everyone out of my sister's computer.<br />
<br />
Drew - 1, Machines - 1<br />
<br />
Mission No. 2: Say goodbye to my boys. Neil, Santiago and his interim girl Victoria, and I drove to Makati for some "authentic" Japanese food. Tucked away in a nondescript corner of Makati, on the corner of Pasong Tamo and Amorsolo streets (across Makati Cinema Square, which ironically has no cinemas) is a place called Little Tokyo. The entrance is a small fake bridge and a <i>tori</i> facing the street. Through the traditional Japanese gate is a driveway which leads to a courtyard hidden from street view. We chose the busiest (and cheapest, I think) restaurant and it wasn't bad at all. The waitresses all chorused a Japanese greeting as we entered and led us to a private room with sliding panels and a low table. Some unsolicited advice: don't order the rice toppings you can find in Japanese fast food menus, it tastes the same. Try the ramen instead but only if you're prepared to finish a ginormous bowl of it! Afterwards we checked out MCS cos I'd never been and I wanted to see the DVDs. The selection is good but I thought the hawkers, almost half of whom were trannies, too aggressive and almost scary.<br />
<br />
Drew - 0, Trannies - 1<br />
<br />
Mission No. 3: Return to Cebu. This should have been straightforward really but I did not count on both my eyes still being bright red on the day of my flight. I wasn't thinking at all really and when I checked in the woman at the counter asked me to drop by their clinic and get clearance from the doctor, a middle-aged woman who probably was kindly but was unfortunately a stickler for rules and therefore immune to my pathetic groveling. I felt like dying right then and there. But I have a very important job interview tomorrow, I said as hopelessly as I could. Tell them you need to defer it for medical reasons, that's all. Some people have no heart at all. But I am not so easily deterred. I went back to the flat to rally my spirits and come up with a plan of attack.<br />
<br />
A few hours later, armed with dark sunglasses and a different outfit, I tried to check in again. My heart was beating so fast as I walked up to a different counter and a different girl. I handed her my ticket as nonchalantly as I could. She looked at it and said to the man beside her, I have a no show on the morning flight, shall I check him in? But the man waved her on and she went on typing away. I still could not breathe. She handed me the boarding pass and smiled. Mister, can you please remove your sunglasses for a while, I need to check your eyes. HOLY SHIT. So it was back to the clinic and I almost felt like giving up. It would be humiliating to face the same doctor again. I could almost imagine her clucking as she ticks DENIED BOARDING on the clearance form and saying, so you think you can sneak through just like that? But the door opens and I walk in and it's a man sitting at the doctor's desk. I mutter a quick prayer of thanks to whoever decreed that doctors should pull several shifts at different clinics.<br />
<br />
I hand the man my forms and explain that he needs to clear me for boarding because my doctor has informed me that my conjunctivitis is past the contagious stage. I see, I see, he tells me as he scans my forms and then, you aren't Stephen's son are you? And I could almost jump for joy at that moment for the man sitting in front of me is Dr. Dolittle, who used to be assigned in Cebu and play golf with my dad. He shines a light in my eyes and after I inform him that it is the eleventh day my eyes have been red and that I have been applying meds for five days he decrees that the infection is subsiding and I should be good to fly home. Sometimes it surprises me the things that doctors don't worry about. Anyway we chat for a bit while the nurse applies a cold compress to my eyes, ostensibly to lessen the redness but I maybe just so he could be said to have done something.<br />
<br />
Drew - 1, Airlines - 0<br />
<br />
Mission No. 4: Job interview. So the first interview here was with the area sales manager and it went well. Maybe it was a bit too easy leaving me completely unprepared for the next round which was with the national sales director. To illustrate:<br />
<br />
NSD: What was the last book you read?<br />
Me: Well the last book I finished was Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis...<br />
NSD: Was it a good?<br />
Me: Yes, in fact they made it into a movie back in the 80's. (Yes because books are good if they make them into movies, like Twilight and The Notebook)<br />
...<br />
NSD: Who is Drew when he is mad?<br />
Me: Growing up, the most sacred rule we had at home was no hitting and until now, when I get mad, I just shut up and internalize the anger. (What the fuck?)<br />
<br />
Just to stay positive, I feel like I am so getting hired. We'll see.<br />
<br />
Drew - ?, Job - ?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-34681556999860223582011-01-17T23:10:00.000+08:002011-01-17T23:10:28.654+08:00Journal Entry No. 11711<i>in which more of the same shit that passes for my life is detailed, as well as some news.</i><br />
<i> </i><br />
<i> </i>Cebu was fucking uneventful for me, sure it's a happening town but mostly I stayed at home and whiled away my vacation being dismissive of our latest mongrel. He is an ugly dog really, looks like a jackal that hasn't eaten for weeks, minus the bushy tail. I think there might be a soft spot for the ugly that runs in the family.<br />
<br />
Probably the most exciting thing that happened was me crashing my high school friends' Christmas party. Called up someone who was going and asked to tag along, of course he couldn't say no. It was pretty awkward until someone busted out the alcohol and then the party really got going. There was this one drinking game I don't know what it's called but you ask someone a question and they must ask someone else a question. Player drinks if he answers the question, or hesitates in asking someone else a question. Well we made up a bunch of extra rules as we went along, stupid rules really just to get more people drunk, like you have to drink if you ask a "lame" question.<br />
<br />
Anyway after a couple of rounds a question comes up which almost makes me choke on the pizza I'm eating. This one guy turns to the guy beside him and says, "<i>They say you're not a real man until you've fooled around with another guy</i>." This catches the guy being asked off-guard and everyone's laughing and saying he should drink when someone points out that it's not really a question. So then it's the guy who asked that drinks instead and then I say that he should answer his own question as well. Which doesn't make a lot of sense since we'd declared it a non-question but we make the guy down another shot to steel his confidence and prod him to answer. So sheepishly grinning he says, "<i>I would have liked to but I've never had the chance...</i>" and then he laughs and everyone else laughs as well and I'm the only one who doesn't get the joke. FUCKING STRAIGHT GUYS. I spend the next few nights fucking him while I jack off. I hope he feels like a real man now.<br />
<br />
So I've been in Manila for two weeks and the past four weekends have found me in O bar getting drunk as hell it's not funny anymore. The guys that stand out:<br />
<br />
1. Lacoste shirt, so-called because when I first saw him two months ago he was wearing a white Lacoste shirt that showed off his fitness. He was wearing an oversize black TOKYO shirt and a trucker cap and his hair was longer but he was still fine as hell. As I was leaving I met him coming back from the restroom and he said <i>Going home so early?</i> which was totally random as the first thing you say to a stranger but maybe not so random considering this moment from two months ago: after spending the better half of an hour sitting next to each other not talking, I get up to move somewhere else when he grabs my hand and pulls me back onto the seat.<br />
<br />
2. Ceasar who I see at the club all the time. It's probably around 4 so I'm tired from all the dancing and just trying to drink my beer in peace. He sits himself on a chair next to mine and introduces himself. We shake hands and then he kisses me. Some guys are just too fucking forward. Also other guys are just too fucking easy.<br />
<br />
3. Kurt and Stan. Stan reminds me of a guy I had classes with back in college. Short and slim but with wide shoulders and they even dress the same - small emo shirt, tight jeans, trucker cap. This guy is no emo, he has a boyish angelic beautiful face and it's just too bad cos I hit on Kurt first, who's also hot, just in a different way. I find out that Kurt lives not far from me so when he offered to share a cab I knew where we were going. Dropped by Banchetto to grab some breakfast (I got tapas, some bacon, and an omelet) which is becoming a habit. When we got home we were so full we couldn't sleep yet so we watched some TV. I was lying on the couch with my head on his lap and that was how I fell asleep, with his dick poking my head. We woke up late in the afternoon and finished up. He stood at the doorway watching me as I left. When I was halfway down the hallway to the elevator he called out <i>Hey guy, what's your name again?</i><br />
I couldn't believe it. I looked back at him and he had something like a smirk on his face, or whatever, but he was just too cute so I said <i>Drew. Goodbye</i>. And he said, <i>Goodbye, Drew. Take care.</i><br />
<br />
One more Friday and one more Saturday like this and I'm done, or at least I hope so. I'm going to go back to Cebu and I'm gonna be a good boy. Had a job interview this morning and I felt it went well, a feeling which doesn't really count since I'm pretty worthless at feelings; most of the time I get them all wrong. At least I'll know if I get into the second round of interviews within the week. If I don't, I'll find out next week. After that, it won't matter anyway.<br />
<br />
Take care.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-10323446513475775092010-12-16T10:47:00.000+08:002010-12-16T10:47:58.905+08:0012/16/10<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GJCQDd4vYjg?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe><br />
<br />
Yesterday I was feeling better and I thought it was over but I couldn't have been more wrong. Around 11pm I was overtaken by a fit of coughing that felt like my lungs were trying to free themselves of my chest. It sounded pretty much like that night a few years ago when I thought I could sneak my dad's car out of the garage; I turned on the ignition and what else happened but the motor wheezed and spluttered in the noisiest way a motor could.<br />
<br />
There's no one to blame but myself. Actually there is. Prince Henry (the other guy in my apartment) started it all with his getting the flu. Now three of us are down. Of course it didn't help matters that I continued to sleep shirtless at night despite how cold it got. Also the fact that last weekend I went some 36 hours without any rest. Now that's a story.<br />
<br />
My boss thought it was about time I did something productive like actually selling stuff instead of just productively sitting at my keyboard and banging away at the keyboard sporadically to give the effect of being busy. So since the 3rd of December I've been out of the office and manning our booths at random bazaars in the city. I was ecstatic at the opportunity to finally be free of the office walls I'd been starting to find claustrophobic until I found out I'd be working 10 to 14-hour shifts with no overtime compensation. <i>Didn't you get the memo?</i> My co-worker could only shake her head at my naivety. The insult to my injury - or, since this was probably not intentional, the salt in my wounds was that for three weeks I would have only two days off and no, they couldn't be used consecutively. Boss said I could have them at another time but who is he kidding, next week will be Christmas vacation already.<br />
<br />
So anyway, back to last week. Faced with the prospect of work on Saturday and Sunday, I decided to go out on Friday night. I left work at 12 midnight, had a bite to eat and a quick shower at home, and arrived at the usual at 2am. For the most part I managed to contain myself and sit quietly to the side, in fact I think I pulled off the creeper act fantastically: sat by myself beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, on my face a glower or maybe a leer as I scan faces in the crowd at leisure like a hunter surveys a herd of deer. To be honest I was just tired and maybe a bit sleepy. After an hour or so of this sitting down I started to feel fidgety. I think I must have ADHD or something similar. I mean I was still tired and sleepy but, holy shit man it was like the dj was a snake charmer and I his snake and he was making me dance like magic because there were no drugs involved. You know that's how snake charmers do it.<br />
<br />
There I was making a fool of myself again and it was an honest-to-goodness riot what with stage stomping, hip grinding, hand waving, and head banging. With such a flagrant mating display it was not long before a birdie came chirping by and when the sun came up he took me to his nest where we did a whole lot of <a href="http://wiki.answers.com/Q/What_is_it_called_when_a_hen_sits_on_her_eggs">brooding</a>.<br />
<br />
I slipped out of his house at 10am and flagged down a jeep only to find that I was down to my last 10 pesos. I mentally revised my projected tardiness to one hour and walked the rest of the way home. On my arrival I was surprised to find that it was still 10am and what do you know, turns out the time on my phone was 1 hour fast. Popped some pills - a colorful variety of Vitamins C, E, iron, etc; nothing prescription or illegal - with breakfast and then it was off to work. I got there only an hour late and ahead of my partner. By early evening we'd hit our quota.<br />
<br />
Not too bad, I reckon. Not until now, at least.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-54608592504509151002010-12-02T13:48:00.001+08:002010-12-02T23:57:51.512+08:0012/2/10It occurs to me that I'm afraid of this: I might have grown bored of the random hotel rooms, random meaningless banter, random boys with which I've built my Babel. I tell myself that this straining to reach heaven must be blasphemous except I have no choice but to build higher and higher because there is no way down.<br />
<br />
When it's really quiet my thoughts often turn maudlin.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://jeffsheng.com/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcT14HnL_bFPOirwVtUJHwqJH-gZF2pEWhAHxHfzM-bgNKHSDDEkJWJIRwnMSRcDMjeV0O3yMmEO36n4x3lecBYk_tYpxj_WmIziyvXPkNLpswcos2ErhysCBl0g2eXz5RBI_ZYc_MMI/s400/Tristan-and-Zeke-final%255B3%255D.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
A soft light shines from the half-open bathroom door. From somewhere in the room a tinny radio sings ridiculous songs, I'd turn it off if I fucking knew how but. I'd tried to call the front desk to ask how to turn the thing off but dialing zero got me nothing but a dial tone. Actually the front desk had called earlier, just when the kissing turned torrid so when I answered the phone and the woman on the other line asked if we were settled in okay I told her that yes, we were doing just fine until she called and then I put down the phone. Also a few hours after that the phone rang again but that time I just took the phone off the hook. For a while I could hear the woman's voice coming from the handset but not for long.<br />
<br />
There's something about the way TVs saturate a dark room with their colored light that always gets to me. The Incredibles was showing and I watched the first half of it because I'd never seen it before. Tell-chan snored beside me, his left arm draped around my body. Fuck there never was a face more beautiful asleep than his.<br />
<br />
I'm lying there, trying not to move too much, watching his chest rise and fall softly and I'm afraid that what I really want is this: to hold his hand in silence.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<i>Photo is from the photobook 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' by Jeff Sheng. Click on the picture to view his website and some of the other photos in the collection. </i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-34841048003779893082010-11-24T15:58:00.001+08:002010-11-24T15:59:53.956+08:0011/24/10For your <s>edufication</s> <s>edifycation</s> edification, a manifesto on how to bond so well with another guy he'll let you into his pants afterwards: <a href="http://www.g0ys.org/g0ydar.htm">g0ydar</a>.<br />
<br />
Here are a few salient or otherwise entertaining excerpts.<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"This is why the best g0y relationships begin as friendships & go deeper over time. Done with self control & respect over time -- the other guy will love you on a level that also makes the friendship very deep, intimate & usually -- these emotions are aired privately because of the nakedness of self disclosure."</span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Homophobia is not the fear of intimacy with other guys. It's the fear of being labeled an "arse-pounder" & being stripped of your masculine reputation (& ultimately your respect)."<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></span></blockquote><blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"Two buddies helping each other pump out a wad is the closest bonding experience that best friends can share. Be naked without shame & he will be too."</span> </blockquote>This one is particularly precious:<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"The most erotic & powerful sexual responses are those that happen without you trying to make them happen. After all, your dick knows what to do & the two of them up against each other soon engage in their own form of communication that kinds takes both guys along for the ride. Slow & sensual; --- the total opposite of what is portrayed in most gAy porn where one guys uses the arse of the other like a man-sized masturbation tool (how shallow is that). G0YS know that the orgasm that happens while rod2rod / face2face (called PhROT or FROT) often happens without anyone having to "try". All that skin on skin acts like a large sex organ ... like your whole body becomes a sensory extension of your penis; -- & all the hairs on the 2 dudes' bodies scratch, tickle & feedback on each other. This is why PhROT generated orgasms are so intense. It's a body-wide sensation, with the focus at site of the grand-mauling set of dicks; -- Incredibly bonding. The unspoken message to each guy from the other is: "YOU get me off; - not just your cock". <b>You don't get more honest & loving with another dude than to lose control & cumm like a stallion around him. It's the most primal compliment I can imagine....saying love, trust & acceptance all at the same time (especially if you watch the dudes expression as he loses his nutt)</b>."</span></blockquote>Read past the ignorance, naiveté, and self-delusion in the article and you'll see it's pretty good advice on having great relationships with other guys.<br />
<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yS5PNr_kew8?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="640"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-41696731801588193792010-11-15T10:30:00.000+08:002010-11-15T10:30:45.838+08:0011/15/2010<object height="295" style="background-image: url(http://i4.ytimg.com/vi/Skz1YnjEoVs/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Skz1YnjEoVs?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Skz1YnjEoVs?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object><br />
<br />
DJ Mamy Rock tells us how it's done.<br />
<blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">"I can't believe the type of reaction I have got so far. People seem to adore me, they say they want to be like me, when they should just try and be like themselves, the dear things"</span></blockquote>Read the full article <a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010/jan/29/mamy-rock-dj-sensation">here</a>.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbuO1IzGu4em-ZOl3FEj6sRmSrPbw0PcNC-6itQY-szbTJknlp70vv-s5wKze9mOWLc1uW2TQ5pHLB6ZjHIGxqUqc6Mj4Ixh28CRjGsQwxGDYUakq6BqUcC4NhNfM5OprYd5ejDFnI5M/s1600/Ruth9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNbuO1IzGu4em-ZOl3FEj6sRmSrPbw0PcNC-6itQY-szbTJknlp70vv-s5wKze9mOWLc1uW2TQ5pHLB6ZjHIGxqUqc6Mj4Ixh28CRjGsQwxGDYUakq6BqUcC4NhNfM5OprYd5ejDFnI5M/s640/Ruth9.jpg" width="425" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-28051952506389220042010-11-05T14:45:00.000+08:002010-11-05T14:45:50.992+08:00über Freunde<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="295" style="background-image: url(http://i2.ytimg.com/vi/9vMEjlhDQDo/hqdefault.jpg);" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9vMEjlhDQDo?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9vMEjlhDQDo?fs=1&hl=en_US" width="480" height="295" allowscriptaccess="never" allowfullscreen="true" wmode="transparent" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><br />
20 minutes of grit I'm sure you won't regret watching.<br />
<br />
This story goes absolutely nowhere but it'll take you back to when you were young and fucking around and life in general was easy.<br />
<br />
<br />
PS. Makes me think - for those who don't want to grow up, the moment you learn to love you've gone to the dogs.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-77576476185742943872010-10-23T20:59:00.000+08:002010-10-23T20:59:51.517+08:00On blind threshold<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-mRYaEmxRck?rel=0" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe></div><br />
Holy crap I can't stop listening to this song. Arab x electronica x dubstep is an awesome idea and beats antique is just great for thinking of it and making it sound really good!<br />
<br />
The whole album could very well be the soundtrack of a steampunk version of Sinbad's adventures, replete with belly dancers in leather and goggles, robotic djinns, and elephants on LSD.<br />
<br />
You can listen to the rest of the Blind Threshold album on beats antique's <a href="http://beatsantique.bandcamp.com/">bandcamp page</a>. If you like the music (or you want to help bring about changes in the present capitalist paradigm) you can also buy the album there.<br />
<br />
Alright that's all I'm going to go lie on my bed now and listen to this whole album on repeat.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-32128241297349972022010-10-17T07:03:00.001+08:002010-10-18T10:20:56.178+08:00On dreams and dreamingThe man lies on his bed, peaceful in his sleep. He is slight for his age and the day-old beard on his chin clusters pitifully on the point, never venturing further no matter how often he shaves it. Beneath the blanket carelessly draped around his torso and his legs he is naked save for a pair of green boxers.<br />
<br />
His eyes open abruptly as if waking from a dream. "<i>My name is Drew,</i>" he says to himself. <i>Andrew</i>. The name lingers on his tongue. <i>Andrew</i>. His eyes take in the room he is in. He knows where he is. A thin mattress beneath him, and underneath, the wooden bed backed up against the wall. A curtain barely covers the window. Its thin fabric ripples into the room, carried by a warm breeze. The afternoon light slanting in highlights dust motes spinning in the air. It is warm and beads of perspiration lie on his chest.<br />
<br />
He turns his head to the man lying beside him. <i>Miguel</i>. A voice sounds through the void. Miguel sleeping turned on his side like he always does - Drew does not know how he knows this, but he does - back turned toward him. Sweat carves lazy trails on his back.<br />
<br />
"<i>I'm sorry Miguel, the AC is broken</i>."<br />
<br />
Suddenly Miguel is awake, his bright eyes looking at the ceiling and the beams criss crossing it, hands beneath his head. He is wearing the cap he took from Karl last night.<br />
<br />
"<i>No big deal Drew. The heat reminds me of summer. I can almost imagine that I am a child again in grandma's house, pretending to sleep when she made me nap in the afternoon.</i>"<br />
<br />
He turns to face Drew. "<i>Do you want me to teach you a game</i>?" he asks with a half-smile and walks his fingers across the smaller man's chest.<br />
<br />
Drew sighs as he looks at Miguel's face, trying to memorize its handsome planes. He knows where he is.<br />
<br />
"<i>You shouldn't have kept the cap like I told you to. It suits Karl better</i>."<br />
<br />
Miguel looks at him questioningly, eyes narrowed and brows knit together. "<i>I thought this was what you want?</i>"<br />
<br />
Miguel hadn't wanted to enter the club last night. He was not gay and he'd never been to a gay bar.<br />
<br />
"<i>Don't worry, we'll make sure no one takes advantage of you. And if they do, you tell Karl and he'll punch them in the face.</i>" They all laughed at the suggestion.<br />
<br />
Half an hour later, Miguel was dancing with the rest of them. He snatched the cap from Karl and put it on. Later when he said his goodbyes he said, "<i>I should return the cap to Karl. It doesn't suit me.</i>"<br />
<br />
"<i>You should keep it,</i>" Drew said laughingly.<br />
<br />
That was last night. Only a faint smile touches his lips now. He knows where he is. The strange stone ring he wears on a leather necklace around his neck feels light. The ring was flecked in brown and red, but the strangest thing about it was that it had only one edge. One's finger could run around it inside and out uninterrupted.<br />
<br />
With an effort, Drew stepped out of <i>Tel'aran'rhiod</i> and into lighter dreaming.<br />
<br />
His eyes open abruptly as if waking from a dream. "<i>My name is Drew,</i>" he says to himself. <i>Andrew</i>. The name lingers on his tongue. <i>Andrew</i>. His eyes take in the room he is in. A thin mattress beneath him, and underneath, the wooden bed backed up against the wall. A curtain barely covers the window. Its thin fabric ripples into the room, carried by a warm breeze. The afternoon light slanting in highlights dust motes spinning in the air. It is warm and beads of perspiration lie on his chest.<br />
<br />
He turns to face the man lying beside him. The other has darker skin than he, a five o' clock shadow framing his handsome face. Almost with wonder, Drew runs a hand through the other man's short-cropped hair. <i>July.</i> That is his name.<br />
<br />
"<i>Como dormiste amorcito?</i>" July was awake now. He takes Drew's hand in both of his, studying the lines he already knows so well.<br />
<br />
"<i>Tuve un sueño contigo, Julio."</i> Drew smiles as he embraces the other man.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-19157798652904103802010-09-30T15:08:00.004+08:002010-10-01T00:09:14.514+08:00On how I want to be, possibly - Part 2Nothing in my childhood stands out as being particularly sad. There was enough love to go around at home and I was an average kid in elementary and high school. I never got bullied - not for being smart, or for being small, and definitely not for being gay and this makes me feel doubly guilty that I'm so harsh on other gay people. It makes me sad how I sometimes feel disdain for loud, effeminate gays.<br />
<br />
I'm too much of a coward to have ever bullied anyone outright but my straight friends and I frequently badmouthed people we thought were too faggy and that was just as bad. I was in the closet and I thought parading my homophobia would make my straight act more convincing. Now that I'm older it's easy to call my teenager self on being a shithead hater because I know there's absolutely no reason why anybody should be homophobic. There's still a long way for me to go toward becoming the inclusive, anything-goes, open-minded, flower-waving hippie I imagine myself to be.<br />
<br />
I still have this almost instinctive distaste for the stereotypical queer that I try my best to repress. A few weeks ago, on my way home from the club, I was called over by a group of boys who wanted me to join them for breakfast. I asked myself why the hell not and went with them. The banter at first was light-hearted but once we got down to our meal it took a turn for the worse. My companions started shrieking in their high-pitched gay voices and generally making a scene and I could feel the disapproval of the other diners. I was a bit embarrassed but that's not yet the bad part.<br />
<br />
They started throwing themselves at me - they'd ask me to choose which of them to take home, asking me if I thought one or the other was <i>yummy</i> or not. I thought they were just pulling my leg so I brushed off the flirting and answered in non sequiturs but they were fucking persistent it wasn't funny anymore. At one point, the guy across me was stroking my knees and the guy to my right was clinging to my arm and the one on the other side was trying to spoonfeed me!<br />
<br />
Of course this totally fulfilled my macho fantasies and made me feel good but at the same time I could not help feeling scornful, an aversion I'm sure I would not have been there had they been the other kind of gay. I beat down the metaphorical bile and kept my game face on, smiling at the company and trying to be as cute as I could. Not long afterwards, we said our goodbyes. They asked one last time whether I would like to go with them but I refused, saying my flatmates would be worried if I did not come home in the morning. This was a lie of course. I don't think my flatmates care about me at all.<br />
<br />
On the way home I felt really bad about how I sort of just used these guys. I feel bad about the times I almost automatically scowl when I make eye contact with gays on the street but I'm trying my best and one day I just might have some drag queen friends, I hear they are a blast to be with.<br />
<br />
I'd like to share with you what inspired this entry. Yesterday <a href="http://mybigfatgreekgayblog.blogspot.com/2010/09/i-give-damn-do-you.html">Bobby</a> wrote about suicide among gay teens and it struck a chord with me. I may only do my bashing in silence but I'm just as much a part of the problem. And even if you don't discriminate, but let it pass when others do, you're part of the problem. If you're not against discrimination you're for it. And since I'm not ready to crusade for gay rights on the streets, let me do it here.<br />
<br />
<i>Dear you,</i> <br />
<br />
<i>I can't begin to imagine what you're going through. It must be hell to keep your head held up high everyday through the jeers and catcalls that surround you. It must be terribly difficult to smile when all you want to do is cry. Or maybe you cower in fear of being found out. You're lonely, you can't talk to your parents, and you're not sure who your real friends are. Life sucks, and it takes all you've got just to get through the day and maybe you're so tired of trying to understand why this is happening to you and you just want to give up. Don't. Because things are going to get better.</i><br />
<br />
<i>I'm not saying that it'll be butterflies and rainbows when you grow up cos it's not. There will always be assholes and stupid people. But there will also be people who will see that you're beautiful, who will believe in you. You will meet people who understand you and accept you for who you are. Life will still be hard, but things are going to get better.</i><br />
<br />
<i>But for now, suck it up.</i><br />
<br />
<i>PS. Since I'm not very good at writing inspiring stuff, maybe this video will help.</i><br /><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7IcVyvg2Qlo" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3652698555682594195.post-30861643763535014472010-09-22T11:23:00.000+08:002010-09-22T11:23:18.912+08:00Yesterday work was so fucking bloody, it was certainly bloody awful with a British accent. I got myself into trouble because I'm not more mindful of what goes on in our office. Our front door has two locks and two people keep one key each. Yesterday I had one key and what I did during lunch was, I left it at my desk! So we were locked out of the office until like 3pm when the boss sent someone over with the spare key. I felt so embarrassed cos everyone expects me to be responsible and have a lot of common sense when in fact I am so absent-minded. I should start eating more almonds maybe.<br />
<br />
Anyway a friend told me that I should write an email to my boss apologizing for the incident so that's what I did and when he came in later that afternoon he called me to his office to talk about the project I was working on. Not a word at all was spoken about the incident earlier so the apology email must have worked. And I'm never going to get us locked out of the office again!<br />
<br />
I thought that was the end of my troubles but no - at around 6pm a faint itching began in my throat, by 6.30 I had a runny nose, and by 7 I was feeling the full-blown effects of flu. So instead of my planned run after work I decided to do some meditation/yoga because you know, some alternative medicine just might work. What this involves is some squatting on the floor with my legs crossed and my back straight against a wall. I just sat there for a while listening to my breathing and imagining my chi points getting unblocked and circulating healthy vital essences around my body. I almost fell asleep.<br />
<br />
At some point my sister walked in the room and remarked to me how my head was cocked to one side and I told her no, I'm sitting straight up but she insisted that I wasn't and she brought me a mirror to prove it. She was right, my head was leaning to the right but the weirdest thing is, when I correct it by leaning to my left, I feel awkward like my body is off-balance.<br />
<br />
It's like my body is getting back at me for all those times that I sit slouched or just take bad care of it in general. Getting sick is one big <i>I told you so</i> and that pisses me off cos I hate being wrong.<br />
<br />
And this is the soundtrack of my life right now:<br />
<br />
<iframe class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="385" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/PElhV8z7I60" type="text/html" width="640"></iframe><br />
<br />
Like what the fuck beautiful choreography and burning walls and that little instrumental before the song ends - feels like jacking off in the shower and cumming.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12962933976271627394noreply@blogger.com7