Once upon a midnight dreary,
while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping,
suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping,
rapping at my chamber door.
‘Tis some visitor,’ I muttered,
‘tapping at my chamber door -
Only this, and nothing more.’

Ah, distinctly I remember
it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember
wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow
sorrow for the lost Lenore -
For the rare and radiant maiden
whom the angels named Lenore -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling
of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors
never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart,
I stood repeating
‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door -
Some late visitor entreating entrance
at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,’

Presently my soul grew stronger;
hesitating then no longer,
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping,
and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping,
tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you’
- here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering,
long I stood there wondering,
fearing, Doubting,
dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken,
and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word,
‘Lenore!’
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word,
‘Lenore!’
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning,
all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping
somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely,’ said I, ’surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is,
and this mystery explore -
Let my heart be still a moment
and this mystery explore; -
‘Tis the wind and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the shutter,
when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he;
not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady,
perched above my chamber door -
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum
of the countenance it wore,
‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said,
‘art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven
wandering from the nightly shore -
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door -
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as `Nevermore.’

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.’

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,’ said I, `what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of “Never-nevermore.”‘

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking `Nevermore.’

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
`Wretch,’ I cried, `thy God hath lent thee - by these angels he has sent thee
Respite - respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in Gilead? - tell me - tell me, I implore!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Prophet!’ said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that God we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore -
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

`Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!’ I shrieked upstarting -
`Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!’
Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

And the raven, never flitting,
still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming
throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow
that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Written by Edgar Allan Poe, quite a classic and apt for the Halloween season… there are a lot of readings of this famous poem but the rendition I like the most was by Homer and Bart Simpson… hehehe

Half a league, half a league,
  Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.

‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldiers knew
  Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
  Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
  Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
  Rode the six hundred.

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turned in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army while
  All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
  Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
  Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
  All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
  Noble six hundred!

One of my most favorite poems by Alfred Tennyson that I first read when I was a young boy. It was based on an actual event during the Crimean War.

It also gave us one of the most memorable lines in a movie: “There is no Crying in Baseball!”, said by Tom Hanks to one of the female players who cried after she was scolded by him.

Admiral Hyman G. Rickover played a great part in the development of nuclear power in the US Navy. Just to prove to you how ground breaking their work had been, imagine the impact of the technology they had created, which allowed a nuclear reactor (that usually gets housed in a large building) to be fitted inside the confines of an undersea ship.

During his tenure, He also single handedly picked all the commanding officers of each nuclear powered submarine. The interviews with potential submarine captains were said to be nightmarish. He is also one of two people who has a nuclear submarine named after them.

Other than the man, his bust at the US Naval Academy at Annapolis also has its fair share of fame. Midshipmen who are taking their exams in Nuclear related subjects are known to rub the nose of the Admiral for good luck.

To you Sir, I tip my hat…

Run Silent, Run Deep…. the age old motto of submariner’s everywhere… great photo above of a US Los Angeles 688 Attack submarine running on periscope depth, probably taken just right after the order for diving had been given…

Just found out today from the DLSU Brother’s Facebook page that Bro. Ceci passed away. Messages of condolences are streaming into the site.

I came into contact with Bro. Ceci during my Senior year of highschool, when he got assigned to our La Salle school. I don’t remember what position he was given then but what is important is that in his capacity as a La Salle brother in our school he touched a lot of lives and made a difference.

Of the 5 La Salle brothers that I came into contact with Bro. Ceci belonged to the group of 3 that were well loved by the student body (Bro. Felix and Bro. Rafe were the other two) Not that I’m saying that the other two weren’t, its just that this group of 3 had that “charisma” that endeared them to the students.

I’ve realized now that that special “charisma” they had was composed of two things. One, they were all great story tellers. Pick a topic or situation and they could always come up with a story or anecdote to attach to it so that you could learn a life lesson. Not to mention that the way they told it made you never want to ask for five minutes of your life back, because you would be deeply entertained and amused.

The second, and probably the most important, is a genuine and honest capacity when relating to people. When you talked to him, you talked to “him”. There wasn’t any hidden agenda or false facade that said that the kindness they were showing you was fake. They were really honest and true people.

I remember having a heart to heart talk with him during my senior year, despite his busy schedule at that time he did not turn me away. A few years later as I was walking through the corridors of DLSU and was looking gloomy (yeah college load can do that to you) he stopped me in my path and asked me if I was doing OK. I was deeply touched that he still remembered me despite it having been such a long time already.

I also remember that he was one proud Ilonggo. And how his Dad always told him that if he wasn’t happy anymore being a brother, then he could always go back to them. Guess, we know now that he really enjoyed his vocation as a De La Salle Brother because he never went back to his family.

Sayonara Bro. Ceci., see you in Heaven and please don’t forget to PRAY FOR US!

Update:One Brother Ceci anecdote I have happened when he gave a talk to our senior class. Am not sure if he was subbing for our Christian Living teacher, because it is uncommon nowadays to have a brother teaching class. Or maybe this happened during our retreat? Anyway, with that soothing Ilonggo voice of his he had us enthralled with a lecture on the immorality of p*rnography. He started by asking us ” what do you think of p*ornography?”. When we gave our answers he related how one class of our sister school, La Salle Greenhills (LSGH), answered differently at first. Compared to ours, LSGH was an all-boys school. So when he asked them what they thought about it they all howled with glee and delightfully banged their fists on the table. Then he followed it up with a second question: “what do you think of p*rnography…..with your mother or sister?”, to which the LSGH class shouted and banged their fists with glee even louder. The LSGH class of course quieted down, got serious and gave very insightful answers to Bro. Ceci This story may not sound funny on text but if you could just imagine Bro. Ceci re-enacting this scene with the howling and the banging you would laugh yourself to the floor. You’d assume that the LSGH class was a bad bunch of students, but the reality is that that was just how comfortable people were with Bro. Ceci that they lose their inhibitions and open themselves up to him. Talking openly and kidding around with him was the norm, without losing their respect for Bro. Ceci of course.

Tags: Brother Ceci Hojilla, De La Salle Brother

After watching this, I see no difference between magicians and some of the powers-that-be. With regards to the methods they use to fool us in order to turn their vested interests into reality. You just have to look back at the history of the great wars of this century and how they started to see my point. Just goes to show that if you don’t have reason to do something, then you can always make one up.

originally from here

Its old, it creaks, its been painted over a couple of times… but its still sturdy as ever… Thick metal frame, when steel was still cheap and hard wooden base, when wood of that type could still be harvested from the country’s forests.

I remember the family sleeping in one room at times and this bed would serve as the centerpiece of all activities. From wholesome card playing, to tv watching and then some family conversations.

Boy, if this bed could talk… we’d probably have to burn it… *snicker*