prune-berry cheesecake

paws up!

2011-07-09T23:11:00.003+08:00

http://heavymetaldatu.blogspot.com

the cake is served.

2011-05-01T19:15:00.000+08:00

It's been exactly a year since I closed a notorious blog featuring my obsession to a high school crush, who turned 22 that same day. Today, as that same dear guy turns 23, I officially close this blog.

However, I am planning to put up a new blog very soon with a tentatively different theme. As homage though to the Prune who has looked over this blog for over 4 years since its "fruit salad" days, I'll be bringing the crabby mascot along to my new blog. See you all again very soon! :)

-fin-

the sex (non)life of an old prune

2010-10-17T22:48:00.006+08:00

Blogging after a long hiatus is no different from an aging lifeless t-girl in hormones who hasn't jerked off for a while.

I used to be someone who could pull off the "morning habit" on a whim. It took only little imagination for me to get to a comfortable mood to start doing what other healthy biological male would sanely do to their appendage. I delighted the act to the point of obsession, yet at the same time loathed it, what with mental images of me turning more and more into a hairy gorilla every time I came. I had no idea then that this insatiable desire would eventually be doused years later by a daily dose of ethinylestradiol.

Now, not even the smuttiest of male-to-male porn could get me turned on right away. It would take deliberate genital stimulation for me to "stand up", and even that is no guarantee of a pleasant cum. While I welcomed the freedom I had from earthly lust at the beginning, I later on entered a whole new dimension of sexual lifelessness that made me less of a human and more of a twig. Perhaps the same could be said now of my writing. I would ejaculate blog posts after blog posts back then, when now I could barely squirt a punchline no thanks to my post-collegiate isolation. Somehow I actually miss bashing my college schoolmates. (Shudders.)

I'm far from having taken back my blogging mojo, but I'm hoping this to be a start. After all, the poor anthropomorphic prune wants her fame back.

~~~

In my sophomore year in high school, I had a gimmick involving drawing my "sex" for the day. The device used was a simple 6-sided dice, where each side represented one of the following "sexes" in order: Girl, Gay, Lesbian, Both-Sexed (that is, both gay & lesbian), Non-Sexed (that is, asexual), and Free-Sexed (that is, I'm able to freely choose my gender for the day). One peculiarity evident here is the lack of the "Boy" sex, the "Lesbian" being the closest alternative. Of course, drawing "Lesbian" only ended up with me abandoning the drawn gender and went on my boy-hunting way. It wouldn't be until recently when I found out that our Values Education teacher used my gimmick as an example in class for the "gender spectrum theory".

I incorporated the idea of "multi-genders" into my Amores Celestia epic, with its universe comprising of four genders: Male, Female, Ishcan ("feminine male"), and Ashr ("masculine female"). It turns out that the Bugis of Sulawesi, Indonesia acknowledged not just the four genders similar to the ones I've outlined, but also a fifth meta-gender which they call the bissu. The bissu, believed to encompass all four genders, is revered as a shaman that connects the mortal world to the spirit world. They may very well be similar to the Philippine babaylan or catalonan, who would also be considered of ambiguous gender. Considering the lack of gender in most Austronesian pronouns (e.g. the English "he/she" in contrast to the Tagalog "siya"), it may well be that many parts of maritime Southeast Asia first acknowledged the existence of multiple genders as the norm, until it was influenced by foreign male-female dichotomy later on.

As a t-girl, I've never really felt myself "trapped in the wrong body", but I've always felt uncomfortable with having to act according to my biological gender. Living in a society where dichotomy is the norm, I only had to options: either I change my personality, or I change my body. I chose the latter, and I never regretted it.

remembering the "nomad-pastoralist"

2010-01-25T22:12:00.004+08:00

I could best describe it in my personal universe as the result of an illicit affair between an imperial emperor and a yurt dweller. The emperor, with it's obsession with civilization building, conflicts himself with the harsh though free-spirited nature of the "barbarian" maiden. Their child, thus, has the sad destiny of wanting to roam and be free, yet at the same time wishing to settle and keep things the way it is. It's a struggle of desire to witness brighter new things ahead, yet dreadful of embracing an inevitable change.

Her mixed ancestry had brought this child serious repercussions. Quite often was she brought at the point of standstill while her two natures battle over its dominance. This had ruined the dreams of this once notorious villain of the steppes. At the end of her life, she was found alone in a lonely forest--the only place where she could someone reconcile her need for freedom and belonging. She was cremated and given a royal funeral, her ashes blown over the cliff of the mountain, blown to the wind where she yearned to fly all her years.

In conventional parlance, this is simply the case of nostalgia. Others are glad to be rid of their past, but some look to it in reverence, humbled by its glory. For the latter, the past will always look clearer and brighter than the present, and the future a slow descent towards darkness, until there's nothing to be seen. Still, others cling on to a hope that something different may come their way. A revolution perhaps, or a rare encounter with the deities--the proverbial "twist in the ending". Whatever one's view of change, the one thing that can redeem it is whether who made that change. The powerful set themselves apart from others by taking change into their own hands, unhesitating to shed their blood as needed. They embrace the machinations of Destiny as it is, and die remembered.

I've seen so much of change to be bothered by it, yet it never fails to prick a nasty sting into my consciousness. Whether the change is for the better or not is uncertain. What I know is that beyond what I see at this moment, it's pitch black.

waking up on the wrong side of the bed

2010-01-08T12:34:00.004+08:00

If supernatural forces do exist, the thing I'd fear the most is if I wake up one day finding myself at the Boys' Residence Hall-Annex as a high school freshman. The thought of living my whole life down again from where it all started is just as creepy as it is fascinating. Still with memories of the "future", I'd have such forbidden knowledge as to risk changing the course of history itself--even get myself end up in a future far more disturbing than what I had known.

Perhaps a more comfortable situation would be to communicate with my past self as a separate living individual, where perhaps I'd have an "honorable" role of being my past self's mentor. It would be masochism at its finest, as I could afford to force my past self to do things I would've absolutely detested. While mistakes of the past are things most people would've ought to change, I personally think those "mistakes" simply had to happen. There was a reason I had done them, after all, and at that point in time, that choice was perfectly valid. That's why I could just imagine the thrill of coaxing my lazy, uncouth adolescent self to ace his academics while keeping check of his fashion sense. The sweetest horrors.

There's also the issue of getting along with people. Imagine the burden of knowing the fate of someone years before it happens. How would you get along with someone you only have gotten close with years after high school? How would you keep your mouth shut about which person ends up with whom? Or that you know Fourier transforms when you're just supposed to be starting algebra?

How will I live my entire life all over again? Will I stick to how it happened, or would I give it a little spice and prepare myself to face a future completely different from my own? If supernatural forces do exist, I'd probably be too harassed to care.

stale.

2010-01-06T21:30:00.003+08:00

Imagine the fate of a sweet and creamy fruit salad stuck in a moist fridge for months without the blessings of electricity, and you got a pretty good picture of what has been going about in the life of a dessicated fruit.

Suffice to say that predictions of your friendly neighborhood Chinese astrologer has become creepier and creepier--Weak Earth Tigers like me is in for a bad ride this coming year of the Strong Metal Tiger. At this rate, the already moldy fruit salad I'm in end up becoming a black bowl of decay. This is simply too much for an average prune to handle.

Prunes thrive best in a cool, creamy sweet environment, with lots of non-papaya tropical fruits (I'm sorry, but papayas taste too organic for my taste. Same goes for honeydew melon). Take the prunes away from their (un)natural habitat, and chances are they'll get devoured by wild human elderly hungry for their laxative properties. So if you still wish to see a living, breathing, talking prune, do give her a favor--

Pray she finds a way, before she decides to jump out of her bowl to her death.

once upon a time...

2009-09-07T21:51:00.002+08:00

...there was a little prune, who used to be so obsessed about blogging. One day, a girl named Datu decided to pour chocolate over her fruit salad, where the prune is. The chocolate flooded the prune's salad bowl. Sadly, it didn't become Koko Krunch.

a symptom of lack of sleep and runny nose

2009-06-16T06:08:00.004+08:00

I itched to give you a reply the moment I read your letter. Finally I found something I can relate to, something I seriously, personally want to comment on.

I'd like to give you a background of myself. I used to consider myself "gay", when I learned later on that being an MTF (male-to-female) transgender doesn't need me to "crossdress" (emphasis on the quotes) 24/7, or know how to wear make-up, or even undergo "sex-change" operation. In all aspects, I feel like a woman and that's all that matters. Sadly though, the concept of transgenderism is still highly misunderstood even within the LGBT community. That's why most of the "becky" or the "pa-girl" are still dragged wrongly into the "gay community", and they themselves don't even realize that. It's the fault of the word "bakla", whose common use doesn't distinguish between sexual orientation (i.e. which gender one is sexually attracted to) and gender identity (i.e. the sense of one's maleness or femaleness).

My identity as transgendered however still doesn't change the fact that I'm different from the rest of the queer community. By queer, I mean the LGBT community as a whole. It's already one thing that I'm considered a "deviant" from mainstream society, but it hurts when I encounter this even within the community I'm supposed to belong to. In the Philippines, if you're queer and you want a relationship (or at least hook-up for sex), you either have to be 1) in the closet, 2) a "discrete straight-acting alpha male a.k.a. 'bi'", or 3) a "screaming faggot balahura". There's no room for those like me who looks like a "screaming faggot balahura" but can't even put on a blush-on.

I think you're lucky in that you seem to have a very loving family (through your sister). I live FAR, FAR away from my family, and I'd rather have that than reveal my true identity to them and risk to have my head chopped off (I'm from a pure conservative Muslim family, by the way). Which brings down to the fact that in every sense of the word, I live ALONE. Sure I got friends, but they got a life of their own too. Given that, longing for "someone" has become more than a teeny-bopper wish for me. I THIRST for someone.

And I'm only 22.

Despite that, I know in the end why I'll live single for the rest of my life. I'm practically anti-social. I'm very cautious of the friends I choose and being nice to me don't guarantee I can be your friend. Common sense, with my kind of attitude how could I open up to that person whom I can be with for the rest of my life? Love never falls from the sky. We have to bring our whole selves to it.

I think my point is just an elaboration to what one person already replied here, about psychoanalyzing yourself. First, identify yourself. Identify who you are, and what really makes you happy. And ask yourself why you want something. Is it because you really want it, or is it because other people does it. Most of all, LOVE YOURSELF. I hope it can give you a clearer perspective of things.

Love you sis! :*

(my reply to a ManilaGayGuy.net letter sender codenamed "Gaysha" from the post "Girly Gay Feels Like An Outcast")

dazed.

2009-05-20T03:56:00.004+08:00

As customary during work days, I checked my phone's time this morning to know if I could still afford a snooze. I found this message instead.

"Gud morning.. I need to fuck a girl by thurs nyt. Any sugestns? 500 budget.."

I would rather have grabbed the idiot to my place and let him bang me, but he obviously wanted a cunt. Fighting the urge to ask him about his cryptic intention, I sincerely told him of a friend who was offered a "taste" on the Cubao overpass many years ago. I'm about to send a third message when Globe decided to keep me from sharing any more indecency. I only wanted to remind him of the rubber and to avoid using his tongue at all cost.

And because of this I had ACTUALLY managed to update this blog. Why is this week so fucking surreal?

of straying ants and a twitting prune

2009-02-21T10:48:00.007+08:00

I got no idea what they're up to. I have long cleaned my kitchen up from precious food source hoping to starve the crawling idiots away, but last night it seemed they had found quiet refuge on my gas stove. Even the terrible inferno of blue flame failed to ruin the booming society. I'm suspecting they might have even made a tourist attraction out of it, kind of like communities founded around volcano craters. The critters have disappeared this morning, though they probably just follow strict business hours. I'll be buying a new can of insect spray later and declare economic sabotage.

Meanwhile Plurk had been keeping me company on moments when writing paragraphs of opinion and thought proved futile, the reason this site has suffered poor housekeeping for so long. In light of this, the prune and I had a mutual agreement that the prune will pose itself on the sidebar and update straying visitors of its sinister plans courtesy of Twitter. Until I could find a satisfying way to integrate Plurk and Twitter in real time, Twitter posts would be different from Plurk ones. I shall leave it to individual stalking skills to look for the whereabouts of these spawn sites. I've even made myself a Facebook account, much to the chagrin of the dessicated fruit.

I deeply regret not having written a more decent anniversary post last time, but sugar coating can only do so much. Yes, things are still disgusting. And yes, I do want <3.

bon anniversaire

2009-02-14T22:09:00.000+08:00

I'm uninspired. No, it's not that I have nothing to talk about. It's just that the burden is too heavy for me to take off. There's just too much emotion, too much frustration, too much anger. It terrifies me to even consider seeing them all concrete in words should I even dare attempt to write them. And while company is plenty, they either are simply not there when you needed them this very moment, or they're the ones you actually don't want to have anything to do with you. I just hate humanity so much to the point that I could murder anybody right now and not feel one bit of remorse. I have so much hatred, so much hatred inside me. Either I destroy something, or I destroy myself. That's how it should be.

I've been suffering, and two years is not enough to contain it. It's not enough. It's not enough.

I'm sorry.

now

2009-02-07T21:13:00.009+08:00

this year the cows will sing "moo".

2009-01-02T12:56:00.006+08:00

Lifeless superstitious hags would be screaming in terror.

The last morning of the year 2008, I somehow broke my monitor's swivel. The swivel's still functional, but the parts that were broken off stand out too much.

That evening, during my antiyear-end depression/counter-firecracker movie marathon, one of the legs of my chair broke off, consequently exposing me to horrible firecracker aftershocks while uncomfortably tilting my head up to the monitor and watching sanity-saving DVDs from the floor. At least I was able to fix the chair the next day with Mighty Bond, but to break it during the height of the occasion, after also breaking something earlier, just comes too foreboding.

Meanwhile, I hadn't eaten anything during the whole time except instant mami and pancit canton. Chinese tradition considers it auspicious to eat noodles during the New Year as it symbolizes longevity. One could also assume the DVDs I have to be auspicious, if only for their round shape.

Whether these "lucky symbols" could counter the "bad omens" is something I do not wish to find out.

~~~

I really wouldn't mind New Year eves if it weren't for firecrackers I had to endure. To be fair, my experience this year is a whole lot better than the last time. I'm at least in an air conditioned room with internet connection (never mind dial-up), and the concrete walls are a lot thicker. If it weren't for the chair fiasco I could even say the experience rocks (absolutely NO PUN intended). This doesn't stop me though from considering other firecracker evasion plans for the next year. Hopefully I would've saved up enough to get myself checked-in at a hotel (5-star or not doesn't matter so long as it's shock proof), or go on an out-of-town trip away from firecracker-frenzied revelers (a water deity suggested me going up the mountains). If I weren't blocked by a government scholarship contract I may just even consider going out of the country--but I'll only just consider. All in all I'm confident I'll at least get myself somewhere by that time, that is should things turn out well for me this year of course. Which is then another story.

~~~

The year 2009 is said to be the "Year of the Cow" (most say "Ox", but cows are cuter). To be strict, the Year of the Cow doesn't come until January 26 this year. A quick search on the internet reveals this year to be inauspicious to folks born in the Year of the Tiger, which I incidentally am. Thorough analysis reveal I won't be as bad at least, thanks to my "Weak Earth" element. If I were going to consult my own astrology though, I'd say 2009 would be an interesting year. Suffice to tell that the "bovine connection" had long been a powerful influence over me--I'm suspecting I might even be subconsciously Hindu.

While this year may seem generally harmless, I'd still rather not let my guard down from whatever would make things worse than they already are. Optimism is the best way to invite misfortune.

(up next: New Year resolutions and other sappy things--or whatever it is I'll get to come-up with...)

22

2008-12-20T02:17:00.008+08:00

Once again I end up a blogging jerk.

I know this post would've given justice to last night's hang-out had I only written it while it's still crisp and hot and fluent. I ended up thinking, bemusing, talking to myself all that was in me at that moment. It's a bad habit that I, a year older yet again, had never been able to kick out. I live too much for the moment. I'd fail to press the shoot button the moment I'm supposed to and make a lousy cameraman. Which is ironic, since I used to preoccupy myself with cameras. That's how it all started, after all.

~~~

I abused our old family camera too much in an attempt to explore my potentials as a graphic artist. Never mind I'm a ditz at art in general. I love taking pictures. At a time when cellphones had just become a national obsession and digital photography was a techie's luxury, I was contented at shooting almost anything with my trusted instamatic and a YKL 36-shot film. All the pictures were crap, until I started taking shots of people. Candidly.

It was an instant social statement. Taking photos of people when they least expected it, catching that natural moment not tainted by any manufactured smile or pose. I captured life as it really is (or at least the moment the poor folks figured out my scheme). The camera became my object of power, my weapon of choice, my literal viewing window to the outside world that until then I had never learned to get along with.

The camera opened its doors to what would bring that unheard-of order, that one revolution which would change my identity, and the future course of events forever--boys.

And yes, the rest IS history.

~~~

Sitting in that bar along with people I wasn't supposed to hang-out with but ending up being even very close with couldn't be anything else but a miracle. Isn't that though why people are thankful of things at all?

Then again, maybe that's all I really have to do. The same way I only have to say "I love you" (or any personal variations of it) to those I really care for. I can go on a litany of recollection from a distant Paul Mayuyu past leading to a disturbingly tipsy Jman Naniong, but what really matters, I know, is that I'm thankful.

I'm thankful simply because they were, and it was.

"No one knew when the people of ancients past started celebrating the Festival of Lights. It has since been attributed to a variety of deities or cultural custom. However, the tradition may have, through common sense, been dedicated to a Governess of Light. Since the Eshqan revolution no one has confidently identified the Deity. The strongest link would've been from the story of a "roaming deity" who frequently disguise as a lowly mortal, only to reveal herself in "shining wings glorious and pure". The Hevonists condemn such proposition, saying it's an abomination to attribute human qualities to their Lord and His Children. There's however, as old wives' tales were common guides of the faithless for the Eternal, a Goddess supposed to deny any form of worship lest she cast down her fury of such description most disturbing and unworthy of this study. Nonetheless, the Festival remains popular if only for one's weary hearts to feel the Mercy that made Creation be."

- journal of an unnamed scholar, perhaps in the post-6th Generation (Givel Kantos)

and yes...this IS an update

2008-12-08T10:19:00.003+08:00

I haven't had this energy in a while. The last time I remember (or I think I remember) I'm this excited was when LiveJournal was still noisy with '05 banters. I miss that part of me who take great pleasure just watching folks being their fun, smart, friendly selves, while nurturing that unspoken desire to actually be part it. Looking back at high school, I didn't really have to do anything. My silent nosiness was enough to get me into one big trouble--and the happiest time of my life.

So maybe I'll just go with the flow and see how things will happen then. The consequences might just HORRIBLY disturb me. :)

(And as such, I dedicate this entry to three '06 guys in my Plurk account who simply make my day without them having to do anything at all.)

because i know it's just all...over.

2008-11-08T19:08:00.002+08:00

Dear long-forsaken blog,

Yet again I resort to a lame "write a letter" tactic just to get me typing. I have no idea if I could still write at all--I've been gone for so long I may as well have been abducted by alien fruits and vegetables and dissected for the oddity that is a wilted prune and returned in a world I have not an idea of, yet felt strongly familiar of it to be bothered. Suffice to say a lot of things have happened that I myself lost track of where I've been straying about. The last time I've heard, I'm getting my own air conditioner and DSL connection at home soon and I'm just as excited to get my cable TV too. The Fortress, which I'll call my place for now, seems the only thing preoccupying me other than the nightly rendezvous with online work. I'm eating at fast foods more frequently, and could now with confidence barf over the next time I hear someone cheering "Burger! Burger!". I'm living the life of a wasted out-of-school youth who could've had a brighter future as the first transgendered woman in an engineering company, but decided the Electrical and Electronics Engineering department too cold and elite for her comfort. I AM grateful of the tremendous blessings I'm getting these days, but deep down a demon lurks tirelessly convincing me that something is empty, missing, and is unfortunately not Jesus or Madonna.

If Hell indeed is a consequence of one's deeds, I'm at least comfortable dwelling in it.

Yours truly,
The Wilted Prune
(as helplessly used by Datu as her medium)

it's like christmas day on december 26

2008-09-30T01:18:00.003+08:00

When will the government ever get it right? Once again, ever since the country had started to observe Eid Al-Fitr (or any other variations in its spelling, which doesn't really matter because it was originally spelled in Arabic anyway) as a national holiday, the actual celebration comes one day too early.

Let me explain. Religious mandates dictate that the actual mark of the End of Ramadhan would be confirmed only after the sighting of the moon in the night of the candidate last day. For this year in the Philippines, the moon-sighting event takes place September 29. The rule of the game is, if the moon is sighted on that night, the falls on the next day, September 30. Otherwise, it falls on October 1. The predominantly Christian Philippine government, not used to the uncertainty of moon-sightings and for the purpose of logistic practicality, declared October 1 to be the national holiday dedicated for the Eid. Its deviation isn't deadly though. Many Islamic countries are also celebrating the Eid on Wednesday, following the moon-sighting criteria aforementioned. Some Islamic communities have even challenged the tradition altogether and have considered astrological calculations infallibly sufficient.

Lucky for the Philippine Muslim community, the celebration comes earlier than expected. Unlucky for them though, September 30 is a working day, defeating the purpose of the Eid holiday supposedly declared to give Muslims the convenience to go to mosques for the grand Eid prayers and spend time celebrating with families and friends. Eid is a one day affair, so the following day's as bland as a stormy day. Not to mention the forgone chance to "innocently" receive Eid "aguinaldo" from well-to-do relatives.

I intended this post to be longer and of other topics, but let's just call it a day. :)

beware of the lurking sappy pun

2008-09-25T01:25:00.006+08:00

While my shriveled alter-ego's still ecstatic over Stephen Colbert's recent praise of its kind (I overheard Prune's organizing a campaign to formally request the US embassy to sponsor its would-be historical diplomatic pilgrimage, though seriously it'd be less of a hassle and of media dramatics to just mail the narcissist to the White House par avion), I've been killing my time going over several blog entries, job posts, and broadband/DSL forums. October 4 is not very far away. Soon I'd be residing over my very own flat and experience how it is to pay my very own utility bills and ride the sweaty crowded MRT train with a stored-value ticket. I'm hoping later today Globelines would confirm its service availability in my area, as I'm becoming less and less encouraged to pimp myself out with documents to PLDT just to prove I'm a good paying customer. I'm less worried about a 10-page Rizal paper due this Saturday which I never bothered starting as I am at claiming my updated TIN ID later at the BIR district office, a tricycle and jeepney ride away. October 1 will mark the end of my daytime starvation and nightly food binge, and is exclusively reserved for a friend date with a werewolf. October 8 will mark the end of my unfinished college life and a start of a year or so of money hoarding and soul searching.

The recent rains had made my sleep more comfortable but have taken a bad toll on my nightly livelihood. I'm unwillingly swinging back and forth as I'm writing this. I hope Louie Mar Gangcuangco still remembers me despite my brutal silence for two years. I miss my naiveté. Maybe after all this transition is done I could finally try to look back and see where did I go wrong (or right...or left...).

On the other hand, being in a higher ontological plane could actually be fun. :)

so much for francophile prunes...

2008-09-23T01:28:00.014+08:00

~~~

hug me. =)

2008-09-10T17:48:00.003+08:00

To be awake at two-ish in the morning with only three regular hours of sleep is the nearest I could get to being drunk (or stoned). I have already surrendered to the fact that drinking beer is an acquired taste, something I'd rather reserve for bitter chocolate (85% cacao to be exact). It's now five-ish in the afternoon and the sky looks just as dark and ominous as an oversized incontinent prune slapped with the cruel reality of an out-of-order toilet.

Intentions of updating have been frequently thwarted by factors that effectively dissolved my posts' purposes. These factors include:

- impromptu YM conferences that has led me to conclude that cults involving corn-speckled excrements are taking over the Church of Scientology as the religion of choice for self-respecting artists,

- narcoleptic attacks which, if harnessed well, would allow me to see the future, guest in various talk show hosts every New Year, and even get me a nice young sugar kid for a hubby by the age of 90 (or what I appear to be), and

- eating the rhetorical red beans for dinner.

I've got nothing much to say but that since the start of Ramadhan I've become snappier, lazier, and more volatile than ever before. I now rely much more on external machinations to drive my heavy hemorrhoidal ass out of my comfort couch (or whatever I fancy to be one). While writing is at its most taxing at these times, my thoughts are at its richest. Just a flick of my axons and I'm madly kissing a sweet-lipped heartthrob in perpetuity. It feels good to just drift to instant slumber and make-out with the cutie you oh so deliciously fashioned in mind, in hopes that subliminal thoughts would be merciful enough to fashion a real-life counterpart, and at the same time be confident enough not to adhere to. The bed is the ultimate venue for my séance, and my pillows are invaluable clairvoyance tools. Put me to sleep, and I'm powerful. Had Dreamland been subject to deregulated oil prices and fare hikes I'd be bankrupt by now. Comatose is increasingly a more attractive alternative to asphyxia.

Meanwhile I've been hooked (more like obsessively addicted, if I'd be more specific) to David Archuleta's new single. Somehow I'm transformed into this helpless bum jelly who savors every inch of bliss and happiness from every decibel of Archie's throaty ecstacy. I hate jumping into popular bandwagons and I still do think Archie's too sweet and sugary to be worthy of my chronic pedophilia, but there's just something with this heavily digitally-enhanced song that sticks perfectly to my present state of affairs.

And you make me jealous. >_<' (Not really--I've gotten over you a long time ago, but you make for a cool and convenient post conclusion.)

on gagne de que l'on perd

2008-08-27T01:55:00.005+08:00

Prune, I'm sorry to have made you suffer so much. Look at you, having to bear all the grudge that is me in a rhetorical veil, a nun seeking bliss in her chambre, keeping herself to herself, embracing all that was left of her, cradling the empty space of what she'd given up. I look up to your courage to go beyond yourself. You're totally different from what I am now, what you're supposed to be.

Take my glad tidings with you, and let yourself be. I keep myself in a veil now, where none shall touch now shall out reach out from. This is where I find bliss, from my pity, where I shall never come out.

Never.

les nuits de café, chapitre deux

2008-08-26T09:53:00.007+08:00

I'm rather starting to have an attachment to one good online chap Loudcloud introduced to me some couple of months ago. We came from the same disturbing high school that also harbored a bespectacled movie junkie and a frustrated murderer. While those juvenile days had been my age of power and glory (no thanks to an interesting lot of similar juveniles that includes a sadist and future world dictator posing as a cute-and-adorable <insert present age> boy), chap here saw Gehenna. The relationship's interesting for that we somehow changed places come college. This plot of soap-operatic proportions had become our pseudo-nightly course of affairs.

I thought about how situations might have been had not a good ol' uncle picked up a nephew's letter of admission which apparently dropped unnoticed from a substandard mailman's delivery box. I then would never have had a barbaric chatterbox grammar nazi and volleyball monster for a sister. And then I'd have to live the same hell as my online chap did. Nice if things would get better for me come college. What if it didn't?

Meanwhile I was one of the rare freaks who chose to enter the famous institution without influence from--and in fact at odds with--egoistic mothers. While the dormitory flooded with tears from homesick peers the first few nights of freshman life, I was happily sucking the academic atmosphere dry. Elementary life was enough for me to consider migration at an early age. I had no clue what horrors there were to come though. I even bathed on boiling hot Nissin Ramen (beef flavor) and nibbled on shampoo-filled Skyflakes to get my point across (anybody remembers Herbal Essences?). All in my own initiative.

Three golden years and six wilting ones forward and I'm now back to how I was when I first entered Pisay. Nissin Ramen's reduced (they used to include a generous amount of sesame oil) and Skyflakes now comes with a lovely whole-wheat variety, but some things turn out more stubborn than Paul Mayuyu and francophile prunes.

les nuits de café

2008-08-22T00:13:00.011+08:00

Haha don't worry folks, no French this time (and the beret looks AWFUL on you prune, so FORGET about it!). I'm however savoring the soothing taste of caffeine flowing over my bloodstream I could feel my every nerve and brain cell sizzling out by the minute. I overheard from a jeepney ride a while ago that I could guzzle up to six cups and even have my dose of antioxidants to boot. I just want to feel all chic and glam and have a cool blog title.

If I heard the rumors right, it was the Arabs who discovered this fabulous way to keep 'em all up for vigil prayers at the mosque. They're also the same folks who discovered hashish.

~~~

Séances they say work by letting the person enter a state of semiconsciousness where the mind betrays the overly limp state of the body. This way the mind "escapes" from the body and is free to roam around the paranormal universe in search of treasures ranging from lottery numbers, the apocalypse, and porn. If one is lucky, he could even escape from the vicious cycle of birth and rebirth and achieve the state of vague bliss that is way cooler than being toasted on fire by anthropomorphic representations of evil. The question of whether one ACTUALLY goes somewhere after death is important in that it would establish the nature of one's consciousness, better known as the "soul", if it actually exists independent of material flesh or is just a product of carefully intertwined neurons. How does it FEEL to have NO feeling? To decompose and become all bones? Are we really at peace when we die?

Studies have shown that too much caffeine and lack of sleep bring about such propositions.

~~~

How in the world is it possible for me to lose a BIG and BULKY folder that I bring everyday at school for the sake of false academic security? Am I really THAT wasted, or is this the misfortune I've been expecting? Seriously, whatever can be more suspicious than a familiar sweet guy showing up at the height of you ogling over another one? Why in the world can't I find out Jello's surname?? (He's recently graduated and is currently teaching basic Math at the School of Mathematics in UP Diliman. Any valuable information would be highly appreciated and ~~rewarded~~ appreciated. :D)

~~~

If Paul Mayuyu had a twin brother, I bet he's just as wasted as I am. Only he had a much greater time.

~~~

[22:29] iam_datu: i wanna fuck [name removed to spare the poor boy trouble, just as once]. @_@'
[22:30] Just-As-Horny-Friend (JHF): :))
[22:31] iam_datu: lets gang rape him >:)
[22:32] JHF: ok
[22:32] iam_datu: yey! :)
[22:32] JHF: when?
[22:33] iam_datu: tonight? :D
[22:34] JHF: sure
[22:34] iam_datu: wait for me. DON'T hog him! :T
[22:35] JHF: il save u a piece dont worry
[22:36] iam_datu: it better be somewhere at the bottom half...
[22:36] iam_datu: ;)
[22:37] JHF: oi!
[22:37] JHF: early bird
[22:38] iam_datu: early...BIRD? :D

It's cool when you get to flirt somebody by flirting someone else together. :D

~~~

Let's compare the two:

Both guys are in Ateneo. Both are damn smart they leech precious Ateneo funds for it.

One acts swishy and gay, but is not. One acts not, but is swishy and gay.

One hates milk. The other's a Nido kid.

The former is whiter than the other.

One has SEX for his name. The other has not, but lives for it.

One is publicized scandalously online against his will. One has an unpublished porn video. >:)

~~~

The Nights of Coffee. The title has literary potential. Shouldn't I be writing more intellectually stimulating forms of discourse than pouring out desperate guy frustrations that demonstrate my embarrassing immaturity? For the record, my peers have moved on way ahead to become productive professionals while I remain a campus juvenile.

Let's see--the old folks like to smoke, have big bellies, and talk about politics and rogue grandchildren all day.

I think I'd stick to my pacifier.

après la chance, la malchance.

2008-08-21T00:38:00.013+08:00

Quels que soit ces choses me signifient, je ne suis pas heureux d'apprendre:

- Le week-end de quatre jour. Cinq, si vous comptez la suspension de classe.
- Les nombreuses offres d'emploi, en incluant ce d'un employeur coréen mystérieux.
- Les photos très très bon de Paul Mayuyu.
- charmed_jello@yahoo apparaissant au sommet de mes fantaisies les plus fous.

Je crains les prochains jours de colère. :,(

getting STRAIGHT to the point.

2008-08-05T17:57:00.005+08:00

Whoever--or rather, WHATEVER--abomination possessed me last night and posted in my blog such carefully crafted composition worthy of a Friendster pulitzer, I'm glad it's gone. On the brighter side, I'm writing again. Three months earlier than promised, but it feels good to get over that paralyzing melancholia and lethargy that hastens one's senility and incontinence (my bladder found a fondness of making my life miserable by forcing me to sneak into women's territory to answer Nature's call every so often). Right now I'm just happy to be back to where I was before: ONLINE, relishing the peace inside the internet cafe amidst ominous clouds that share the same sentiments with me on my toilet adventures.

My days, as I must make clear, are far from uneventful. To tell you that I'm stressed is an understatement, never mind that the gravity of the word had withered through relentless abuse in this journal. I have cleaned up my archives in fact. I want this blog from now on to be free of tasteless memories. After all, what are journals for but for one to read it someday, and I'd rather have ghouls and demons (not to mention pesky inner demons) exorcised forever than summoning them back from Hades or an old Angelica dela Cruz RDL commercial (as an old personal joke goes: "Akala mo ba na ang skin ay parang prutas na binabalatan?... OF COURSE!!! *riiip blood blood*"). I'd also be freer in writing from now on, meaning lesser grammar checks and stylistics, so prepare for a litany of boring but (for lack of more honorable term) "deep-in-my-heart" words up ahead. I might just add a splash of Prune's mischief on the site, if only to keep people away from the "meganopoly" of multinational fragrant-stationery stars like Hello Kitty and Dora (though I'm yet to see an actual fragrant stationery with a convoluted Korean-speaking pirated Latina, I'm disturbed by her ever growing world domination just the same).

Finally I'd like to make a gender-political statement which would significantly define the tone of my posts from now on. I used to be content at calling this site a "gay" blog, if not for any other reason that the Pinoy concept of "bakla" encompasses itself too much with anything gender-masculine deviant. But having fully appreciated the important difference between "gender identity" and "sexual orientation", I wish to make my stand very clear and for everyone out there to know--

I may be bakla...but I am NOT GAY. I may not have the body that "real" women do, but I am definitely FEMALE in my own right.

(...I'll never make a good activist. x_x')