Hannibal Lecter's Whore, Blog of

if i'd say Radagast is Russian, would you believe me?

this isn't really for me. i was wrong. mistaken. very mistaken.

i suck big time.

the thing is, there's no turning back. i sooo want to turn back.

this isn't what i wanted. the program isn't for me (and the other way around, i guess.)

of all the things i really want to do (next after eating) is to write madly. just write. and the freedom to write anything i could think of, and anything that i could not.

i could do my own illustrations. create them just the way i wanted. the way i immortalized the characters in my creations. i'd draw, and i know somebody out there would think i'm drawing a boa constrictor instead of a hat. somebody who will believe in me and the person that i could become.

i wanted to create stories. create my fantasies. make others believe that the star is in fact a lady... that Saruman and Gandalf could be friends... that you can actually visit Rivendell if you are born brilliant... that Radagast is Russian... that you can do your own hand-writing analysis... you can be john doe... that you can make up plainly everything, and be everything.

except that, i couldn't. i'm in the wrong side of the road. the hardest part is, looking back, i could no longer see (and recognize) even my own footsteps. i wanted to go back and be brave enough to do the thing i love most. but i'm afraid i don't know where to start, and where i am going to.

will you take me to that place, please? i'm holding a blank paper and pen, not a map. i don't know where i am heading... and to which directions. or should i start from here? from my paper and pen?

Thing-ification, come in

“There are harmless reifications, class” , I heard him say. I actually agreed with him about that (like I always do in his class). I packed up my things in high spirits thinking that my day was not at all wasted. Toying with the thought about fetishism and reification, I began making up things in my mind—‘objectifying’ any abstract concept that I could think of. This is funny, I said to myself, utterly convinced that perhaps, my sci-fi fanatic-pervert-‘memetic’ professor actually makes sense. Yes, there are harmless reifications. I thing-ified God. I thing-ified Love. Harmless reifications… harmless reifications. It was funny deliberately repeating the phrase like a mantra.

I didn’t know moments after that I’d be learning how to reify Death.

Perhaps I watched too much horror flicks when I was a kid that the image of Grim Reaper with the scythe has then become my unwary imagery of the idea of “death” (deathness, you might comment). He has been donning that same black cloak for days and days, I guess. I wondered if he gets to change his cloak, that is, if he even has another pair.

And I thought Grim Reaper only exists in my imaginings (and in those horror films which can’t even differentiate what’s hilarious and scary). But just today, I met the real thing. I think he was so drunk he forgot to put on his cloak. Yes, he still bears his scythe, but unlike in movies, Grim Reaper, this time, is in fact, extremely scary.

I had enough of it that I don’t want to re-live the experience again. If there is really one thing that I really wanna do now, then that would be going to Dr. Howard Mierzwiak and have every bit of that memory removed from me (yeah, and I feel like Clementine!). Then perhaps transfer those memories to that worthless walking savage who’s responsible of that memory. And I so wish those memories will begin to have lives of their own. They’ll reproduce and multiply, reproduce and multiply…until he chokes with it. It’s a sweet revenge… him choking with the terrible memories he himself had created on me. Literally choking. God, what can be funnier than that.

If I am to thing-ify Death? Well, he is that lowest form of vermin who scared off the friends I damn treasure… he is that uncivilized bastard who almost got us killed… the savage who is no different from a beast.

Then Death is a tangible object now, yes nothing but an “object”. Go get a shrink, Death. You need some major fixing.

Hibernation, The Long Hours of

The gods must be angry at me now. There’s this downpour outside; I can see raindrops plunking madly at the windowpanes. The sound terrifies me. The raindrops seem to be daemons penetrating that window to get me. They seem like monsters coming to take me…and eat me whole.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the downpour is the gods’ way of mourning with me. As I stay abandoned inside this room, the sky weeps with me…for me. While everybody has been treating me with indifference and apathy, the sky feels my pain. She understands me…that is why she mourns with me.

I’ve been staying here, alone and isolated since god-knows-when. I’ve been staring at the same walls, the same ceiling. I’ve been listening to same songs for hours. And I’ve smelled the same perfume. My soul wanted to write madly… paint impulsively… scream… yell… throw the things anywhere… but the body is acting against the soul. So I stayed still. Unmoved. Stagnant.

I can hear faint voices downstairs. Giggles, I think. My housemates must be happy, but I couldn’t care less. I’m not part of their happiness in the first place. That is why I’m hibernating – to punish myself for being a loser… to shut myself from the happiness I do not deserve…for I suck in everything I do. I suck in school. I suck in being good to others. And I suck in having and keeping pets.

Two days ago I was awaken with the news that Brod died. I was dumbstruck. How can that happen? And there he lays stiff; I can see my bunny dead as a dodo. For a moment he doesn’t look like Brod to me. No, he can’t be my bunny. My rabbit is perky and energetic… and breathing.

“Humanity is the only one who knows the idea of dying. A child brought up alone and transported to a desert island would have no more idea of death than a cat or a plant.”… I wish I was that child.

I miss Brod. I miss his purring. I miss the sight of him eating. I miss chuckling because he looked so damn bad when wet.

His cage will remain empty. The world could offer a thousand other rabbits, yes, but who says I need them? I need Brod.

The downpour outside now stops. Perhaps the sky’s tired of grieving, and so I am. And as I stare at these walls, a thought depresses me: I won’t be cleaning Brod’s shit anymore.

And the hibernation continues... I'm gonna stare at the same walls, the same ceiling. I’m gonna listen to same songs for hours. And I'm gonna smell the same perfume...

you should have met artiphanes

if there is anything i've been dying to say to you, then it must be "sorry". and i mean it the truest sense. i can't just bring back time, you know. 'cause if only i could, then i should have not befriended you in the first place. i should have not played with you with those sand castles way back kindergarten days. i am sorry, really ...just as a kid wants to say "sorry" for having eaten someone else's candy.

only that we're not kids anymore. damn, you make me feel i'm so evil... that i could not do anything good... that i suck in being good (and perhaps in trying to be one?)...

one piece of advice? why can't you just tell it to me straight to the eyes?! tell it straight out?! why can't you just admit it to yourself, to your so-called friends...to me?!

artiphanes said that there are two things that only a man can not hide: that he is drunk, and that he is in love.

you can not hide the latter from me. do yourself a favor, will you? admitting it won't kill you.

life isn't a book, says Kate

slumber calls, i can feel it. but something itches me, perhaps a daemon keeping me awake. i need to write, i decided. just write.

there's really something with The Lake House that has been bothering me since i've seen it on screen. yes, the pervert keanu reeves looked so damn good (and that he kisses well!), but that's another story...

"life isn't a book". Kate (Sandra Bullock) said that line, and it has been reverberating inside my head ever since. then i guess she's right. life was never a book, that though a story may have conflicts, still, there will always be resolutions.

love? love is such an overused word...perceived to be very ideal, but for me, it's an embodiment if perfect imperfections. yes, perfect imperfections. love was never fair.

good thing Reeves and Bullock ended up together. then their love (i just hate this word) was not wasted after all. but how about my older brother who realized he would never be in love again for the love of his life was already gone? how about my high school classmate who got herself ditched by the guy who realized he is still in love with his ex? how about my freaky friend who's so damn in love with a kabarkada, only that the girl is already taken? how about my blocmate who could do nothing with her love except express the angst through rantings and blogs? how about my new-found friend who just realized he is in fact in love with his best friend?

and i need to ask...how about me? i've been living this whole 19 years believing to the books i've read...and relive their fantasies through the characters i create with my writings. the books misled me. worse, they have kept me hanging. and what's funny is that it took me only an illogical movie -- a time travel love story working on emotional, not temporal, logic -- to realize what a fool i've become. yes, life isn't a book. i should have that engraved in my mind.

Chuck Palahniuk have proven me right. there's nothing ideal in this world. we are just romanticizing with our own stupidity...our mere creations and perceptions. Leonardo's Mona Lisa is just a thousand smears of paint...Michelangelo's David is just a million hits with a hammer. and we are all a million bits put together the right way.

oh well...i hope my buddies will find the happiness, perhaps the love, they've been seeking. Me? My birth was a mistake and i guess i'll just spend my whole life correcting it.

Crashing

"i have a dream that my four kids will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character." -Martin Luther King

it's just so funny that while i'm typing this out, i just can't stop some lines from our Martin Luther King choral reading, from playing inside my head... i dunno if they have just become part of the gray areas inside this thing called brain, yet, now, upon watching CRASH, i realized that what i was memorizing then actually makes sense.

not that i thought that the piece was crap, or that MArtin Luther King was a fool. it's actually a shame on my part that if it wasn't because of the ever-hearthrob Ryan Philippe, i should have moved to the next line, and queue for Harrison Ford's newest flick (which i will be watching soon, i guess, since my folks are so so fond of Harrison Ford). well, thanks for ryan (when was the last time i saw a Ryan Philippe movie? Cruel Intentions 2?); i should have missed such a thought-provoking story.

CRASH shows how prejudices prevent us from SEEing. Racism, that is, and it hurts thinking (and seeing) that while we keep on saying that the thing is over, still, there's this imaginary orbit separating the whites from the blacks. Not that i am actually directly affected by it. but i cant stop pondering, what if, i was born a black? it wouldn't be my choice in the first place. well, well, society and its complexities... (hhhmmmm...reminds me of Grisham's A Time to Kill)

which leads me to another point. it's what i always call the unreasonable randomness of the cosmos. i see that in CRASH. from the movie, you see people who, by the truest sense, are nothing but faces in such a big city as Los Angeles. Nothing but faces, yes, but, like the strands, they are intertwined. one is connected to the other. what's funny with reality is that you just can't help something from happening. they just happen because the situation allowed such happening. no matter how terrible the consequences are, THEY JUST HAPPEN. without reasons. without explanations.

inside each FACE is a person with so many stories to tell. the Mexican locksmith who does his humble job whole-heartedly for his wife and a beautiful, caring daughter... the Brentwood housewife and her District Attorney husband, who, in their competetive career, have forgotten the simple pleasures of life, like saying "i love you"... the police detective who cares so much for his father... a rookie cop full of idealism... the African-American director and his wife whose marital relationship was shaken because of racism... the korean couple... the car-jackers... THEY, TOO, HAVE THEIR STORIES.

why, of all people, the young kid was shot by a rookie cop who would die just to play back time and wish he shouldn't have pulled the trigger? the unreasonable randomness of the cosmos.

why does it have to be Mr. Director's wife who must be in a car accident while she was struggling to resolve their relationship? the unreasonable randomness of the cosmos.

and why does the humble locksmith always get reprimanded despite his dedication to his job? the unreasonable randomness of the cosmos.

maybe because the world just works that way. nobody could stop randomness. nothing could. while i am typing now, it could be that somewhere near me, a fire is starting out, or a bomb will explode. then i'll die without knowing. i'll just die unreasonably as i was born. and like reality, the world will just keep on revolving, crashing each other's lives...

post script:
i should have met Paul Haggis. i'm the daughter he never had... something itches me. i wanna go back home, and find that Million Dollar Baby DVD...and watch it by till 4am as i eat my brother's home-made spaghetti...

memoirs

so it's you again. haven't seen you for aeons. but how come you still look the same? you still wear that sad smile that i always find unexplainably handsome. in my imaginations, i always lose myself staring at the perfect crescent of your lips, and your close-to-perfect set of teeth. you smile, yes, but why are your eyes not smiling? there must be a void you've always wanted to fill up.

you frown, and there is something in your frowns and deep furrows that makes me feel like i am actually seeing someone, something divine. and you know what? it makes me want to be a deity just because of that, though i know i'll never be...

so it's you again. it has been a very long time, yet i feel like everything was just yesterday. i remember the very sound of my sobs and hiccups, and every tear that rolls down my cheeks is for a reason i couldn't put into words. i remember when you left, and it was though the sun had vanished possibly for good, and that she was now condemned to stand wet and naked in the icy air.

but it's you again. i knew it. i knew this day would come. i even think i dreamed all these into life. but the sad thing is, yesterdays will always be yesterdays, and memoirs shall always remain memoirs.

remember The Butterfly Effect? now i feel like Kutcher, and i realized it must have been hard for him to unexpectedly see the love of his life down the busy metropolitan streets -- walking without realizing how much Kutcher had actually sacrificed for her.

i'd certainly would prefer not meeting you in the first place. at least, i wouldn't long for someone that is not supposed to be mine...

oblivion

even in the wee hours of the morning, you lie awake, sensing every possible movement around you. the silence is so deafening. something seems to be living INSIDE your brain that you just can't control.

then you move sideways in hopes of regaining slumber. yet you just can't. and though your eyes are dropping and you feel like shit, you seem to like the idea that you are AWAKE while everybody is asleep.

in silent reverie you discover another world -- the world that not all souls have been there mainly because they were asleep. the night breeze touches your jawbone as you sit down, and you SEE beyond the darkness.

Then you see this person. you have seen him before, and you reckon that maybe he's that lovely monster that has been keeping you awake. All the while you thought that he had left you, but how come you can SEE him there, standing right in front of you with that beaming smile. You couldn't utter even a single word (you weren't even aware if you've been breathing) because the happiness is so intense that you doubt if you are still awake, or you've just been dreaming.

Yet he is ACTUALLY there. You stared to each other. So long that you feel like staring, after all, is the most fulfilling thing to do. and you begin to believe that single stare would never happen again, ever.

You feel his presence; the whole world seems to be of no importance anymore because all you wanna do is just STARE at him. HE IS HERE, your mind says. after all that waiting, HE IS FINALLY HERE.

then something rattles, and your oblivion was suddenly intercepted with annoyance. you look behind your back to see what it is. and you did this with so much anger. Why would somebody interrupt such a magnificient situation?! You cursed, and suddenly realize that he was gone.

you searched the entire four-poster crying because you know this will never happen again. your sobs filled the room. Your dearest roomate turns on the light oblivious of what is really happening.

"He's gone." And those are the only words you can muster.

I hate love, the way neil gaiman does...

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like "maybe we should be just friends" turns to a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain.

I hate love. Why did your God create it?

To HURT you, that is. Poetic it may seem, yet Neil Gaiman is absolutely right. At first instance love seems to be fiction, yet later you'll realize it's becoming true, strangely true. Good thing I haven't been to a point of utmost passion that unhinges even my soul.

I hate love. I hate it more than anything else in the world. How I wish it's as easy as breathing, but I know it will never be.

from an alcoholic to a metal-mouth

i hate you for being so stupid. i just can't figure out why you keep acting that way. for 19 years i thought i've known you enough, yet here you are again....acting like it's not you.

well, i told you...you'll only end up with regrets. how can anybody be so stupid?! i thought you got something between your ears, yet what you have just shown was beyond stupidity. it's more than that.

okay. will you do it? are you really prepared to do IT? what's bothering me is i know you haven't thought much about this. you just act as if everyting is an impulse. you did not even think about that stimulus. and for sure, you ended up being laughed at by the person on the other line.

THINK. of all people, i really thought it's you who could do this best. just THINK. then if you're ready (and i beg to disagree that you really are), then convince me to believe you. persuade me like you've never persuaded anyone before. tell me you're making that step, then i'll think about if you are indeed ready to break that line.

is the person worthy for it? you think so, don't you? that's because you did not THINK! for heaven's sake, you're old enough to realize how things could be foolish if you go beyong the limits. call it sheer conformity, yes. but don't you think you aren't on your sane mind after all?

think about it. YOU aren't foolish to realize that everything is never too late. but if you insist, then DO it. just don't come back and tell me you are sorry. April is fast approaching. i just wish you can handle things up, before everything's too late for you.

the best of luck from your psyche.

it's when you're in love with a married man...

STUPIDITY. i hate it more than anything else. yet i just realized that i've been stupid these past months.

it's amazing how this world could make you feel ecstatic at one time, and depressed the second you realized you've been feeling 'more than happy'.  and then you couldn't bring back the time (how i wish i could). all you have are broken pieces, tangling strands of hopeful memories.

then maybe it's true that the love we can not have is the one that lasts the longest, hurts the deepest, and feels the strongest. then maybe love is a mental illness, but a pleasurable one. it's a drug. it distorts reality, and that's teh point of it. it would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw.

believe me, i've been through it. it's the same feeling when you suddenly find out that you're in love with a married man.

if i want god to laugh...

if i want god to laugh, then the most effective way is to tell him that, finally, I AM IN LOVE.

it seems funny though, that i am 'terribly' in love with myself. this, i think, happens when paranoia is living inside you, that though you seek for someone, you ended up having only yourself. pitiful. pathetic. yet, is there any other resort?

someday, there will be. then, i would stop loving myself for somebody (i know) could do that way better than me.

it's when the downpour makes you feel damn blue

I want somebody to share...share the rest of my life..share my innermost thoughts..know my intimate details...

Someone who'll stand by my side, and give me support..and in return return, he'll get my support..

He will listen to me when i want to speak about the world we live in, and life in general. Though my views may be wrong; they may even be perverted. He'll hear me out, and won't easily be converted to my way of thinking. In fact, he'll often disagree. But at the end of it all, he will understand me..

I want somebody who cares for me passionately -- with every thought and with every breath...

Someone who'll help me see things in a different light... All the things I detest, I will almost like..

I don't want to be tied to anyon'es  strings.. I'm carefully trying to steer clear of those things...

But when I'm asleep, I want somebody who will put around his arms around me and kiss me tenderly... Though things like this make me sick. In a case like this, I'll get away with it...

frustrations

What i want is to be needed. what i need is to be indispensable to somebody. Who i need is soembody who will eat up my time, my ego, my attention. Somebody addicted to me. A mutual addiction.

But then, WHO would that be? Could there be someone out there who is even more willing to share such addiction with me?

There are really times that you feel all alone and you clamour for someone who would think rational even if you're being ridiculous. Someone who talks sense...someone who would never think that you look like shit because of that stupid black-rimmed glasses. Somebody who would think that even if you're four-eyed, you're still beautiful.

But then who would that be?

The feeling seems like you're being trapped inside a lovely shell -- you are contented with the li'l things you own, yet you know deep inside that you still want SOMETHING, or maybe, just maybe, SOMEONE. Since it is a lovely shell, you are afraid to get out of it and explore. You get frustrated yet you can't do anything with your own frustrations. Then later on, these frustrations eat you up. They OWN you.

I hope i could find someone unknowable. Maybe that person is in a place that is not in a map. A sphinx. A mystery. A blank.

Being alone inside this lovely yet dark shell makes me feel a worthless piece of vermin. I hope somebody would get me out of here. Yes, i am afraid to be hurt and leave this lovely yet suffocating shell.

Can you get me out of here, anyone? Besides, i don't want to die without a few scars.

jeRks: A letter to

if this is supposed to happen, then be it. i really never thought we will end up like this after all that we've gone through since high school. i admit that i felt real bad, but what can i do? tell me.

you used to say that the friendship still remains, no matter what. but look what you've done. you've ruined everything!people really change, and what's really frustrating is you couldn't find a single rational thinking why it has to happen.

if you hate me (i really don't know why), then let me HATE you too. you got a friend in me, but the thing is, i'm your worst enemy. you just don't know how cruel i really am.

i'll see you maybe this summer. then, we'll see where this "friendship" will go. if this has to end, then be it. you're not the only person in the world for chrissake; i could find better friends just waiting for me out there...

paradoxes

==We are born and only later awaken to the possibilities of our lives. Our brains come first, then our minds grow within them. In this awakening process, we come to realize that an external world exists, and operates by consistent principles. If at that point we decide that we like being alive, we change our values to encourage the life process that produced us.==

liberation of psychos

i should have met Friedreich Nietzsche. i should have found my soulmate. in a world where everything is baseless and nothing is ever known, i should have found the person who would better understand me. Call it radical skeptism, yes. but can you blame me?! can you show me and make me believe that everything isn't bullshit?!

breathe...

everything is illusion. nobody, nothing really exists. "mankind" is doomed into unbecoming. if you think that you're real, then think again. it takes much contemplation to realize the truth.

breathe...

we all live to die. and if that's the case, then why LIVE?! yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are all left alone. the GOD we have created in our minds barely sees us. He even wants us dead. most importantly, GOD IS DEAD. the psychos would rule the world. a paradise is then created...

figments of a queer

i admire addicts. in a world where everybody is waiting for some bline, random disaster, or some sudden disease, the addict has the comfort of knowing what will most likely wait for him down the road. He's taken some control over his ultimate fate, and his addiction keeps the cause of death from being a total surprise...

our real discoveries came from chaos, from going to the place taht looks wrong and stupid and foolish...

love is bullshit. emotion is bullshit. i am a rock. a jerk. i'm an uncaring asshole and is proud of it...

all God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. we must never, ever be boring...

where would jesus be if no one had written the gospels?...

i want to work in a funeral home to feel good about myself, just the fact that i am breathing...

what we call chaos are just patterns we haven't recognized. what we call random are just patterns we can't decipher. what we can't understand we call nonsense. what we can't read we call gibberish. there is no freewill. there are no variables. there is only the inevitable...