11022011. hey, today's date's a palindrome, by the way. a mirror, to, say, reflect on things and all that bullshit of soul searching during all souls' day. just saying.
"He took the children out into the field to study nature, as he put it. He picked flowers and taught the names of the various parts: the stigma, the pistil, pollen, the petals. He told them a little about fertilization. One child cried out:'Look. A flower with petals of blood.' "
And, by the way, I'd pepper this post with such quotes from Petals of Blood by Ngugi wa Thiong'o, so, more than a mindless rant of frustration and crap, this post may somehow help you in ways I would never know. Take it as my way of thanking you for dropping by. But, think twice before reading the block quotes, as I am not too cautious with blurting out spoilers, though I doubt there will be spoilers as these are--yes, again, not copypasted, but--encoded (so, yes, please do point out anything wrong, from what fuckeries I am saying to grammatical lapses) from pages 21 to 22 of the book. Encoded, just like most of the previous spectacleshards you might find interesting: [Zizek's] [Borges's] [Pirsig's] [Calvino's] [Philippines graphic's]--
--in which this spectacleshards is a first, a loner adrift the carcosite spectacleshards, being an excerpt from a novel, friendless, while there are three excerpts from short fiction pieces and two are nonfiction, Pirsig's and Zizek's.
"It was a solitary red beanflower in a field dominated by white, blue and violet flowers. No matter how you looked at it, it gave you the impression of a flow of blood. Munira bent over it and with a trembling hand plucked it. It had probably been the light playing upon it, for now it was just a red flower."
[Here] is a link to Zizek's beautiful and insightful speech during the Occupy Wall Street protests, though I share Rolando Tolentino's [take] as regards the "occupy" movement worldwide, and, I'd also like to link the [points] raised by Teo Marasigan. By the way, I felt that facebook is too occupied, crowded, cluttered, so, I deactivated it, again, to, sort of, detoxify. But despite the burial of that cyber projection, information never fails to overflow and overwhelm the fuck out of me, flooding, fucking, raping my mind into oblivion and ignorance of the things I thought I know, destroying and creating truths, all over, like an endless un/learning process, which is nice, but, tiring--now I have, again, at least 25 tabs waiting to be read, now, or until the next time I go online. I have downloads in progress, though I have .avi's .pdf's .cbr's .mp3's etc eating cyber dust. Consumerism leaves me with no choice but to not have a choice. At all.
" 'There is no color called blood. What you mean is that it is red. You see? You must learn the names of the seven colours of the rainbow. Flowers are of different kinds, different colours. Now I want each one of you to pick a flower ... Count the number of petals and pistils and show me its pollen ... ' "
What happened in the previous month? Nothing productive worth celebrating as the september jumpstart, I think, but, somehow, the samhain countdown of october compelled me to be / to seem productive. Yet after reading this article, I felt alarmed, thinking that I'd rather go on an actual trip, one on a road that's concrete, than, well, a trip deep within one of the rooms inside my head--or my head inside this room? Which is which? After minute or two of re/thinking, I'd rather go on a recluse. I am steps away from lessening cyber foot prints anyway. And, I hope you lurkers fucking comment when you stumble upon this blog. A "hey there" would suffice. Paranoia never leaves my side, as I sometimes feel like those hits /stats mean danger. How? Why? What the fuck am I talking about? Well, if you didn't dig it, you probably don't know who I am, so, I suggest we hang out some time.
"He stood looking at the flower he had plucked and then threw the petals away. Yet another boy cried:'I have found another. Petals of blood - I mean read ... It has no stigma or pistils ... Nothing inside.'He went to him and the others surrounded him:"
There. Dig it? Of course you don't. Ha! Talking in riddles doesn't work all the time.
" 'No, you are wrong,' he said, taking the flower. This color is not even red ... It does not have the fullness of colour of the other one. This one is yellowish red. Now you say it has nothing inside. Look at the stem from which you got it. You see anything?''Yes,' cried the boys. 'There is a worm - a green worm with several hands or legs.''Right. This is a worm-eaten flower ... It cannot bear fruit. That's why we must always kill worms ... A flower can also become this colour if it's prevented from reaching the light.'
Last month are news of some of those who died that are never even worms deserving to be killed. Among them, shedding light to the darkness of the exploits of this established order, are two who served the people: one claimed by "natural" death, the other by bullets. It is All Souls' day, and I wonder, had there been souls, how many of them are still roaming the mortal world in search of the justice that remains unserved despite their bodies being almost, if not completely, decomposed by worms? This is quite a lengthy blog entry, right? Had neither facebook Wall for status messages nor public tweets as outlets, so, I abuse this space in the interwebz. Hang in there, I am almost done, we are almost done with these senselessness, I think.
"He was pleased with himself. But then the children started asking awkward questions. Why did things eat each other? Why can't the eaten eat back? Why did God allow this to happen? He had never bothered with those kind of questions and to silence them, he told them that it was simply a law of nature. What was a law? What was nature? Was he a man? Was he God? A law was simply a law and nature was nature. What about men and god? Children, he told them, it's time for a break."
Maybe it is. After pondering on death, I'd like to concede that god is a necessity, thus prayers are, I think, mandatory, given the sociocultural context of the Philippines--whether we like it or not. As an Apocalyptica song goes, "I don't believe in god, but I'll pray for you." It has been a long while and I haven't written about you in public again, yet. And I am not sure if I will, anytime soon. But, yes, I somehow did. Now. And a maybe few weeks ago, if that counts.
Anyway, I am hoping that Petals of Blood equals or surpasses the enjoyment I had with Wizard of the Crow. Yes, that tendency again to measure an author's work with his other works. Speaking of "works," I think, after this, I would not post an entry anytime soon (yes, I am writing as if anyone's reading) since a lot of things are long overdue, and I hope deactivating facebook and privatizing [eh?] twitter are effective strategies for focusing (and perhaps feeling safe, ha, paranoia strikes given the chance), one task at a time, though I think nothing is really helping and "discipline," whatever the fuck that means, is the key to, say, success.
