Pandora's Boxes [iv]: A Very Brief PeNoy review

Kinda busy. Here are yellow things to celebrate the blessings of King Inang Yellow. Since he failed to do a lot of his homework, I wouldn't say anything about his performance. Let's be mediocre. And be airbags! I find this bragging--of his efforts of getting rid of his constituents' apathy--quite arrogant, unless you want to suck his balls and call that confidence. That smug.

L Reform. A contribution to IMAHEngNASYON.

Ang Smiley. A contribution to Tulagalag 100. Posted here.

Spectacles(trikethrough) [vi]

Specs[ v][ iv][iii][ ii][ i]. Everything might be a work of fiction. This is fiction. The initial draft was written in an olde notebook that I have just named, now, Calliope. Haven't written something in her for a long while, after taking her for granted. How insensitive this delayed christening. Sad.

Let us complicate things. More complicated than conspiracy theories involving medicine and health. Fuck the mindfuckeries vigilant citizens preach as if they were fact. What if the doctors aggravate maladies or worsen malnutrition so they remain the answers to your prayers, as if they are heaven sent if they cure you of the illnesses caused by the very society they un/consciously serve? Aren't the same corporations that create antivirus programs the ones that create the viruses themselves? Just as the United Snakes create an Osama that later turns into the Frankenstein that they failed to control, as someone has already said? Point is, whatever discipline we are into, we do things to preserve our selves. Or, do we?

What if this wearing of spectacles, our wearing of spectacles in particular, goes "according to plan"? Whose plan? What plan? Is there a plan? Random is the plan, the framework, or the thought of the plan, the framework. The frame wherein lenses fit to aid us in what we are supposed to see. Who decides what we are supposed to see? Do we? Do you? Do some higher-ups live up to the messianic task or responsibility--or "burden" just like that of the white men?

Let us complicate things more. More complicated than art and society. The bullshit that we do--or we think we succeed in doing, that serves a purpose--or we believe does serve an essential role, no matter how grand or how trivial, to society. Art being something we think is as necessary as breathing, though we feel like it is an excess, or a vanity, that shapes society to an extent we may not be that aware of. What does that mean? I do not know. Nothing means anything these days. What I know is:

Art is something that binds us. Not us, humankind, but us--we as two individuals attempting to see the world in lenses that may be actual lenses, imagined lenses, or hallucinogenic, if not delusional, lenses observing a reality we think is the truth, a mindscape we feel is another reality, a psychedelia that we believe an "other" mindscape. Do not ask me

what that means. Do not ask me about the arts and the theories criticizing the arts and the society contextualizing the theories criticizing the arts. Do not even ask me about me. And the interactions or interrelations of the aforementioned matters and such to each other. Ask me about you. Or about us. Or about what this is all about. Do not expect a quick, straight response, though. Expect stuttering, breakdowns, stalling, interruptions, buckling, thunderstorms, stalling, apocalypses, sudden lisps, tongue twists, stalling, and other instant speech defects care of hot then cold deluge of water from both heaven and hell. Besides

the sense of sight and that of touch, my sense of taste begins to have troubles in gordian knots--not because I have an awful sense of taste caused by this awkward motherfucking cosmic yet quantum whatsoever, which cannot be represented in words for you but I am quite certain that the unnameable is some sort of "feeling," something more sacred than founded beliefs and deities; but because the sense of taste, the tongue, needless to say, is an organ associated with speech and explicit communication, unlike the so-called windows of the soul, the eyes, that speak in silence.

Let me complicate things further and add details. God is in the details, so, he might hear and see this and do something about it either to convince me of his benevolence and superpowers, or tell me to go fuck myself with the blasphemies I utter on a regular basis. I thought alcohol blesses men, and semi-men, and not-men, and ex-men and un-men with the courage they need to tell someone something to their face. God is dead, Nietzsche said, but someone insisted that god is red, thus he is in red wine or any equivalent beverage. I am not quite sure if all alcoholic drinks count as such, but let us say they do. If god is red and he is a spirit and he is in alcohol or even the alcohol, it seems like he is angry at me since he did not bother to help last night:

If my memory that often does me disservice serves me right this time, that was the third night that we tripped and talked together. I remember how you take off your spectacles from time to time while I have mine resting in its casket since I am wearing nano-domes of transparent plastic wrappers as visual help. Are our perspectives "corrected" then, since we can do without spectacles? Are we to lessen dependence on them? I thought my vision and yours are becoming clear as the starless night skies we drink away, but apparently, visions remain open and dead--deprived of interpretation and meaning. Also,

this was another of those few days when we see and did things out of the game plan, i.e., tripping and talking in spontaneity and uncertainty instead of doing something sophisticated and profound as projected--not that our tripping and talking ended as tasteless, unrefined, crass waste, but it is just that our tripping and talking was a bit too "lighthearted," whatever that means, compared to hardcore intellectual jousts oozing with splattered cerebellum, cerebrum and medulla--and sometimes, broken spinal columns.

Ironic how our conversations felt like clouds in broad summer daylight while my chest feels like a heavy tempest at burdened seas wreaking havoc at the so-called temple that god inconsiderately built in humans so he can reside somewhere and have a vacation during weekends. Let me complicate things up to the boiling point or freezing point, depending on how you look at it--as complicated as sending you an email with these--or a link to these--scrawls, with no other text than "read or click at your own risk. More disturbing than child pornography in 3D. You have been warned. Let the asexual facade wear off and may all who has eyes to see and ears to hear know that I have the sick capacity to desire."

Fuck this. Day is almost over and failed to send you any word yet.

Pandora's Boxes [iii]: Goddaughter

A pleasant coincidence. After posting a diabolical nostalgia, here I am sharing a portrait of my goddaughter. This was er... blue-penned a year ago. And up until now, I don't think I have given her anything, i.e. material things, that matter. I shall pay my debts soon. Happy Birthday and thank you for making me--

I hope I have balanced, or better "neutralized," the hearts and rainbows and unicorns and sunshine and other niceties of this post with the embedded video.

CarcositeNewsNet: Emoticon of Church and State

Palace: Eheheheheh ^_^'

The virtual community witnessed the concession of the Palace today saying that the nine-year Arroyo Queendom was not that bad at all. The crowbar duel was called off, contrary to the official declaration as reported yesterday.

Amputee Royal Spokesperson Galibail Voltage told Mala-Canan reporters that the King Inang Yellow monarchy utilized the Arroyo programs that "did not quite suck" and "worthy enough to be happy about, especially when you look at how she performed, but it's fine."

"Those who are saying that we completely discontinued the programs of the previous monarchy are liars and evil motherfuckers and rabblerousing assholes," Voltage added. "We are objective when we put programs into tests of relevance. We work on what works, as I've told you guise before."

She cited the Conditioning Cash Transmutation (CCT) Program, which is also the Kingdom's pride, other than that "very effective wang wang campaign against hassles and badtrips on the road."

"The CCT is from the efforts and greatness of the previous monarchy. It is fucking bullshit that we did not continue the said program. We just made it better and greater, but, needless to say, not greater than Cthulhu," Voltage said.

She also mentioned, with "a proud smug that an archbishop wants to knock off her face" according to a source, the Ministry of Health's "syringe program" and "anti-antiyellowfever campaigns" and "vanguards of firecracker victims during the New Year."

"I can enumerate a lot of our ass kicking, like the 2011 budget, the guilds and mercenaries that the Kingdom now controls, the Hali flood negotiations with, you know, star gods, if you know what I mean," she added. She stressed with that same smug that "the people's mindsets are changed" because they "look at the kingdom as a cool thing and not a motherfucking asshole."

"These are, indded, Yellow Signs," she almost ended. When asked about the crowbar threat she said, "What are you talking about?" I reminded her again about yesterday's news and she said she is late for her meeting.

Last Friday, following Thursday, Arroyo told the press that recognizing the gains of the previous monarchy and building on it is the mark of chivalry. Aw...

King Inang Yellow bagged the crown after telling the people that Arroyo is not that 'metal' at all because she is a miser, hoarding drugs and not sharing with her friends substances to be abused.

Arroyo said, "That's fucking bullshit."

Church: Waaaargh! >.<

"Almost a year in office, and King Inang Yellow wang wang (brags) about his ever victorious wang wang policy?," retired Lingkod-Dagukan Archbishop Oscar Grouch told me yesterday and I'm telling you about it.

"The nerve!," he added. "He is to celebrate his first anniversary as King and this is his cheap treat for all of us!" He also said that wang wang is not "that fab at all" and that the "promised straight path (pinangakong matuwid na daan)" is "nailed (napako) like that whore Mary Magdalene."

Grouch also criticized the "sloganeerings" (sic) of the Yellow King that remain "sons and daughters of the devil." When asked why, he said, "Son, you have not been reading the Bible. Satan is the father of lies. He is father to the King right now. If you continue that way, you'll be damned in hell with him."

"We are the King's boss? No corruption, no poverty? No wang wang no what? I am not being demanding. Much needs to be done more than observing silence while driving a porsche. The Philippines is not a library. It is a country, FYI," said Grouch, a former president of the Carcosa Bi Chambers of the Philippines (or is it Catholic Boy Craftlove of the Philippines? As of press time, the meaning of the acronym remains unconfirmed).

Grouch added that approval and trust ratings, not condoms, should be what the King concerns himself with. "Prepare for a magical storytelling this SOKA (State of the Kingdom Address). Record it too so you'll have a bedtime story with a happy ending to listen to, and fool yourself. God bless you all."

Oh, this is bullshit, btw. Distorted data from here and here.

Spectacles [v]

Specs[ iv][iii][ ii][ i]. Everything might be a work of fiction. This is fiction. Sad.

Mind's eye. Where have I read or heard the term? I suspect an animated media or a literary work--where most of the things I read or hear (or I thought I read or hear) resonates and reverberates as if happening right here, right now, without any sense of time and place. With this pair of a pair of spectacles thing going on, I wonder whether the mind would need all the help it can get to make blurry visions clear. And, put the where, the how and the why into the wonder to make things more complicated. Not recollecting what you want to recollect pisses the hell out of you. At least most of the time. It keeps on echoing, I just do not know where it is coming from. Mind's eye.

Spectacles within the spectacles. What the fuck are those? An eye aiding an eye that aids an eye? So, we push someone with such away by saying, "Fuck off, six-eyes!" I care less about six eyes, though. To stall-- Only eight eyes matter at this particular moment of a seeming writing prompt that borders somewhere in the lines of a semi-therapeutic writing exercise and a quasi-meditative disclosure of how my central neurological and cardiovascular systems are.

Six eyes are like films. The thinking cinematographer commutes from what the thinking director commutes from what the thinking scriptwriter commutes from what he observes. We are to be the cinematographer and director and writer of a particular film, i.e. The Movie. In our separate movies, we assign different roles to specific people. Our correspondence of function role to variable person are, more often than not, different. For instance, you may assign a certain person as your knight in shining armor or your hero, and I may give him the role of the villain or, to euphemize, the motherfucker that gets in the way of the antihero, i.e. the I. I hate how we see things differently, or how I think we see things.

Dialectics. Clash of the opposites that resolves into progression or regression, though regression may be a progress towards another end that might not be the end we thought we would want. My movie may be an antithesis to your thesis of a movie that shall eventually transpire and synthesize into The Movie.That is multi-leveled creation. That is collaboration. That is filling in what needs fillings. That needs to be done with utmost respect and precision and thought and heart. *cue: nausea* Spectacles aiding a spectacle that aids the eyes. Or is it?

Nevermind. I'm leaving despite the dark clouds that further obscure the sight.

CarcositeNewsNet: Palace readies crowbars (...)

Tsk. Fuck that headline. Anyway--

Palace prepares the longest crowbars vs. Arroyo, allies

Four fingers or "metal knuckles" are on. And not to mention, middle fingers.

Mala-Canan last thursday announced its fuck you and declared a real-time clan war versus Panga Rep. Gloriadiaz Pumalagka-Riot, the former queen or "the babylon royal whore queen of the Uncle SODOM (Superpower Omni-Dirty Old Man)" or Arroyo for short. Pun not intended.

"We have been defending ourselves from former president queen Arroyo. The hurtful offences damage our pure hearts, especially those cruel tweets in twitter. We wouldn't let such fuckery pass," said amputee royal spokesperson Galibail Voltage on kingdom-run dzAQ radio. "Word wars aren't man enough. Let's see how our crowbars break the balls they thought they have."

Voltage goaded Arroyo and her allies as well for resorting to lame "nye nye nye" blabber meant for kids. And their generalizations that are "gay."

On Friday, the day following last thursday, Arroyo remarked that the King Inang Yellow monarchy is "retarded" for "fucking up" and "screwing over ten million times to hell" the "grandeur brought to the country" by her nine-year Queendom.

"I left a very metal and very powerful economy pumped up through 10 motherfucking years of consistent killing of bad vibes," Arroyo said. "And this is what I get? A crowbar affaire d'honneur?"

"The kindom I left for him and my people," she added, "is so strong against the global crisis that we could laugh maniacally about it. Now, Asia recovers from the crisis, except our country. That is the problem. You (King Inang Yellow) are the problem, fucktard."

"Unsurprising, that piece of shit," Voltage said. "She is not even attending proceedings that would nail her like a whore to the prison bars, and now, she thinks she is so 'metal' because she triumphs with this media exposure whatsoever despite this evil weather. She is way more beyond the evilness (sic) of the weather though."

Faulken, the evil tropical storm named after the villain with black wings of the anime the Vision of Escaflowne, was here with us at the time Arroyo lured the media with yummy food for a press briefing in her hometown.

"That douchebag, feeling like she is the center of the universe!," Voltage said and furthered that Arroyo loves it when she is "treated" like a "princess" instead of an "old ugly queen." She added, "Arroyo is stalling! Yes, She is! Such press conferences are diversionary tactics, to shun the focus away from her impotency and impunity and such things that would hold her Queendom accountable!"

Voltage also insisted on the exclamation points while the draft of this article is being done. Do not blame us, please. Some of our writers have been having trauma with accusing fingers pointing at us as if everything is our fault. Sad.

No bodies home? Fuck that!

In her Saturday taping, following Friday, Voltage said that the Kingdom "works" on the programs of the past Queendom that "works." She added, "Thus, we are using a few programs, because her (Arroyo's) programs suck."

She also answered Arroyo's "no body home" assessment of the Kingdom. "There are no bodies home, because we dump people we kill right after. We are not here to parade how metal we are by letting the remains remain."

"Plus, the calamity funds," Voltage added. "You know about it. She spent it on her stuff for posing as the most metal queen ever. Ask the cabinet secretaries how the horror of not having funds haunts us, and you might outhorror Lovecraft."

"Fuck that 'no bodies home' statement," Voltage ended. "I am not sure what she means so I'm keeping my mouth shut about it. But not my crowbar."

Voltage was not yet done, sorry, "What 'danger signs,' Arroyo? During the first year of the Kingdom, less people were hungry, the economy was progressing, and stuff, are those danger signs? Those are Yellow Signs. Our policies are working."

I think she is done speaking. She left with something violent and crooked in hand.

Oh, this is bullshit, btw. The second this day.

The first one, here. The source / inspiration of this article, here.

Pandora's Boxes [ii]: 8 Demons

Oh, a new header / banner / whatsoever. Joy.

Though we all know that the evils of this millennium culminates with the most relevant issue of these times, i.e. the Onion not getting a Pulitzer Prize despite its outstanding contribution to the world with its high-caliber journalism powered with dedicated journalists who want nothing but to bring you the facts even without an award and desperately mad loyal supporters who would do anything for truth and justice, there are other issues that deserve attention (though let me emphasize, again, and clarify, again, that the Onion deserves more than all attention it can get such as the Pulitzer Prize, goddamnit!). And this concerns your children and the future of your grandchildren. And their grandchildren's clones.

Demons lurk amongst us, and one of them celebrated a birthday back then when they were exposed by Saviours and Soldiers of God and God's Truth (SAGOT) to the public. How arrogant those demons are! No demon has the right to celebrate birthdays or proclaim the day of their birth, for chrissakes! About two years passed and recently, another among their ranks celebrated his birthday through an esoteric occult ritual that the public would never suspect of being a satanic rite--dancing a new world order dance in the rain while screaming unholy incantations to wash their sins away and save themselves--without a christ! How proud and Luciferian!

This rite occurred after this guy and six of his cohorts (so, they were seven! see how they blaspheme God? they even used God's number instead of the Devil's number, six, and imprison themselves to manipulate media attention!) were freed by their co-demons from the Hell where God placed them to atone for their sins. The unrepentant sinners even marched from Hell to earth proclaiming victory over God and his warriors of righteousness. The same unrepentant sinners were asked by the soldiers about other demons they knew since knowing a demon's name gives you a decent chance of capturing them. Surprisingly, the list of demons names demons that were already labelled demons by SAGOT back then. Here's an archived video documentary of the demon hunting (yes, gritty camera movement! that's indie / alternative media! this creepy video still gives me the creeps!):

The bane of humanity, i.e. these demons--the seven, the eight, the sixteen, the fifty four, the one hundred, whatever the number and to whatever Legion they serve--shall turn to God and righteousness as long as they still have their souls to surrender to the Almighty. Get the Onion a Pulitzer to have an in-depth reportage further fortified by thorough analysis of issues such as these and secure the future of your children. And their grandchildren. And their grandchildren's clones. Before it is too late and we end in either a zombie or a robot apocalypse.

Oh, this is fiction, btw.

Spectacles [iv] x Fete

Stuff that might interest you more than this post:

Lateralus x obZen && The QBCCColour ending /

UNDER THE STORM shortlist @ the 4th .MOV

International Film, Music & Literature Festival

(Two posts for a day is too much. Ugh. Fuck this.)

Specs[iii][ ii][ i]. Everything might be a work of fiction. This is fiction. Sad.

Fourth of the Spectacles

My lenses are windshields under the harsh, merciless, inconsiderate splashes of a tempest that comes not just from my core but from the wrath of the heavens, further blurring my vision whether it is day or most when it is night. Like the temperature that was once humid or muggy leaving an icky dampened feeling on the skin and an oily haggardness on the faces with smiles borne out of stars and hearts despite the stress and unwanted heat, you turn cold.

The sudden turn was a pang not just in the ego but also in the worlds that we are to create, or conquer had they been created. Worlds that expect us to either create or conquer them. Or, maybe, I am daydreaming. I was daydreaming. There were no spectacles. There was just me and my yearning for the point where our eyes shall meet after our foresight and insight and hindsight breaks through the barriers, ie, our spectacles. For now, it seems like our line of sight are parallel lines. Hoping for parallel lines to intersect is no different from praying to mainstream gods.

***

Fete vs. Falcon

I have been having second thoughts since yesterday whether I'll brave Falcon for Fete de la Musique. You on the other hand could have been having no thoughts anymore about going or not because-- Even Fete herself has been bothered by Falcon. There are even rumours of an adjustment with regards to venue due to legal shiznit. Weird how legal whatsoevers matter more than the weather disturbance named after a ...bird. Well, he proved his being a bird, or a dick by flapping his wings so hard that a lot of weekend events and gettogethers and bondings and other such type of warmth are cancelled. Cold. Cold is the new black. Cold treatment. Harsh. [News said he'd stop being a dick in a while, tho.]

Or, maybe, I'm just thinking too much of things I should not be thinking about, hence I shouldn't write about or disclose. But, also, remember that you are here because you chose to be here. I am not shoving blog entries such as this up your throat--as I have begun not posting "series" (or, to euphemize, "bullshit teenage-angst rant that wouldn't accomplish anything or reach anyone or satisfy any need of anyone but my need to vent out, motherfuckers") even on my personal accounts in social networking sites that fuck the hell out of me most of the time. That is all. Ending this post during a gloomy, rainy day with--

Lateralus x obZen && QBCCColour End

(Tried using tech pen with ballpoint pen and I am not too happy with it. Tweaked the drawing a bit in photoshop, though I'd rather not. Yep, no one's asking. I know.)

Crossbreeding ideas feels somewhat divine. Attempts such as this are not intended to blaspheme the purity or whatsoever of the entities fucked together. This is actually a high form of worship. Whatever the fuck that means. Anyway, here's LateralobZen. Had I been able to do mash-ups such as this one by Wax Audio (tori amos x pj harvey x bjork x massive attack = wasak), I would have done so.

LateralobZen

or Qabalah x Zen

Black then white are all I see in my infancy. Red and yellow then came to be, reaching out to me. Lets me see a state of perfection, immersed in filth. Equilibrium obtained. As below, so above and beyond, I imagine drawn beyond the lines of reason. Push the envelope. Watch it bend. Pure in devotion to all things unwell. This sweet zen of our ill condition sustained.

Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind. A new belief-system. Salvation found in vomit and blood. Withering my intuition, missing opportunities and I must feed my will to feel my moment drawing way outside the lines--where deprivation, lies, corruption, war and pain is god.

Black then white are all I see in my infancy. Red and yellow then came to be, reaching out to me. Balance. Harmony found in the sickly, the vile lets me see there is so much more and beckons me to look through to these infinite possibilities. Unflinching eyes, joyous and gleeming, as below, so above and beyond, I imagine drawn outside the lines of reason. Push the envelope. Watch it bend. Intense in their need to watch things die.

Over thinking, over analyzing separates the body from the mind. A new belief-system. Salvation found in vomit and blood. Withering my intuition leaving all these opportunities behind--where deprivation, lies, corruption, war and pain is god.

Feed my will to feel this moment urging me to cross the line. Reaching out to embrace the random. Reaching out to embrace whatever may come.

Decay, disgrace, disgust - our state of zen.

I embrace my desire to the grime of contempt and degeneration, feel the rhythm, to feel connected enough to step aside and weep like a widow to feel inspired, to fathom the power, to witness the beauty, to bathe in the fountain--sticky, foul and pungent, to swing on the spiral of our divinity and still be a human.

With my feet upon the ground I lose myself between the sounds and open wide to suck it in, I feel it move across my skin. The sediment of our creation. I'm reaching up and reaching out, I'm reaching for the random or what ever will bewilder me. And following our will and wind we may just go where no one's been. We'll ride the spiral to the end and may just go where no one's been. We flourish in this bloodred soil.

Spiral out. Keep going, going...

(Lateralus by Tool [news?] & obZen by Meshuggah, lyrics here & here respectively.) And finally, the final set of the QBCCColour series! I decided to upload the last whole page now---panels 9 & 10 & 11 & 12. Panels 7 & 8 here. Panels 5 & 6 here. panels 3 & 4 here. First set here.

Note: Click the "komix" label, "read" the QBCCColours and dig the catch. :L

Pandora's Boxes [i]: Jumpstarting Nostalgia

Had I really learnt how, I hope I could re-learn vector imaging, or whatever it is called. Today I begin another thing among other things I have began (and oftentimes failed to sustain, but it's fine!): unearthing files and attempting to say something about it. This was created way back 2006.

I have this obsession with unborn motherfuckers and I have no idea what that might mean or might say about me and my subconscious. These weird images or visions or whatever you want to call them eventually became my first er... illustrated narrrative--"Ang Engkwentro sa Palma Bridge ng mga Batang Pinalaya(s) sa Sinapupunan," or, roughly, "The Fun of the Aborted Kids." :L This was originally submitted as a class requirement, just like "Lihim ng mga Lespu." Here's an "old" news. Anyway, since I've began showing a pair, here's another pair--the two covers of my first er... zine. This zine was released 2007. The reprint last year, 2010.

The next installment or sequel or prequel since time does not matter would soon be released by KarMa Kolektib (After four years? :L Haha, tagged you bilang pressure, ha, ka-collab. Joke. Pero, take your time. Haha.). Like the fanpage here.

(Would do something to make entries such as this er... happier.)

June 28 addendum for more effects. Remembered this vid because of this 30dayshit