black cats, broken mirrors and walking under ladders

happy friday the 13th

earth below

sky beneath

bear the weight

of light and heat

it's a good thing i work graveyard - i just slept the whole friday the 13th away. the thing is, it may be four hours before the end of the so-called "cursed" day but my bad luck is just starting to kick in.

on my way to work, i just lighted a ciggie when some guy coming out of nowhere bumped me and knocked off the very last stick that i have. you have no idea how much i wanted to kill him!! and i don't really know what it is about today that i get ticked off easily. blaring horns from buses in edsa make me want to scream and girls gibberring oh-so-loudly and giggling like no one else is around makes me want to choke them till they run out of air to gasp!! arrrggghhh >.<

all i can do now is salvage whats left of the day.. that is - if it's still "salvageable" [is there even such a word?! i REALLY couldn't care any less..]..

the artist and the freak

no one really appreciated anything that Vincent Van Gogh painted during his lifetime. people would even refer to his work as both morbid and grotesque and people would condemn him for using a palette of colors that are uncommon for what the norms can regard as "art." Now that he's gone, reproductions of his work can be bought for a minimum of $500 to as much as $5,000 An original Van Gogh was auctioned at Sotheby's April of last year with an estimated price ranging from $45,000 - 65,000. now HE IS AN ARTIST!!

part of being an artist is what we call "freedom of expression." how one expresses himself/herself proves that he/she is worthy of the title. well the thing is, in written forms of art called "literature", there are certain people who tend to over do it when using symbols and figures of speech that they tend to be an @ss and not care about the people who could be offended by the words that they use and the way that they put things into perspective. and recently, i just came across the worst kind of literary $hi+.

i was bothered by a bulletin board message that was posted on friendster last sunday. it was regarding someone who claims that he's my friend's ex-boyfriend and that he shot her point blank for cheating on him. he has a blog account called "confessions of a dangerous mind" and he entered a so-called "confession" last 10 march 2004 and this is what how he started his fallacious claim.

"everything was said and done. there's nothing more

to explain. it came so fast that i never saw her leaving me

at a wink of an eye. six years, it all ended in an instant.

it's all over.i dedicate these songs to my first girlfiend,

my high school sweetheart... - - - - -*..."

[*girl's name was mentioned]

two days later, he wrote a follow-up "confession" :

here's some kickass break-up songs for that freak

whom i killed last march 10, 2004.

may she rest in peace... and rest in pieces...

(with that fucking fiance...damn! i wonder if it would

be purgatory or hell) now, if that fucking fiance of my first girlfriend

would have the balls to respond to this one, he must take a eat some

words first (or soap, like john cena having paul heyman

lick,bite, and swallow those ivory bars after a

wrestling match). burn in hell, dude!

and it ended with:

--[girls complete name]--

3 january 1983-10 march 2004

PACEM IN REQUIESCAT

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

there's really no point into arguing about the intents of the freak who wrote all these b*ll$hit but the thing is, a lot of people were bothered by the imagery that the author is trying to project. no one has any idea as to what wants to prove or if there even is something that he needs to prove. he may have meant all of these in a figurative way that never really got to the reader's creative perception. if this was some kind of joke, no one's really laughing about it.

in a way, i know where the writer pulled it out from. probably has to do with suppressed emotions that triggers certain visuals that would prove to be artistic if not put in a blunt way. there was a need to create fictitious characters and the lack thereof was what ruined him. now, with reactions formed and emotions flooded. there's really no way as to bring back that which has been done. retractions were demanded but there never was any for he probably claims that this is his reality.

now, he's not appreciated in his own time and i don't think he never will be and that's what turned his artistry into monstrocity...

about chel

chel, whom i call hag, and who also goes by the name flaming peach is my one and only hag (aside from karen, that is). we met through a mutual friend (karen) 2 years ago. i never knew that we'd be this close...because what brought us together originally was our love for the show 'charmed.' now chel knows me more than i know myself... and god, she, is much of a whore than i am (rolling on the floor laughing!!!). chel and i could talk for hours over coffee or bottles of San Miguel Strong Ice and never run out of things to talk, diss, or laugh about. chel and i have this weird intution thing between us and we've proven on more than one occasion that we could read each other's minds. we both like older men, and as far as i know, we've never lied to each other. as mentioned before, she knows more stuff about me than most people i know (including myself) and vice versa. chel is my hag, and i am her fag. =p

the quest for ardee's holy grail ...from chel

just thought it would be nice to have this as the first entry.. thanks hag!! love yah!!

What if, suddenly and without meaning to, your life fell into place, like a 10,000 piece jigsaw puzzle set in the likeness of Davinci's Mona Lisa put together after laboring on it for weeks and weeks. What then? Would you savor the accomplishment by having it framed, with a gold-plated border and hang it where people could admire the it all the time so you can brag that you did it without any kind of help in only a matter of weeks. Or would you disassemble it again piece by piece losing interest in it then just chucking the pieces back into the box where it would just become some child's plaything where it would get discarded too as soon as the child loses his taste for it.Someone confided in me that he'd just found his inner peace after losing it and searching for it years and years ago. I was happy for him, truly I was. I've never so much envied him as he said that after being lost for the past couple of years, there he was, suddenly at peace with himself and to those that surrounded him. While I, holding no less than a college degree to my belt with some minor accomplishments on the side, still feels as if I'm not making any headway at all in the grand design of my so-called life. After battling emotional demons, getting heavily scarred from it in the process, my friend has sought and found calm. He is at peace. He is tranquil. Or so he thought. His was the voice of reason. Not one people could count to him for advices, words of wisdom, and a listening ear. He would not offer half-baked advices, he would just listen and to those people who needs it the most, people who had so much to say but no one to say it to, that was enough. Even I had been guilty of foisting my trivial, sometimes not-so-trivial concerns, and he had been there. Always. Like clockwork. There were days when I would not hear from him for days, weeks even, but he'd call whenever I need him the most (usually Sundays). But I'd forgotten that even those who listen needs to be listened to sometimes. He is human after all. And human wants and needs for his survival. Even if there was nothing to want anymore, because as I've said to him, sometimes it's the chase we want. And if we do get what we wanted, what do we do with it? Is it the same thing that we wanted in the first place? Should we have it framed, for the entire world to see or should we keep it in a box, tie it with a red ribbon and shove it under the bed? It's a vicious circle, isn't it? We want what we cannot have and when we do acquire it, we long to be what we were before we got what we thought we wanted (I'm sooo confused right now). One can easily wish that he need not grow up, get older and die ultimately or not fall in love and get hurt but if, on some strange circumstance his wish be granted, where should he go then? We were designed to be forever discontented. As a child, we long to eat gloopy Hershey's bar and peanuts M&M's from morning til night until our teeth and stomach would ache we would ask our parents for a glass of warm milk or a plate of peanut butter sandwiches. It would go on and on until we get older, us, wanting to live our lives the way we wanted to. Wanting immortality by clinging to our material, emotional, and erotic wants. But suppose we earn all the money there is to earn in the world, fallen in and out of love, and fucked our lives away, what do we do then? Should we voluntary wish for death to come and take us away from all the superficialities that we thought we once wanted? What? What then?