Leavetaking

I pulled out of Joppet's street at 2:43am. The Swordfish was tired from the day's drive and i wasn't that far behind. The windows roll themselves down and the outside rushes in a flurry of images reflecting long walks and nights spent over blanket and under sky. On those streets and on that blanket I was always secretly pretending I was the happiest bedouin on earth. I'm sure half of that was true.

I tell myself I am memorizing the turns and the curbs because between light and thought, I fall to pretending that I am the queen's lost camera. I tell myself I am driving so slow because i drive too fast most of the time. And I tell myself I felt emtpy because the streets were the same.

But even the streets knew better.

On Mount McDo I went to find kalachuchi girl but she has either moved on to a different haunt or I was too late. Under the shadow of the alabang viaduct I searched for Manong Bulag but the bridge rehabilitation work must have forced him to find another place to sleep. Across an empty lot on Madrigal Street, I sought out the Patience Tree but he/she/it was fast asleep and I knew better than to wake a sleeping tree.

So I reach home a little less than just empty-handed. And I drag a sleeping bag out from my unhappy room. And I sneak back in to get all my pillows except one. And I take this handydandylaptop. And I thank the tincan gods for wifi.

And here I lie under an evil sky. Fending off evil mosquitoes. Writing this evil story on an evil laptop on our evil terrace. Banished from my evil room.

And I wonder about truffles. And how they taste.

And I wonder if the wizard really did give nothing to the Tin Man. That he didn't--didn't already have.

And I warn the dreamking that I am coming.

And I give myself to sleep.

Retaliation !

Two days ago, after five months in suspended animation, my main computer, Piotr V died of natural causes. Among his predecessors, Piotr V would be the most resilient; surviving two comas, three brain transplants, and a massive stroke that conributed to (but not directly caused) his ultimate demise.

Yesterday, while I was happily cruising down EDSA, the Grey-Nameless-Car (that's what I call her cos she never warmed up to me) was struck by the strangest sort of engine-voodoo-funk that left me stalled between two lanes. Meanwhile cars are passing me by and the more helpful ones decide to contribute by honking their support--LIKE I WAS STALLED IN THE MIDDLE OF EDSA TO ENJOY A PLEASANT CUP OF TEA.

So my 'puter's dead. At tangina, kinulam ang awto ko.

The universe is clearly out to get me. Except I don't think it knows who it's dealing with. I'm sure the wiser, more prudent thing to do would be to placate the universe with offerings of human sacrifice, rituals involving scantily-clad tribal women, and songs of praise for its wondrous being. Except, again, I don't think it knows who it's dealing with.

I don't bend, universe! And I don't cower or placate! I destroy back!

So I'm walking around today bending spoons, unscrewing screws, crumpling paper, untuning guitars, disintegrating clouds ~ and look how much fun I've stumbled upon:



Enjoy the video!

( * And don't feel bad for the CD, it was found guilty of treason by an IAAF Military Tribunal and was sentenced to death by melting.)

Armageddon Plan 04-5a-0001 ::: 'Dig'

fig. 0001z

There are a precious few things that are as demeaning as being the victim of one's own devices. I believe this to be even more true in the case of evil boys (and their teddybears) who plot to bring about planetary destruction. It's a feeling akin to the sensation of stabbing yourself with a spoon. It is also not unlike the feeling at the moment of realization that you have been peeing on your own foot.

Henceforth, all unhappy blogging activities are suspended indefinitely and the cause of the anti*blog shall once again be taken up with a happy mix of furious fervor and dastardly delight.

So let them hear us coming! Let loose the black balloons! Let the machine awaken!

Ah, :), an armageddon plan at last... *

* * *

Ingredients :::

1.) Shovels of every shape and size; shovels to dazzle the unbeliever!

fig. 0001a ::: happy shovels

2.) Pails (preferably with flower prints on the side for long life and happiness).

fig. 0001b ::: recommended flower pail

3.) An army of 'volunteers' (slaves) with wonderful singing voices and cheery dispositions.

fig. 0001c ::: IAAF 'volunteers' are given personal hand and neckcuffs FREE OF CHARGE!

4.) Whips and Cattleprods.

fig. 0001d ::: A 'BFC 3000 ULTRA' Cattleprod

Procedure :::

1.) Using the tools listed under 'item 4' of the ingredients section (that would be the... uhh... whips and cattleprods) 'motivate' the 'volunteers' into digging a hole to the center of the earth (as shown above in fig. 0001z).

2.) Singing while digging is encouraged!

3.) Pour icecubes into the hole until the planetary core cools and solidifies into a giant chunk of metal and mineral.

* * *

A Haiku Paves the Way

I've mouthfuls of pears 
That should never have been touched
It's no use spitting.

03 ∙ 12 ∙ 2007

tinatablan din pala

                        

Greetings, dear reader!

I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am to you for sticking it out thus far. You have been faithful and I will not forget.

However, certain matters of tragic consequence may be progressing beyond my control even as I type this and I cannot help but feel that it will all lead to a prolonged hiatus from this already beleaguered bastion of chaos and catastrophe.

So I am hiding armageddon while I still can. Rest assured, we have gone into hiding before and we have come back from those.

Everybody runs, right?

*(For access to armageddon in hiding: feel free to leave a comment or e-mail me at shadowless@gmail.com and i will be more than happy to show you my nifty little hiding place! It's much much more fun though if you look for it yourself!)