Cannot sleep

It is early morning and I cannot sleep. I cannot sleep because my skin is itching. I cannot sleep because my breathing gets really shallow when it’s cold. I don’t like taking medication because the taste sucks. An inhaler would have been better but I don’t know where my nebulizer has gone. I think a neighbor borrowed it sometime ago in a place far away.

Having asthma when I was younger made me feel special. Adults always treated me differently when they find out. I was excluded from most strenuous activities, which led to me leading a sedentary existence and later on gaining weight which I only managed to deal with when I got into college when I discovered sports.

One time that asthma held me back in this life was when I was taken off library cleaning duties by my teacher-adviser. This was in elementary and I really wanted to be in that cleaning group because I liked being around that much books and because two of my crushes were in that group, and I was the only boy in that group, and I thought I could be with them a lot, cleaning things and talking about books. I liked books and girls, still do.

And then in high school I got depression, self-diagnosed, which is the worst kind of depression. There were several theories on why I got depression. The first one was the hopeless repetition of it all. The commute was just too much for me. That depressing view outside of the moving vehicle of garbage and burning garbage, and smoke and dust. I remember liking the greeneries – trees, shrubs, ricefields, but all it did was to prolong the inevitable, which was of me dropping out and leading a cool rock n’ roll lifestyle. Theory number two was my grades dropping. It was I think the very first time in my life that I struggled academically and it was so much for my ego to handle, and so I broke and shattered and just let things get worse. I remember doing fine in some things, but this was overshadowed mentally by my failures. Still now, I don’t have much memories of my time in high school. So it’s actually just two theories. But that’s more than enough explanation.

I like being awake at godawful hours of the morning. It’s cold, it’s quiet and I can hear myself think, not that I don’t do enough introspection already. But the voice seems to be clearer at these hours. It could be that the mentalspace is much freer because people are asleep. There is just me and those other night-owls who cannot sleep or must not sleep because they have work to do. I remember so many other moments like this – just me in front of my computer typing / writing all sorts of shit in the early mornings. I hope for more moments like this.

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Dorg

Beware of Dorg

If you have this sign on your gate, it would confuse people.

Did they misspell ‘Dog’?

How could they misspell a three-letter-word?

Maybe it’s intentional? But why?

Maybe it’s a dog named ‘Dorg’?

Why would they name a dog ‘Dorg’?

Maybe it’s some weird new creature they have genetically engineered?

Finally unable to deal with the mystery, they would take a peek through the gate and promptly get attacked by Dorg.

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BALLS AND EVERYTHING

BALLS AND EVERYTHING

The President wakes up from his Presidential bed in his Presidential room one day to find that he has been magicked [barang]. His penis has disappeared. Balls and everything. A national state of emergency is declared which later turns into martial law. ‘Have you seen this penis?’ posters and tarpaulins plastered everywhere. Hammered onto trees, electric poles, the sides of kindergarten, elementary, high school and college buildings. Complete with a specialy-commissioned artist’s recreation of the missing body part. Great monetary reward for those who can find it.

The ruler of the nation goes full-on dictator. He abolishes the legislative and judiciary. He abolishes the Catholic Church and all the other churches he dislikes. Subjects everyone to hours-long rants, harangues and then later on sad, desperate karaoke singing publicly broadcasted using the people’s taxes, on national television. Mandatory viewing for everyone.

Conspiracy theory is that it was the Communists who done it. Just magicked the Presidential penis out of existence. So the government troops, the police, the military, the paramilitaries, etc went into all-out war against the godless communists. They event went after the liberals and homosexuals, just to be sure. So many were killed. This went on for months. But they never found anything.

The most loyal followers of the President castrated themselves in a show of solidarity. These castrati impressed the President, visibly deranged now, and placed them in high government positions.

This is sick, deranged, fucked-up, indecent, the fledgling members of the Communist Party of the Philippines and its armed-wing the New People’s Army stated in one of their monthly newsletter/declarations, referring to the situation in the beloved country. This is sick, deranged, fucked-up, indecent, the fledgling members of the outlawed Catholic Church also said, regarding the situation that the people have been forced to live in. The two groups have banded together to survive deep in the hinterlands of Mindanao, armed to the teeth, growing sweet potatoes and yams, raising organic chickens.

It wasn’t until decades later, following the internal collapse of the dickless regime by rivalling castrati warlords, then the right-wing coup by the remnants of the Philippine military which surprised everyone when it gave up power afer a few months, it wasn’t until the restoration of democratic institutions that the culprit for the late dictator’s mutilation was found. It was the Communists all along – the Communist Party of China! This was an extended metaphor all along haha!

But really the multi-sectoral commission did not find out anything as they really did not care about finding where it was. They reasoned their energies are better spent dealing with the damages that the dictatorship did on the people.

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The only time I was bullied

The only time I was ever bullied was in third grade elementary. I endured the bullying while class was ongoing (he sat behind me, and flicked my ears) as I did not want to disrupt the teacher.

After class I went out of the door first and waited there. I was so angry tears were actually falling from my face and my classmates kept asking what was wrong. Those who witnessed the ear-flickings told the others and so everyone was informed. I just stood there silently, waiting for the bully to come out.

Well, he wouldn’t come out, so we had this sort of standoff surrounded by my other classmates who teased him about all the theoretical beatings that I would rain upon him. This was funny to my classmates because me actually punching someone is so against my usual personality/behavior.

I just stood there silent, staring at him inside the room. He wouldn’t meet my gaze. He wouldn’t come out of the door.

I eventually got tired waiting, cooled off, and went home.

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13 JAN 2018 Uprising

13 JAN 2018

When the Revolution comes, that is, during the Revolution, the People would storm the Palace, and then they would corner the First Family in one of the opulent rooms filled with glass and gold and shining metal. A profile of the First Family: there’s a video of them shot a couple of decades ago, and it was this party. People were dancing and drinking, there were foreigners and actors and actresses. There were the richest businessmen, and the most powerful supposed leaders and or representatives of the people. I remember the most decadent part of this whole affair was when the giant cake was brought out. It was so large that it was wheeled into the center of the dancing hall. Then the singing of happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, blowing out of the candles, and surprise out of this cake emerges this big fat man, a full-grown adult, dressed only in bib and diaper, clutching a bottle of milk, saying ‘mama’ ‘mama’, fat pudgy arms reaching out, to the delight of the First Lady. And people were laughing, and the music was so loud, and the lights were multi-colored and too bright to be decent.

The royal family would plead, but the pleading comes later, at first the Old Man is too proud to admit that he was betrayed by his own generals. They’re outside the Palace, the Generals, and they have pledged allegiance to the People earlier. Opportunistic bastards these Generals. It was only when the tide was too strong, when the movement have become unstoppable that they switched sides. This effectively divided the army. There were those who were loyal to the Old Man, and there were those who were followers of these two Generals.

Later outside the Gates of the palace, on the tall aluminum lamp posts, the Royal Family is hanged one by one – one person per lamp post. There we see the fat pudgy man crying as the noose is placed around his neck. Then he is pushed from the platform and there is a crack as his neck is broken, and then the people rejoiced. Next is the First Lady herself, patron of the arts, known for her vast collection of shoes, dresses and jewelry. They were gifts to me, she would say, they are my personal property. We did not steal a cent from the People, but the people hear her and she is booed and trash and mud are thrown at her. The noose is placed down her fat neck, and she is pushed from the platform and then she struggles like a chicken whose neck has just been slashed, writhing here and there for everyone to see. She truggles in full view of her other children and the Old Man President For Life, and the people, and all the military people who sided with the people.

The Old Man President for Life is up on the platform and he is looking angry, and as he is about to say something, the executioner slaps him on the face, places the noose around his neck, and then pushes him. Maybe because the push was too forceful, maybe the rope was just too weak, the rope breaks, the Old Man falls headfirst onto the concrete and there is an audible crack as he skull is crushed by his own weight.

The Palace is burned. All the paintings and documents, all the wonderful furnishings and historical things went up in smoke. The smoke filled the sky above the country, darkening everything for half a year. The crops could not grow, and there was a bit of a crop failure, but the people thought this was okay, so long as the First Family is no longer there and lording it over everyone, stealing the people’s hard earned taxes, spending it on lavish parties and things, using it to pay the soldiers and police who beat innocent people to death, but not before torturing and raping some of them. A young student-activist fails to turn up home one night and her body is found days later in a morgue. It was brought their by the police, the morgue’s manager said. The body was in an awful state. There were signs of sexual abuse and physical torture – the head was half-bashed in, there is a huge gash below the rib-cage, there were bite-marks and cigarette burns on her arms and legs. The family could only stand and watch as the morgue owner explained the wounds and bruises on her body, too shocked to cry. The crying would come days later once the body had been properly buried. They’re lucky, as far as luck goes in this miserable world, that they ever found the body of their loved one, though one could say that maybe it would have been better had they never seen the body. Most people just disappeared, and their families were left in this gray Purgatory of wondering what has happened to their son or daughter or sister or brother or father or mother … The police claimed that she was a member of the outlawed Communist Party, that she was a member of an organization that sought to undermine the security of the duly-elected Government of the country. She was killed in a shoot-out, they claimed, she was carrying an AK-47 they said.

The bodies of the First Family were left there, no one were allowed to touch it, not the priests who said that these people are still Roman Catholics and they have souls and their bodies should be respected and be given a proper funeral, not the relatives who were rich and fearing for their lives so that they were nowhere to be found anyway, maybe they already fled the country into someplace they think safe, not the few loyalists who were claiming that the First Family did nothing wrong, that although the regime brought some hardships for a few, overall it was a good government for most. The bodies were exposed to rain and sun. The smell was overwhelming. It fizzed out of the bodies with a sickly green color and permeated the country. But it was okay, the people said, we could do without smelling ever again, so long as we are constantly reminded that the First Family is no longer there.

13 JAN 2018

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05 JAN 2018 Mostly Politics, Mostly Bullshit

This year, this current hellscape. The year started with increases in the price of everything. It was a way by the government to gain revenue from low-income informal sector workers, who mostly do not pay income tax. So what the government did was raise the overall tax on foodstuffs and drinkables. They said that it would benefit the poor and the middle class, I don’t really know. They said that the increase in taxes for sugary beverages was for the consumer’s health, but they also increased the taxes on beverages that do not contain sugar, so clearly it wasn’t for that.

The government, in my opinion, has no right to collect any sort of taxes so long as corruption exists. Lots of corruption cases are still stuck in the legal system, and it has taken so very long, and people are dying, and those who know have become so hopeless that at night they dream of total collapse of the Government so that the country could start anew. In the morning they work and toil and sweat, and during the afternoon break they would watch those goddamn stupid noontime shows just for the mental comfort, because it could contribute anything else besides. And then back to work, and the taxes are still being siphoned into the pockets of the various lords and leaders who claim to be representing and leading the people.

Etc. etc.

But let’s think of something else. These fuckers aren’t worth so much of our precious energies and attention. We should turn towards things now that are actually of our interest, which is the future, and the future is that the heads of these politicians and so-called leaders, and all the lords – the crimelords, the warlords, the druglords, would all be separated from their bodies so that it would decorate the gate of the People’s Hall, which in this hypothetical future is where the new syndicalist government would he headquartered.

The Authoritarian Left in the Philippines, it’s an interesting topic. I don’t think they’ve failed yet, as they are still extant. And even if they would no longer exist, which seems unlikely given how long they’ve been waging their armed revolutionary struggle against the so-called government of the Philippines, they would leave a legacy, a presence, and I think it would be enough. For all the warped form that it took, European Enlightenment ideas did come into the Philippines. Revolutionary socialism is a product of the European Enlightenment, which is why it is so ironic and incorrect when some nationalist folks would disparage anything ‘Western’ as ‘colonial mentality’.

‘Tending to one’s garden’ would be something the ancient Stoics would probably say regarding politics. It is just added mental pain to continue worrying about things that you have little to no control over. The rich and powerful class have captured the Government, and there’s nothing much that you can do about it, except vote every once in a while in elections hoping for some change to happen. This doesn’t happen because the people that keep getting elected are those from the class that benefit greatly in keeping the people down. So what’s next? What is there to do? I don’t really have an answer. I’m just asking questions here.

Today is sunny. I went out earlier for a brief sunbath. I am hoping that it would help improve my condition. I read somewhere on the internet that it actually helps, only one shouldn’t overdo it. If only there is someplace where I could sunbathe where there are no other people, no animals to worry about. It’s just me and the sun, and somewhere there’s a shade, and in the shade is a cooler filled with all sort of non-caloric softdrinks. I’d just spend the day in that space, reading and writing maybe, and watching anime. Preferably, I would also be wearing shades. One must never underestimate the damage the sun can do to one’s eyes. I need to be able to see for my anime shows and books. If only it is possible to consume media by absorbing them through the skin.

The problem when I think about politics in this country is that my mind gets very apocalyptic. My solution is just to not have any people at all. No people, no politics. I say just cut the mistake at the root. It is a very lazy way to think about politics. It is anti-human, and does not help at all. But my mind falls to it again and again. There is something attractive about the idea that there would just be no people at all in this world. I guess the issue at its root is philosophical and temperamental. I think that life is painful. This is true for me physically, having had physical problems most of my life. When I look at people constructing structures, plotting about the future, it all looks so extravagant to me. My concern is very immediate – the cessation of pain right now. Beyond that it’s all mostly bullshit. I don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe I’ll come back to this idea later. How did the existentialists, or at least those of the pessimistic philosophical schools look at politics? Take Schopenhauer for example. I can’t remember what his political position was. Was he liberal or conservative? How would he assess the ideas of the anarchists, or the fascists? Would he agree or disagree with them? I know he talked a lot about metaphysics and aesthetics, at the level of societal criticism, it was mostly about proper behavior that he looked at. He has been called a misogynist because of his ideas about women, but then he was just as excoriating against men and their behavior. How about Nietzsche? Can Nietzsche be considered pessimistic? Anyway, with regards to how Schopenhauer regarded human beings and human nature, it is hard to see him as an anarchist. Anarchists believe that people are ultimately good and that they can be rational enough to want an egalitarian society. Schopenhauer definitely does not see human nature and human beings this way.

05 JAN 2018

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09 JAN 2018 Attempted Lesbian Erotica

09 JAN 2018

It is always useful to bring up concrete examples when arguing your side. I was thinking earlier about this discussion/thread on reddit.com/r/writing. The poster was asking why the subreddit’s focus seem to be mostly on writing the novel and not so much on the short story. There weren’t that many interesting replies, and some were outright not useful at all. One posted that short stories are harder to write than novels, for example. I disagree with this. I’ve written short stories, and I couldn’t even imagine how I would write a novel. I can’t write based on chapters it seems, maybe I should try it one of these days. My point is that I should have brought up William Gibson into the discussion. William Gibson wrote novels and short stories. I think he is equally known for both of these types of narrative works. I have read I think four of his novels, and several of his short stories. They are all equally wonderful. He writes the most poetic, breathtaking lines. He has this amazing skill of describing things – like the watch in ‘All Tomorrow’s Parties’ for example, or the personality of the assassin character.

In the end they are all just words. One sentence at a time, as Stephen King once said. The difference is length – a novel has around one hundred thousand words. A short story can go from one thousand to seven thousand words. It’s not the production of words that is the problem, it is the structuring of these words so that they make sense, so that they are engaging to the reader. I think I have proven now, it’s been five days since I started, that writing a thousand words a day isn’t that hard. What is difficult is writing a thousand words a day that is actually meaningful. And I’m not even talking yet about writing actual fiction with characters interacting in the world created. These are all just writing ‘at the sides’.

She’s tired of it all, being stuck here in this place, subject to the whims of her audience, who most probably are all fat, hairy and have questionable hygiene. But not tired enough of it that she would go out into the outside world and engage with it like a real normal human being. She wonders how her classmates back in elementary are doing right now. Maybe they’re dealing with the world so much better than her. She feels envious of them, and this time, thinking this, she actually means it. She just wants to melt into the crowd, live a different timeline, disappear into normality. Instead she faces the unblinking metal eye of the camera day in and day out.

After her session for the day, she goes out into the nearby cafe where she’s a regular, and the workers recognize her. Some even try to befriend her, but she’s cold towards them because she just wants to be left alone, reading her book, sipping her coffee, gazing at the world. The world being the street where vehicles and pedestrians pass on by, not looking at her, not minding her. It is she who is looking at the world now. In the story she’s reading, the Dark Lord of the Universe has finished another genocide. It is to pacify the galaxy, he claims to the multitude he is addressing. His speech is broadcast to all the worlds of the system that he has ‘pacified’, on massive screens, projected onto sides of buildings, etc. This latest speech, more of a harangue really, has been going on for six imperial hours now. This triumph of the army is the triumph of the people. You are all my children, you are in my heart, I think about you day and night, and even when I sleep I think of all of you, those who have been in my care for a long time, and those of you who are recently arrived. Then he starts to sing, this is the sign that he is about to end his speech. The latest song is a version of a war poem that is taught to all schools in the imperial world system.

“Here’s your coffee ma’am” the waiter said.

“Thank you” she replied. She turns to the next page of the book.

The poem on which the song is based tells the story of a soldier who came from a backwoods settlement in some insignificant little planet. The soldier is young and strong, as his world is an agricultural planet where they grow various crops and these crops require manual labor, and it is being engaged with hard labor growing these crops since he was old enough to walk that has molded his physique all through the years. Then he is conscripted along with hundreds of young men in his town to the planetary army, then there is a selection process assessing strength, mental and physical, and those who pass this is sent off-world for continued training into one of the military planets. He passes these all with flying colors. His first assignment is to a rebellious colony, where he is wounded.

She turns the next page, and the girl behind the counter is looking at her. She is short, petite, cute, short hair, kind of curvy in all the right places. In short, she is just her type. The girl behind the counter smiles at her. She winks back at her and continues to read on.

Pages upon pages later, and now the people are revolting against the Dark Lord of the Universe. To quell the uprising, he sent out his clandestine torture squad. Young men and women are captured and tortured for no apparent reason at all. They didn’t even ask whether they were part of the resistance or not. The unit just picked them off the street and then later on had their mutilated bodies dumped in the middle of the street so that everyone could see what happens to those who even disagree with how the Dark Lord of the Universe phrases his sentences. Families lost sons and daughters, fathers and mothers. Friends lost friends. Lovers lost the ones they most valued in the world.

This is getting dark, she thinks, and so puts the book down. She looks up and the girl is sitting on the other side of the table. THe girl has changed from work clothes into a blank white t-shirt and tight-fitting blue jeans.

“So how was it?” she said to her.

“This book is terrible” she replied.

“Let’s go?”

“Sure.”

And they go back to her apartment, to her room, and they take off their clothes, get into the bed and watch some anime in the girl’s laptop.

09 JAN 2018

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