titan's might / all out regicide

sometimes, it's always best to deal with aggravating situations using words.

words like.."maim, maul, pummel, plug, strike, smash, clout, and kill".

i recall one occasion where i practically had to go out of my way to help an anonymous kid.

not that i care for the runt. i don't even know who the hell he is, fer chrissakes.

okay, so i'm at a local net cafe watchin' my friends play. i didn't join them 'coz i never enjoyed those games. too little brain activity, y'know. not worth my interest.

so anyways, there's this group of miscreants who suddenly came in an started harassing one of the customers. the victim was a kid. they kept bonkin' his head an bitchslapping him. i overheard one of the punks threatening the kid's life.

turns out, the poor kid was fond of trash talking (or trash-chatting) while playing using the in-game chat channel. he must've unknowingly offended a cocky gang member by fragging him and broadcasting an arrogant frag message. kids nowadays.

also found out that the small fry was a skilled player, one of the reasons why the group was pissed off.

'coz he fragged their punk asses and made them lose cash on one of the tourney bets.

i've always despised street thugs and teenage punks due to their worthlessness, sick trips, disregard for others, and lack of respect. and seeing the group's butt-ugly faces and thug-esque expressions only fueled my already burning rage.

besides, they were all grown up already, some of them taller than me. and they're beating down on the frightened little kid. what an acid trip. there were nine of them. jesus. ganging up on somebody half their size.

annoyed, i stood and sized them up. the juveniles turned their attention to me.

leader says, "you got a problem?".

"hell yeah. take your shi* outside the shop, son. this is no place for people like you.", says me.

"i don't believe this. i'm gonna kill you.", leader says, motioning his menagerie outside.

"what the fu** are you doing, man? do you realize there's nine of them? they're gonna fu**ing maim you!", my bud says, grabbing my arm.

"i got this, bro. don't worry. i need it." says me, grinning.

"what?!", he says, as he let go of my arm and watch me walk towards the door.

keeping my cool, i followed them outside, cracking my neck and knuckles. "this is gonna be fun".

i've been educated in different martial arts concepts and at that time, i was being trained for boxing, and i've been known to take in physical punishment just for fun. in english, it just means absimilliard can kill.

the moment i stepped outta the internet shop, one of them lunged at me with a metal pipe. i grabbed his arm and rammed his face against one corner of the doorway. his nose bled like water.

next one grabbed a rock and attacked me with it. i extended my arm, impeding all means of him hitting me with the rock. he wouldn't let go of the rock. i let his nuts feel how i used to be a soccer player. he howled like a baby and knelt before me like i was king.

third, fourth, and fifth dude ran towards me an started throwing punches, they hit my head (they couldn't hit my face 'coz i had my chin down), my shoulders, my body. in the midst of the heat, i grabbed one guy's throat with my right hand and ripped the skin off it. he grabbed his throat, gasping for air. the other one, i introduced my left fist. broken jaw. the last guy, i gave him the right hand, dislocating his right shoulder and sent him sprawling to the ground.

the leader and the rest of the pack charged soon as they realized their coterie is being wasted one by one. they threw punches, one of them hit me with a beatstick, the leader slugged me with his brass knuckles, but i caught a glimpse of one dude, about to stick a seven-inch icepick at me. i grabbed the arm soon as it got nearer and pulled the guy. i turned round without letting go of the arm and twisted the elbow, breaking it off from the joint and looking like shi*. he made me do it. it's not my fault.

hurt, tired, and bleeding, i felt adrenaline rush through my blood, sending me into a frenzied state. i threw my right hand with all my strength, breaking two of the other guy's left rib and winding him. the baton-brother broke the beatstick as he bashed my left arm. i broke two of his front teeth and lacerated his entire upper lip when i struck him with my elbow.

the last guy i plugged left and right. eyes red with blood and hate, and hitting with berserk force, i never realized he was already out cold until one of my friends pulled me out of the fray.

"bro, that's enough. you've caused enough injury already."

i looked at the last guy and saw that his eyes are overturned, the entire face is covered with bluish-black bruises, nosebridge dislocated, lips lacerated, jawbone misaligned, and his face fulla blood.

cops came and took me in. turns out, they're gonna be out of the streets for weeks, and some of them, months. they were sent to the nearest public hospital and nobody had the guts to file a case against me. i did the right thing. i'm damn sure about that.

after a series of long interrogations with the cops, i was extracted by my friends from the police station.

so, i was asked, after the incident. "are you like, a hero or somethin' dude? 'coz man, you oughtta win a medal fer real, y'know. you got a heart a' gold, bra."

i answered, "no, man. i'm just disgusted with them punks. i felt i needed to teach them a lesson. what happened to the kid, by the way?"

"he done scram bro, the moment you went outside to negotiate with the thugs."

"he never even thanked me." i said, with a sad face.

no. i ain't no hero. i ain't no knight in shinin' armor.

i'm just sick of these jailbaits. their life, is an insult to my being.

i guess they've learned their lesson well. that's the last time i really caused a lotta physical pain. well, not that i've totally restrained myself.

one of my many brutal encounters.

i was misguided back then, i guess. i used to have an untamed spirit.

mind's eye

being somebody suffering from memory loss, it's pretty much difficult trying to piece together fragments of my memory. my mind's eye, eludes me, no matter how hard i try. i am unable to determine which of those memories are true, which of them are twisted half-truths, and which of them are imagined. i can only piece them together so far as to make up what seems to be my past.

i recall when i was a kid, there was this small frame hanging on one of our doors in one of the houses we used to reside at. that time, i was too small, and i could never make out what was written on the frame because the font was too small and it was hung so high up. so i've pieced together fragments of my memories in hopes of one day finding out what the inscription on the frame was, because in the process of our migration from house to house, the frame was lost, and nobody can recall whatever happened to it. after twenty long years, i've managed to get a glimpse of that frame and what was written on it, because of occasional memories floating every now and then to remind me of how it looked like, and what the title used to look like. one memory in particular reminded me that i stared at the small, black frame back in my childhood days, thus, allowing me to distinguish the letters making up the title. the title was the only thing written big enough for me to see. i grew up, and i learned that those letters represent the letter I and the letter F.

the internet, proved useful in helping me figure out what it was and why the title of the inscription had to be a very common word, "IF". because it's a poem.

IF - by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

reading the poem made a part of me whole again. it's ironic that one part can be whole, but it's true. i can never express in words the joy i felt when i managed to piece together my fragmented flashbacks to make it a solid memory. reading the poem and understanding it, i now realize why the poem was not meant for me to take meaning when i was still young. because i was not of proper age to digest it's depth and meaning.

now that i'm a grown man, i understand everything that it wanted to tell me, and more. the inscription on the small frame was indeed written for me. i only had to grow up and figure out what it was all about.

that fellow Rudyard Kipling was right. i became a Man, after all.

disproportionate ideals

i just had a dream. in that dream, i asked an angel for love, friendship, and respect. the angel smirked and pointed at an envelope behind me, then walked away scratching his tattoo of a tribal cross on his back.

i opened the envelope and pulled out its contents. inside was a bank book declaring i had a billion dollars in my bank account. confused, i walked to a nearby bar and reflected upon my little experience.

can money buy everything?

the generic answer would have to be no.

your parents will say no. an average person would say no. everybody else would say no.

they say money can't buy you love. can't buy you friendship. can't buy you respect. in other words, most would say money can't buy you anything immaterial or intangible.

oh the feeble minded people. do we always have to stick to the maxims we all grew up with?

these are folk wisdom. and they're obsolete. nowadays, it's wise that we face the truth.

that these ideals are long dead.

yes, money can buy everything. rich an ugly people got the love they deserve, didn't they? and they have all the beautiful women loving them. because they use money to show their love and generosity, and that women who initially started dating filthy rich butt-ugly guys eventually fall in love. yes, it's the money. not that the rich farts care, or understand, or whatever it is that they've got goin' on.

money, wins you all the respect you need. people respect money. people will respect you, if you're so damn rich. slap 'em with a coupla hundred dollar bills and they'll kneel before you. all shall love you. all shall follow you. start a company, become the boss, everyone'll respect you.

money, gathers you enough friends to last you a lifetime. you won't even run outta friends lest you run outta money. they'll love you. they'll love your money. show 'em some green and you get yourself somebody you can lean on. aid a person once, financially, and voila, instant life companion.

the angel was right. he wasn't playing around acting holy an' all. he was being straightforward. "i know what you really want. i'ma get you love, respect, an friendship, son."

dammit, these visions are messin' up my judgement.

worthless dilemma

another normal day, with me launching my blog, tryin ta add another article.
there i was tapping at the keyboard with insane speeds like i usually do everytime. yup. a hundred an' twenty words per minute. damn fast fingers. or could be coz a' too much caffeine. whatever.

all of a sudden, my mind shut down.

i stared at the monitor for two minutes flat, i think.
then i got to my senses, and i thought.."wtf?! what am i doing?, i... don't know what to say!".

i don't have an effin' clue as to what i was supposed to be writing about, or why on earth did i have to launch my blog.

sheesh. i've lost my creativity again.
there really are, times when you get plagued with this "writer's block" thing. not that i'm a real writer. i'm just an average person who likes to uh.. write.

it's not that i'm outta ideas. dammit, i'ma genius, but what in the hell is wrong with me?

maybe i just need a break. or maybe, i'm all outta people to criticize.

"but absimilliard, isn't the world fulla issues?"

damn right. maybe, after this break, i could experience a vexing ordeal with somebody at the water station. or the 24/7 store. or the local diner.

yeah, the diner. that'll be a good spot to look for them crazies. i'll see if somethin is waitin fer me there. somethin' worth writing another article about. maybe another crackpot with a whole world a' issues.

oh, the joys of being sane.

the antichrist

been reading an article on an urban legend stating that bill gates is the antichrist.

it says that if you add up the ASCII values of the name, you get the number of the beast, which is supposed to be 666. tried it, and yes, it does add up to that number. strange.

and that it tells of a verse in the bible, in the book of revelations, that all who use the computer are marked by the devil, the mark on the forehead, and the mark on the hand, which they translate as the monitor and the mouse. yep, even stranger.

and that he can get to everybody with the mark of the devil, from his infernal regions... err.. office, because of the net. yes, it is possible, and creepy.

and if you try out the old program he has, the excel '95, there is a way you can go to the hall of tortured souls, an ominous doom-style FPS program within the software, and if you go so far exploring the mini-program, you'll see something really eerie.

and that he's become so powerful, just like the bible says. okay, so he is, a very powerful individual.

i'm not religious. neither am i superstitious. but the strange coincidence is striking.

whoever created the urban legend is really in it, deep.

very strange indeed.

this isn't an effort to scare the christians, it's kind of an eye-opener for them.

i just want everyone to know about it and maybe get some opinions or insights.

tax a text

i have a spankin' new idea, says gov. why don't we apply taxes on text messaging? since this country is the so-called "world's capital of text messaging", we could really accumulate a lotta revenue! come to think of it, all that income, for so little a burden! the public won't mind! an if they refuse, we'll send 'em off!

but gov, isn't that supposed to look bad? says absimilliard.

no, i already figured it out. all this time, we've been bumping our heads together to generate funds to be able ta pay off our country's debts, we never realized we already have the means, we're just blind enough to see it, says gov, excited.

yes, but what i'm sayin is, aren't we taxin the cellphone companies already? and aren't we sales-taxin the public for the purchase of prepaid cards already? and besides, we both know the revenue that'll be derived won't be used to pay off that debt. too many corrupt politicians, says me, frownin.

oh, you genius. i never could get around you, huh? but the crowd wouldn't notice that. an if they complain about it, we'll say, we're part of the public too! reasons gov.

yes, but the government funds are paying for your luxuries, not you people. it's not like it's comin outta yer pockets, questions absimilliard.

well, we run the country, don't we? says gov.

i still think it's a bad idea. i mean, more than half of the public are poor and can't afford to pay any more tax, says me, exanimate.

yes, but what about the other half? they can still contribute a lot more, and they won't mind! gov says proudly.

you deduct tax from their income already. isn't that overkill? says absimilliard.

no, you don't get it. they have too much on their pockets and they are having problems trying to waste all that money. so it's probably better off givin 'em to the government? at least they're helpin. at least they're givin back what we're fundin them for, argues gov.

yeah, i know. in this government, the poor gets poorer, an the rich gets richer, quotes absimilliard.

somethin like that, yeah, replies gov, indifferently.

right. republic, huh. don't you put yerself in them poor people's shoes? says me, disheartened.

listen, son, we leaders need that extra income, okay? it's pretty difficult to explain, but you just hafta read between the lines. besides, we're givin it back to the poor. we already have a lotta charitable institutions set up an a lotta other charitable events, explains him.

those charities you speak of, are privately funded, gov. says me.

well, lucky us! exclaims the gov.

right. whatever. it's no use tryin to argue with ya. says absimilliard hopelessly.

purpose driven lies

knew a joker once. this guy was one compulsive liar. one sick, backbiting sonofagun.

he practically lies about everything. he doesn't speak a goddamn word in truth. he speaks of tall stories whenever we hang out. every story he relays is inaccurate. and whenever he talks about simple things, simple ideas, even when those situations obviously does not require any kind of untruth, this yoyo somehow manages to bombard it with fish stories and fiction.

dishin' out lies at a rate of ten words per minute.

i mean, this guy is one-of-a-kind. a genuine phony. jesus. he's like, the god of lies or sumthin'.

he deceives his so-called friends. most often leading to injury and wounded pride. he fools the women who initially thinks the sonofabitc* is an all-out sweetheart. he lies to his parents an friends an relatives, just to squeeze money out of them poor individuals.

sometimes his fibs turn out so malign, he causes so much aggravation. the fool doesn't realize it. he thinks it's okay to lie. he thinks those are just little white lies. no. he's effhin' caused so much damage to everyone around him already, it's about time somebody put a stop to it.

the halfwit is under the impression that nobody doesn't realize that he is one jive turkey.

i can't believe that all this time, he's still alive, and fooling around. someday he's gonna run out of idiots to fool, women to play around with, and "friends", to deceive.

sometimes he gets tangled up in his web of lies, and out comes the truth. that's how i realized the jerk was living outta a mirror a' deceit.

most often he's the talk of the town. sometimes, when i'm in a connivin bastard mood, i'd walk right up to him and strike a conversation with him. just to see how deep his lies can go.

"hey, what's goin' on, genius?".

whatever it is that he's doin', he must have a really strong reason for that. i just can't seem to picture his purpose, when it's obviously much easier to tell the truth.

a living legend. goddamn phony.

the lighter side of life

been reading comments on my last post (on my other blog site). sure was, glad to hear that some people understand fruitcakes like me.

some people can really take a break from blissful posts, and deal with the real world, which can get ugly.

you see, happy stories are a good read, but sometimes you just have to hear what other people have to say about reality. though it does not have to necessarily be inspiring or mirthful.

it depends on how people look at life. some think everything about life is peaceful and sunny, but for jaded and cranky individuals like me, it just ain't funny anymore.

some "enlightened" ones view each and everything about life is merely okay. they believe in the phrase, "this too, shall pass". which is true, actually. that's what gives them a very positive outlook on life and they never did mind about the little things.

that is a very commendable way to view life, really. blessed are the happy people.

while i do, adhere to such codes myself, i just somehow find time to look at things from a different angle. i have this nagging idea at the back of my mind that i have to look at things from all sides, to get a better understanding of what something really stands for, or, to be able to just grasp an idea.

i do appreciate how some people ingeniously deal with things, or situations. them people are real smart. which means, i am not bred outta hate. people have a soft side, and i don't believe that any one person can be so cold to the point of not being able to feel any kind of fluff.

that being said, i'd like to express my admiration for the people who are intelligent, realistic, righteous, understanding, and so full of mirth.

y'all people got it goin on. keep doin it. you're all wonderful.

unjustifiable scrutiny

they say i'm a racist. and that i'm fulla hate.

and that i'm an antagonistic boor. and that i'm a complete antihero.

inherently, they tell me that my perception is conventionally jaundiced and i have poor judgement.

that i have a grotesque outlook in life.

my mind trip is not ludicrous, nor am i a bona fide nihilist, as how the ignorant characterize me as.

that is the monotonous quibble i receive from the oblivious, whenever they read the contemptuous posts in my main blog, which, i presume, must not be disseminated here, in order to eschew hype.

i criticize the behavior of some people, because i am nauseated with how they deal with circumstances. they have a repulsive tendency of complicating an already complex situation.

there was never a need to make things harder than it already is.

i express my antipathy for the preposterous, because i am an exacting individual, and i find it imprudent to converse with a person regarding absurd conceptions. i do not wish to squander my time on both inessential and nonsensical discussions. i do not have the luxury of time.

in english, it just means i'm allergic to stupid.

and i find it suitable to use profanity whenever i express my standpoint on those i despise. others presume that the use of foul language is a sign of weak upbringing or lack of decency and education. i disagree. foul language may be used to fortify an expression in many ways that plain english can never accomplish.

so, if people question my breeding, i'd say yes, i am very much refined, thank you. i am definitely more insightful than the hackneyed people you know.

because i go out of my way to advocate and congratulate the worthy and the righteous, unlike most people.

i am completely and utterly intelligent in ways the crowd can never comprehend.

this is an attack on the cynics who scorn my work. realize that this is an exhibit of hostility for the people who are repulsed by what they do not comprehend. i stigmatize them for their irrationality.

being an imbecile is your fault, and that is your sin.

people may say anything they want about me. i do not care. this is me. i'm far from perfect, but at least i'm real.

i'm bringing down the unintellectually disenfranchised masses on accounta they're worthless.

he does not understand

"thenkyouforcolling, thisisdevidtspeeking."

"hi, this is absimilliard from the wireless department, and i have a client on the other end who has a dial up service with us."

"ok, go on", says tech.

"yes, he is having a problem with our software. he is actually using a wireless laptop card. and he can connect fine. he just needs to configure the software for the wireless card. and i know you guys got training for that." says me.

"a wireless laptop card? okay. we have a special department for that. it's called the wireless department", says tech.

"did you hear what i said? i'm from the wireless department. and he just needs help setting up the software, and i'm not trained for that." says me, irritated.

"okay, so he needs help connecting to the internet, am i correct?", says tech.

"no! he just needs help configuring the software". says me, raising my voice.

"i see, he needs help installing the software huh?", says tech.

"no! the software just needs to be configured. he needs help with the settings!", argues absimilliard.

"i understand. bring him on the line and i'll help him with the installation.", says tech.

absimilliard pounds on the mute button.

"ngarrrgnarrrrggh! sonofabitc* @#&*$%!. absimilliard lets out.

pressing the unmute button, absimilliard calmly says "uh, okay, i'll transfer him to you."

i'm like, wtf was that? it's hopeless trying to talk to the guy. don't nobody understand english no more.

it was effin aggravatin, believe me.

autogenesis

been checkin them other blogs littering the site.

chanced upon somebody grumbling about the gold-digger syndrome of most filipino women.

an i'm like, yeah, wtf is goin' on?

i have a little experience i'd like to share.

i worked for this chat support an there's this main channel chat room where we can say what's exactly on our minds.

just because absimilliard's got some real wicked english and spanish skills, rumour ran rampart that i was a hot latino runnin round the family unaccounted for an dateless.

and them other women employees whuz like "hey there, wanna chat?"
"hi, i was wondering if..."
"hello, can you help me out with this..."
"hey, i read what you said in the main channel..."
"you're such a genius, and i..."
"i so thank you, absimilliard, and i want to..."

i know women are, by default, very nice and accomodating. specially filipino women. but it's crazy, cause they wouldn't stop sending me messages. i couldn't tell them to stop because i didn't want to appear rude or cocky or arrogant.

i'm like, "absimilliard is a very patient and kind absimilliard. i will not flip out. i ain't losing my cool. i...uh...ngarrrrgrrarrrnghh! @#*&%!"

thing is, i just want to tell them gold-diggin ladies that what they do is downright disappointing and humiliating.

i mean, c'mon. you should change that mentality. it's very degrading.

so, a person is foreign. so wtf is the fuss all about?

mythus magicka

watched the trailer of "the prestige". it's about magicians with neat tricks and magicians, using real magic.

reminded me of a troubling experience i had with a magician in a kid's party.

he had me hold an empty canister. you can see through both ends, and it's empty. i was very sure about that.

now he gave me two covers for both ends, and then gave a magic wand to my brother.

he had my brother chant some silly "magic" words, while pointing the dumb stick at the canister.

funny thing is, each time the brother repeats the stupid phrase, the canister gets heavier by a a pound.

after chanting the crazy incoherent phrases for the umpteenth time, the magician told us to stop.

afterwards, we removed one cover. out pops a fake pigeon.
then, a buncha cottons.
and finally, a real pigeon flew out the canister.

and i'm like wtf?! i was holding the canister the entire time!
and i'm pretty damn sure it was empty!

what the?! how could he?!

no! not possible! i don't believe this!

anyway, that memory never left my mind. everytime i think of a logical explanation for the trick, it eludes me.

i mean, man, that is some scary shi*, y'know.

well, whatever it was, i mean, jesus, it's creepy.

and whatever it is, that he is doing, or summoning, or whatever, i think he's into some pretty evil shi*.

oubliette

about a year and a half ago i was sent to a remote location in the country by my parents to help me recuperate.

it wasn't just their decision, it was also mine.

i agreed to it because i have been victim to the actions of very sick people. i agreed to, because i needed time to recover, and most importantly, to forget.

i desperately needed to obliterate all memories of it.

at that time, my spirit was dying of depression, and gloom. all i could think of was hate, for all the people who tricked me, used me, let me down, and deceived me. how i imagined everyday that i could find a way to get back at them, for the inconceivable moral crimes they've commited. i was hurt something fierce.

i used to wake up each dawn all covered in sweat, because of nightmares.
i was going through severe emotional trauma.

every night i had to drink staggering amounts alcohol just to put me to sleep.

each moment i was alone, all i could think of were the things that happened to me. and that my heart and pride would undergo fits due to the hopelessness of my situation. i wanted payback, but i was incapable of doing it.

the place i was sent to was a countryside place. lots of trees. mountains. farms. the air you breath is free from pollution and you feel comfort as the breeze touches your skin. and you'll feel an inner peace.

there was one spot where i used to sit down and gaze at the clouds, begging salvation from the empty skies.

i found solace in that place. slowly, i began to forget. eventually, i started to lose my memories, good and bad. but there are some things i could never forget, for sure.

in time, i managed to bury every memory that needs to be hidden. i have already forgiven the actors too.

i won, in the end. i had the last laugh. and they sure as hell know and feel it. i already had my vengeance, and all i did was pass the time. i guess karma is a very powerful force.

i do believe that time heals all wounds, specially in my case.

oh how i wish i can go back to that place. a place so pure. so peaceful, so happy, so far away from evil. the perfect place to gather my thoughts.

the place of forgetting.
my oubliette.

rötshrecht

look in the mirror too long and you'll see it.
you can feel it inside you.
it's decaying deep down.
eating up what's left of your soul.
you know you're sick, but you can't admit it.
you're sick of it.

the sickness is rising.
the plague is spreading all over your body.
and you can't control it.
sooner or later, you have to let it out.
there is no point trying to fight it.

you know you want to release it.
you know this land of hypocrisy deserves it.

it's the hate you've accumulated over the years.
it's the rage built up inside of you.

you're trying to hide it.
but anybody can see it in your eyes.
all the hate, all the fear, all the rage.
we all have it.

resistance, is futile.
set free the demon inside you.
unleash the red fear.

there is no rest, for the wicked.

speak the language

i was in the elevator with my buddy, headed down to get some food at the 24/7 store.

the lift wasn't too spacey, and there were a buncha people crammed with us inside. they were all okay, except for this one imbecile.

he was dressed with what looks to be a ridiculous ghetto-rappa-squat outfit. definitely not even close to what normal gangsta homies would wear.

and i'm like WTF? everybody's all dressed up to kill here, and here you are, actin' all gangsta and shi*.

i really don't care WTF anybody wears. it's them. if they're so into it, i mean...whatever gets you off, right?

NO.

i mean, it's absurd. it's the office man, there's these foreigners walking around, and there you are, tryin' to make a fool of yourself an' your country, and you don't know it.

the thing about him that is vexing me most is the way he speaks. i mean, sure, brother knows some slang, and that's how he wishes to communicate, but he ain't feelin', nobdody in the elevator ain't so hooked. he best get it together before i excommunicate him. i mean, we'd really appreciate it if he were to speak the language he knows real well. it's crazy, because he don't effin' speak english. damn right, that's why.

it's not just the clothes, bro, and it's not just the language. it's the culture. don't go about adopting a culture which you have zero knowledge of. c'mon, show some decency.

he uses "ain't" a lot, and he's dishing out "know what i'm sayin'?" after each sentence. like, blablabla, know what i'm sayin' this and blablabla, know what i'm sayin' that. that should be cool, but not with him! coz' he's got a heavy visayan accent to boot! visayan accent is cool, but just don't get it all mixed up with english. it's gonna make things worse. i mean, c'mon man, don't you think you're going way over your head just to impress them ladies in the lift? didn't you notice your friend was embarassed for you? know what i'm sayin'?!

an' don't effhin' look at me that way. i don't know you. i ain't got no beef with you.

he was staring me down because i was wearing my hoodie all the way up and he must've been wondering if i was also into this gangsta thing and if i could jam with him or somethin'. i ain't got no love for you, drone. go act a fool yo'self.

thing is, if you don't have the lot to back up your fetish for a certain culture, i just don't think it's right exaggerating yourself trying to act a fool just because you think it's cool. feel sorry for yourself. i do.

sure people think it's cool to listen to some hippie spew out all typesa slang , but there are limits. don't overdo it. you're only gonna get yourself in trouble. try calling an african american "my nigga", and you'll get yourself killed. i'd kill you on the spot, if i was one. that's what i mean.

i mean jesus, you best check yo'self before you wreck yo'self. lookit, lemme give ya'll wannabees out there the know-how on how ya get this shi* in execution. if you ain't no bro, ya best give some respeck, homes. if ya'll ain't in the know, ya'll should be damn ashamed o' yo'self goin' around acting crazy and shi*. coz you ain't got no flow, son. ain't nobody disrespectin' the bros. don't nobody mess up with no culture an' we all gone' be peaceful. ya know. nah das how you do shi*.

anyway, i'll give him credit for his effort. whatever acid trip you're on bra, you gots ta lay off the juice. i mean it.

this is serious shi*, bro. get them wraps and roll up.

get your act together, bra. grab yourself one of 'em shirts that says "i got my shi* together", shave that goatee, cut your hair, and then you go on ahead an' impress all them fine ladies. i don't care.

now go grab a date. stick out your one-inch bulky a** wallet and let out a loud one to the waiter.

"i got this". of course you do.

know what i'm sayin'?!

a whole new breed of rappin'.
a whole new breed of idiot.

jesus. this place don't ever run outta them kooks.

eternity's end

ran into this interesting conversation with my colleagues.

they were debating about the topic "did God create Man, or did Man create God?".

i listened to them moot for a few minutes. then i found my turn to speak up.

there's really nothing to wrangle about. everything depends on what you want to believe.

if a person chooses to believe that God created man, let him. he's got an entire bible to prove his point. we need to respect each other's beliefs. because we really don't know which religion is true. though some may say the bible is unsubstantiated, it's still the gospel, it has been passed on to many generations and has always been the basis of many religions. and to ridicule the words in the bible, is sacrilege. leave the believers alone. at least they believe in something.

Man created God. now this one is tricky. they say God was created due to the need for a reason to have an established explanation for things which are impossible or at least improbable. they have a point, really.

think about it. a patented explanation for everything we can't rationalize. how convenient is that.

take destiny, for example. people believe that destiny decides what their life will be. i say, destiny is fabricated by people who need an answer for their questions on how they'd end up.

there is no destiny. never was.

but heck, if you say that everything is about destiny, and that believing in it makes you feel better about yourself, go ahead. just don't leave everything to destiny. don't go around saying that you'll let destiny decide what's best for you, because that's ridiculously hopeless.

let each man decide what he needs to believe. that's the whole idea of free will.

anyway, i guess we'll never know the truth behind all this.

i guess it'd be best to leave it as it is.

some answers are never meant to be found.

and if we do, get to unveil the mysteries of this life, it'll be the end of eternity.

some explanations are better off a mystery.

trying watching movies that tell us viewers that man is not ready for the truth. they end up unleashing something evil.

"..believe me..you don't want to know..".

picture yourself having all the answers you need and ask yourself..am i happy with all the answers?

you'll only end up asking yourself, did i find the answer i am looking for?

i guess not.

play the world

i never believed in destiny, or fate.

i don't like the idea that i have no control over this life.

even if things may seem like they were all planned and laid out for me, i just think it's just plain coincidence.

and sometimes dumb luck.

people believe in fate because they need a reason for everything.

if things may seem unreasonably coincidental, and that such events may look like it was planned or something, people start looking for an explanation. and if they can't find one, they create one.

they call it fate. they call it destiny. they call it differently, each time.

everything happens for a reason, they say.

that is hopeless thinking. you did something. that's what made you, what you are now.

ain't nobody pulling any of them strings.

i have my own free will. i am the master of my destiny.

i alone, control my future. i live, for my own reasons.

my world, my life. i'm calling all the shots.

play your own world. don't let somebody else play yours, and don't let nobody play you.

i think i've already had this conversation with someone. i just can't remember who and when. darn it.

on being sober

i remember a conversation i had with my buddy.

hey dawg, what's crackin'?

nothin' bra. same old, same old. you? you don't look too good.

yeah man, i ran into trouble with a client.

what happened?

nothin' bad, really. just a coupla creases, that's all. it's already taken care of. i'm all flushed. it's all good.

yeah?

yeah man, i'm okay.

good. i heard our boy (insert name) and the rest had a drink last night.

they did? damn. i shoulda been there y'know.

me too. why weren't you?

i had important matters to take care of. you?

been doin' business.

oh. well, yeah, that's good. 'cause i heard they've been drinking almost all the time. no rest. twenty four seven.

jesus. well, yeah, sometimes it's better being sober.

yeah, keeps your wits sharp.

yup, and my smarts with me. i haven't had a drink for some time now.

really? that's good.

right. i feel good too.

awesome. good fer you, man.

uhuh. anyway, i heard they're posting applications for promotions.

yeah, heard about it too.

damn, i need that promotion.

yeah, badly. i mean, most of them people gettin' promoted are a buncha inconsiderate dumba** gooks.

yeah, i heard what that new boss did to our man (insert name).

what an as*hole.

when, ever, will we get promoted.

yeah. keep hoping. we'll get ours, that's for sure. someday. i'm keeping my fingers crossed.

i sure do hope so. sigh.

hey, i heard (insert name of bar) is already open this time in the morn.

yeah. that's good news. let's go grab a drink. talk about them issues.

good idea. let's go. it's gettin' crazy out here.

pig cop / bad blood

over the course of my entire life, i've encountered different types of cops.

here's a quick analysis of them all.

there are cops who are generally kind, and law abiding. these cops are those who have decent upbringing and are very well educated. they are polite to others and are willing to uphold justice to those who need it. these are usually the ones who are new to the system. fledgeling cops, as you might call them. these guys deserve medals or somethin'.

and the rest are crooked a** cops.

true products of the system.

some used to be good cops. but then as time passes by, they become institutionalized. it's like the law has become the breeding ground for them corrupt a** cops. they take what they want. they reap what they don't sow. and they shoot first, ask questions later.

i've been victim to these types of cops, many times. and if i didn't have half a brain, they would have gotten the better of me.

funny, because diplomacy has its advantages.

thing is, if you talk right, and do things right, you can get your a** outta trouble and trash talk them into believing you. dumb a** cop.

i ain't breaking no laws. i ain't got beef with nobody. i ain't nobody's dog.

so if ever anyone of y'all have run into some pig cop, trash talk them into submission. they administer fear onto people.

let go of that fear. you didn't break no law. they are the ones not following their duties. citizens, are by law, higher than them cops. they're public service. don't let them get to you.

so to all y'all good cops, you win my respect. i have some love for you all.

and you all pig cops, i have some bad blood with you, pig.

you'll get yours. don't get too comfortable with that job.

communal lethargy

i appreciate the little things.

just last weekend i was listening to an old lady nagging at the diner guy while i was waiting for my food. this meddlesome geriatric was trying to tell him how to do his job.

as if she'd known better what the pitiful guy was actually going through.

for all i care, she just another obtrusive old lady with nothing better to do than harassing them poor customer service people.

as if they weren't harassed enough by their managers.

i just murmured.."people..", and looked the other way.

see, most people are rude to customer service people for two reasons.

one reason is because they never experienced a life of servitude and they don't understand how hard it is, trying to deal with somebody else's issues, and trying to make the world a lot better for others to live in.

another reason would be because they are bitter because they are customer service people themselves and they find it very alleviating harassing some poor innocent customer service people. just to make up for the abuse they took from some of the gruffier ones like themselves.

thing is, if somebody slaps you, and you take it real bad, don't go around slapping somebody else just because you have nothing to dish out your anger upon.

get over it. learn. don't let it get to you.

don't nobody lose their cool.

getting back at an innocent person is real bad shit, y'know, and if somebody don't get back at ya, karma will. i promise.

karma will bitchslap you for sure. you bet your ass it will.

some people only respect you if you look like some rich ass person. or if you look decent enough to live up their own personal standards.

that's because it's the money they respect. they think money makes the world go round.

yeah, well, it does, sometimes. but not all the time.

you don't buy respect, you see. you earn it.

you do not choose the people you need to respect, if you do not know them, or if they haven't shown you anything dissolute or discreditable.

that's why i appreciate them customer service people who are trying their best to be as polite and as entertaining as they can..to everyone.

i kept contemplating the whole time i was in the mall.

it's all about respect. R E S P E C K. damn right. with a K. now there's a whole new word right there.

they don't teach that to young kids anymore these days.

before i went home i headed for the men's room to clear my head. at the door was a janitor who was greeting everybody who passes the corridor.

"good evening, sir.", "good evening, ma'am.".

most of them people never glanced or even batted an eyelash. as if the guy weren't there.

i smiled at him and said "thanks. good evening to you too." then went in.
i always smile at people who take time to greet me, that's why.

now don't you think the world would be a whole lot friendlier if we took time to appreciate the little things?

it doesn't take that much at all, to do that.