Welcome to the Mind of a Filipino Mahayana Buddhist, a Rare Kind of Filipino.

Why was i not consulted first?

anti-theism, i think is more radical than atheism. one can be an atheist and that's the end of it: you just don't believe in god. but if you're an anti-theist, you can believe in that god, but still hate that god (sort of the position that Satan took)

i believe that the existence/non-existence of god is not an issue at all. the question of suffering to me is the most important: if god is good and he is capable of doing anything, then how come the world is in such a terrible state? I have just recently come upon this idea of anti-theism and so am trying to understand more about it.

 anti-theism i think is also compatible with buddhism, in that the question of suffering remains paramount. one can believe in a god but still hate that god to the depths of one's being, i think that's what anti-theism is about. when i entered high school, i identified myself as an atheist, but somehow in my later years, when i entered college, i started to read about buddhism and was fascinated by the similarities i found.

buddhism is one of the most compassionate and rational belief systems i know for it actually encourages people to doubt, doubt everything, doubt the traditions, doubt even the teachings of the masters, it teaches you to find out things for yourself and not simply to float around listening and believing mindlessly. unlike the great monotheistic religions where there is only one huge solid chunk of truth to be swallowed whole. but most importantly it teaches you to be aware of suffering.

my roommate, a very devout protestant who holds weekly bible readings, and i once had this intense conversation regarding belief in christ. he said that human beings are fallen and that the only way that we can connect with God once more is to have faith in Christ, for he serves as that bridge between God and man. Our First Parents sinned, and so Jesus Christ sacrificed himself that we may be saved, and that for us to be worthy of that salvation, all that we had to do is to believe in him. my objection against believing in Christ is that it is too simplistic. And also, if it was my sin which I inherited from my first parents, why can't I be responsible and atone for that Sin myself? Why did Christ suddenly show up and took it upon himself to save us all. Isn't it a little bit too presumptuous and self-righteous? Why did he not consult me first whether i want for him to carry my burden or not? And so now that he has done this (without prior consultation and approval), we are expected to be grateful and to believe in him?

Massive Angst Manifesting ITself As a Green Fairy


by



narodnikkki





This is a story about a young man attempting to write a story. What kind of story the young man is trying to write nobody knows except the tiny little green twinkling fairy hovering beside him right at this exact moment. The young man's name is, well, he does not want you to know. He's looking at me right now and telling me to please not bother him and could you stop talking to whoever it is that you are talking with. It creeps me out man. Okay, I reply. But secretly I switch to my telepathic mode and thats why we are still able to have this conversation right now. This young man we are talking about right now is wearing only shorts. He is sitting on his chair and struggling to write something on the blank sheet of paper in his typewriter which is in his study table. Tack, tack, tack, the prehistoric machinery goes. Why he's still writing using a typewriter in this age of ultra-thin laptops is something of an enigma, a peculiarity unique to himself. I have only met this young man a week ago. We are roommates in this dormitory for male undergraduates in this university somewhere in southeast asia.

Where we are is this three by nine meter room where there is no airconditioning and not even an electric fan. Every night it gets so hot that even the walls they sigh and sweat. There is nothing to do but try to sleep in your bed and wait for dawn to come where it is cooler. I look right and the wall clock on the door says its ten in the evening. It's ten in the evening and my roommate is still at it, click clacking. I however am conversing with you using my amazing telepathic abilities and with this special ability of mine he does not know that I am telling you that I really hate the way the fairy is looking at me right now. Hey, maybe fairies can read minds, maybe it is reading my thoughts right now, wa wa wa this is to certify that the quick brown fox jumped on the...all work and no play makes jack a pretty dull boy.

Oh my god, it can really actually read my mind. Besides that it can also talk to me telepathically. It's saying I will kill you at exactly ten fifteen this night. Well, I reply, fuck you stupid green fairy, me and my buddy right here (meaning you) will, using our mind energy kill you first. And then we concentrate really hard, we close our eyes and visualize this evil killer fairy being crushed by our psionic powers. There it is now, yes floating and we try to crush it and then we open our eyes and then oh no, shit it's still alive. It's still alive and it's smiling now and in its right hand it is holding a huge knife. A huge knife which is about a foot long. I take out my tape measure quickly, my heart racing now, and measure the knife. Yes, it is exactly a foot long. Twelve inches I mutter to myself as I quickly return the tape measure to its rightful place inside the second drawer of my study table. The fairy is hurtling at me now with the knife and oh my god it's coming..but then a knock on the door.

I open the door and at the door is our neigbour, known only through his alias in our corridor as The Homosexual. The Homosexual says in a voice filled with lust and longing, hey guys what are you doing this night, wanna come to my room and play poker with me. The Homosexual is not wearing anything at all except for a red lipstick smudge on his lips. Me and my roommate and the fairy (which is invisible to The Homosexual) look at him and I finally say, Fuck You, get the hell out. And I slam the door on his nasty homosexual face.

The wall clock on the door falls to the floor and I see that its clock face says that it is ten thirty in the evening. I look at where the fairy was but it is not there. Frantically I search for the fairy but the tiny dumb insect is nowhere to be found. I feel something in my chest, I look down and fuck, there it is, the stupid knife is in my fucking chest. Embedded so deeply that only the wooden handle is visible, and oh the blood, my blood it's everywhere. On the floor. On my bed. On the door. On my books. How am I going to clean all this up? I will try to pull the knife. Okay, one, two, three. Dammit, I cant pull it out. I will try again, one, two, fuck it still won't come off. I notice something written on the handle. I lean my head and I see it spells...Excalibur. Damn you fairy, I shout out.





The End

Accused as communists, Aileen's father, a dentist, and her mother, a successful surgeon, were dragged off from their posh house in an exclusive subdivision one night by armed men identifying themselves as members of the 76th infantry brigade and stuffed into a van. They were then taken to the nearest military camp and tortured for days. They were told by the military to confess their alleged involvement with the rebels.


Her parents' bodies were found a week later in a shallow creek just beside their house. Their bodies were naked and filled with bruises in the chest arms and legs.


When interviewed, neighbours only said that they did not have any involvement with Aileen's family whatsoever. During the funeral, a military jeep was seen regularly passing by the house.


While buying candles for her parents' funeral, Aileen was reportedly snatched by unknown people inside a black van. She was not seen for a month. when she returned, neighbours commented that she was not wearing the dress she was wearing when she disappeared. She was found wandering aimlessly in a street several kilometers away from her family's house.

Unable to speak, the neighborhood decided that a family should take her in and the people would contribute their time in taking care of her. After several days of silence, she finally told them to let her go back inside her house. She did not tell them of anything that happened while she was away.

Aileen allegedly hanged herself in their house that night. Autopsy revealed that she was pregnant.

The Tale of the Nothing


The nothing walks around the campus grounds of the university where he is currently enrolled as a Bachelor of Arts Major. All that he really wanted was a simple life in a simple house made of nipa leaves and bamboo. All that he really wanted in life was to spend afternoons sleeping under the shade of his plants and during the nighttime to play his guitar by the side of a great roaring fire. During particularly hot days he would go out and swim in a nearby stream where along with the carabaos downstream he would wallow in the cool refreshing water. But no. He is in here walking the campus grounds, staring at the sidewalk, gazing at that space where he would land his feet next. He is walking briskly, silently, disinterestedly, and GOd knows what he is thinking.

After several hours of walking the campus grounds, he walks back toward his dormitory where he currently lives. The dormitory is a two-storey complex shaped like a C with sharp, angular turns ( [ ). He enters the lobby and sees the evil smirk of the security guard behind her control desk which faces directly the sofas where guests are entertained in front of the communal television. there's no one there today. He walks past the lobby and into the long corridor towards his room. 141, it says above the door. He pulls out the key from his pocket, inserts it in the vertical hole on the door knob and hears the tiny tumblers go into their places allowing him to turn the key and then the knob with ease. He opens the door and is horrified by what he sees inside.

The giant octopus fills almost half of his room. It's slimy tentacles filling the floor with its shiny mucus like what snails leave behind in their trails only this one is still wet and shiny. The octopus, with its two eyes, stares at him, blinking, conveying the empty darkness from the depths of its being, like the depths of the ocean where it came from - the Pacific.

The nothing screams and wakes up moments later to realize that he has been dreaming all of this. Although which parts were the dream and which parts were reality he's not certain. He rises up from his disheveled bed and looks at the floor to check for slime. Nothing. Everything has been a dream.

And if everything has been a dream, then who is he? Is he also a dream? Can he be certain of his reality? And so asking himself these questions he pinches himself in his right hip. There seems to be something wrong with his flesh for when he looked at his fingers, the fingers which pinched his hips, there is a bit of  flesh that came off. He looks at his leg and sees a steady stream of blood flowing down from his leg into the floor where it is slowly collecting into a puddle.

A puddle of blood, he muses, right here in my dormitory room and I'm already late for class. He starts to dress himself and he just lets the wound drip so that he leaves splotches wherever his right shoe lands in the corridor floor. He looks back and feels as if his room is so far away and that he's been walking for miles now and still he does not find the way out of the building. Suddenly cats start to emerge out of the garbage bins and then chases him and so he runs. Dammit, I'm very very late already, he thinks. He looks back to see if the cats are still following him. They are licking his blood off the floor.

Damn cats. I knew I should simply have followed my dream of living in a small hut in my parents' farm. Damn all these ambitions and the demands of society for human automatons, skilled only in doing whatever it is that is told to them. Where's the creativity man, where's the quality, where's the, as Erich Fromm would say it "spontaneous activity" that is the only way that human beings can escape from the totalitarianism of modern existence?

(this poem is inspired by the scenery of the science fiction classic and epic Dune)










DESOLATION


FROM UP ABOVE I SAW THE BUILDING

STANDING ALL ALONE AMIDST THE RUINS OF THE PLAIN

STANDING ALONE BRAVE AND DEFIANT

AGAINST THE ONSLAUGHT OF THE DUST SANDS

BLOWN BY THE WIND




AND ATOP THE THREE HUNDRED STORY BUILDING

SITTING ON THE EDGE, HIS FEET DANGLING ON THE AIR

IS A CHILD IDLY PASSING THE TIME

BY GAZING UPON THE WASTELAND OF HIS HOME



THE WIND BLOWS AND HIS RAGGED CLOTHES CLING

TO HIS SMALL BODY LIKE FISHES FIGHTING THE STREAM

THE BOY COVERS HIS FACE FROM THE SAND AND THE DUST

AND THE HOWLING NOTHINGNESS THAT

BOMBARDS ITS PRESENCE



THE WINDS DIED AND ONLY A BREEZE REMAINED

PROPELLED BY THE HEAT THAT MELTS THE HOPE

OF ANYONE WHO EVER SETS HIS EYES UPON

THE EVERLASTING GOLDEN WASTES OF DUNE



THE SUN IS TOXIC AND THE AFTERNOON IS ETERNAL

THE WORLD HAS STOPPED TURNING AND WE ARE ON THE EDGE

OF THE WORLD WITNESSING THE END



THE BUILDING IS CRAGGY AND OLD AND ABANDONED

THE VARIOUS METAL PARTS RUSTED AND SCORCHED

THE CEMENT THIN AND BRITTLE

THE CRACKS LIKE VINES EVER GROWING





FROM UP ABOVE I DRIFTED DOWN

AND LANDED UPON THE SOFT SAND

THE WINDS HAVE STARTED TO HOWL FIERCELY

AND THE SWIRLS AND CLOUDS OF GOLDEN DUST BLANKETED THE WHOLE WORLD

Nationalism (Thought Fragment no.34)

Constantino sees Philippine History as the struggle of the Filipino People against the Forces of Colonialism. In the drama of Philippine History, there are three principal characters: the colonialist foreigner, the collaborator, and the one who resisted domination and fought. The Catholic Religion is seen as a tool employed by the foreigner to conquer the Filipinos. It was only seen in a much more positive light when it contributed to the goal of freedom from colonialism. Thus, the histories of the various religious revolts and uprisings following the arrival of the Spaniards in 1565 are given prominence in COnstantino's narrative.

Zaide, on the other hand, is sympathetic to the goals of the Church. He sees the Philippines as a special nation because of the arrival of the Christian faith upon its shores. As stduents, we often are made to be proud of the fact that we are 'the only Christian nation' in Asia. This idea is propagated not only in the private religious schools but in the supposedly secular public schools as well. Zaide states that because of this special attribute of our nation, we carry a special task: that of spreading the light of Christianity into our nonChristian neighbors. The differences in these points of view is made much clearer with their treatment of the event in Philippine History known as the 'First Mass".

Given Zaide's view, the question of the exact place where the mass was held holds much importance. When we consider Constantino however, the question of the first mass does not bear any significance at all, for even if the mass was held in Limasawa or in Mazaua, the fact still remains that Christianity was a tool used by the colonialists to convert and conquer the Filipinos. Thus, we see here the importance of considering points of view when discussing the History of the Filipino People. Following after Constantino's theme, the importance of an individual and or a group varies with their relation to the question of whether they contributed to Filipino nationalism or not.

Thus, within the scale of this theme, Andres Bonifacio sits on a higher pedestal than Jose Rizal, in the same way that the revolutionists take a much higher stage than those who compromised or collaborated. It is in this scale then that we could judge the actions of those under Agunaldo's command and Aguinaldo himself. We subject them to the scrutiny of whether they contributed to the freedom of the Filipino People against Colonial domination or not.

Eliseo Soriano Sex Scandal

by karaangtawo.multiply.com

 Nalagay na naman sa panibagong gusot ang lider ng samahang Ang Dating Daan™ nang lumabas sa mga bangketa ng Quiapo ang umano’y mga VCD na naglalaman ng umano’y kuha ng isang hidden camera na umano’y nagpapakita sa lider ng samahan sa umano’y malaswang sitwasyon kasama ang isang sikat na artista na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales.

Mariing itinanggi ni G. Soriano ang nasabing paratang. “Paninira na naman yan nung mga taga-Iglesia ni Manalo”, sabi niya matapos dumura sa isang arinola na nasa tabi ng kanyang upuan. Ani naman ng lalaking aktor na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, “I don’t know whatcha talkin’ about, the person on that video is clearly not me. Get away from me. Paano ka nakapasok sa bahay ko? Manang! Manang! There’s a person in the house, di ba sabi ko walang papapasukin!”

 Ipinasuri naming ang naturang video sa isang video expert para ma-confirm ang authenticity nito. “Well, as we can see here, makikita natin na may dalawang lalaki. This video is authentic, pero wala nga lang audio. Mas maganda sana kung may audio. Atsaka, furthermore, magkano bang bili nyo dito? Ah trenta, mura lang pala. Brod, pakiabot nung beer tsaka yosi. Gusto mo ng VCD Sex Scandal ni Kris at Joey? Meron ako dito 45p. Tatlo 100? Pare ang cheap mo talaga. Ah sige na nga, pero bili ka ulit ha?

Pinanayam namin ang dalawang representative ng Iglesia ni Cristo™, isang samahan na may matinding galit kay Soriano dahil umano sa mga kamaliang itinuturo nito. Nagdasal muna kami. “O panginoong Diyos™, nawa’y dinggin nyo kami”. “Opo” “Sana’y magdusa sa dagat-dagatang apoy si Soriano dahil sa kanyang kabaklaan at maling turo” “Opo” “At pati na rin po yung imoral na artistang nakunan sa video na kasama niya” “O Ama™” “Yun lang po” “Amen”. Umupo kami at ganito ang kanilang sinabi: “Hindi naman sa nangungutya pero tanga lang ang naniniwala kay Soriano. “Opo” sabat ng isa. “Kitang-kita na siya nga ang nasa video na gumagawa ng kahayupan kasama yung artista.” “Kitang-kita”, sabat ng isa. “Hindi pa ba sapat yung komiks na pinalabas namin?” “Hindi pa ba sapat”, sabat ng isa. “Ano ba sabat ka nang sabat ah, nagdarasal ako kanina, kung anu-anong sinasabi mo, sapakin kita dyan eh”

Kamakailan lamang ay sinuri ng MTRCB ang video at idineklara ito na R-18 o “Retail Price 18 pesos” na agad na ipinagbunyi ng gay community dahil umano “ngayon ay abot-kaya na ang video ng aming pinakamamahal na papang si artistang itinago sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, wais na, sulit-tipid pa” sabay lakad na may lundag habang hawak ang palda.

Otitis Externa Rant

Hi there internet people! I just want you all to know (not that this really matters) that I am currently in great physical pain. I somehow managed to magically conjure out of nowhere a wonderful ear infection and it’s driving me nuts. Nuts, I tell you! Maybe this is God’s (the Judeo-Christian one) way of saying “go to church once in a while, you sonofabitch”, but then maybe not. Maybe this is just one of those unfortunate things that happen and does not necessarily involve a divine primordial being who, his adherents claim, loves us all, but once in a while goes apeshit over something as inane as buttsex. Goes psycho over something like that, then destroys two cities, leaving few survivors. Yep, that's a loving God alright.

As my right ear quietly and lovingly throbs the whole night through, I feel that I have to tell you all a wonderful story. It’s about this guy who gets initiated into a tribe of hunter-gatherers somewhere in Africa. The Babongo. As part of an initiation ritual, he is given this powerful psychoactive drug obtained from the root of the boga tree. He is in this hut and one tribesman prepares the root, cutting bite-sized chips for the guy to eat. And so the guy chews and swallows and pukes and chews and swallows again. This goes on until the drug takes effect. After the trip, the guy says that he felt renewed and the experience was life-changing. He realized that all life is connected and that the world is one living organism, that he is just one tiny part of this great and wonderful organism, then he puked some more.

What’s the connection? Nothing.

Now, it feels like an itchy, burning, rusty nail is being driven repeatedly at irregular intervals straight into the wall of my ear canal. You have no idea how this fucking hurts. I’m gnashing my teeth, man; gnashing for God’s sake. I’m talking biblical-level pain here, man.

I’ve had this for three days now, and I haven’t slept nights during that time because the pain goes overdrive during nighttime til dawn and somehow it becomes tolerable during the day when I take my medication. I can’t eat properly because moving my jaw hurts. I can’t go to the beach (not that I really want to..I hate crowds). I can’t go outside. I spent that whole sleepless time in front of the TV, exactly what I’m doing right now.

I love the news. I love CNN, Fox News, BBC. I love hearing about death and the war and protests and the killings. I love hearing that conservative nut Bill O’ Reilly rant against those left-wing bastards ruining his beloved American Culture. I love watching the Great and All-Powerful Leader of the World George Bush Jr. as he makes monkey faces delivering another one of his speeches. The news of the latest bombings and snipings in Iraq, captured terrorists, AIDS and the Darfur Crisis in Africa, all of these confirm my humble belief that the world is one sad, crazy place.

During the day, when fatigue, hunger, pain, misery, and the realization that the world is one crappy place overwhelms me, I have a light breakfast consisting of one loaf of sliced bread, bolinao (tiny, mummified fishes, fried), some rice, and a banana. Then I take some antibiotics, analgesic, antipyretic, antibacterial, anti-inflammatory pills. Next, I ask my younger brother (who, by the way, is being treated for tuberculosis) to put exactly three drops of this ear medication into my ear. Then I watch TV some more and this is when I get drowsy, and sleep away the morning. I usually wake up around 4 in the afternoon groggy with a slight headache and a wonderful feeling in my stomach like I’m going to vomit.

I’ll drink coffee and wait for the feeling to subside, eat lunch/dinner, reread Chuck Palahniuk’s Fight Club, and then contemplate suicide.

My writing this is some sort of therapy. You know, all that bullshit about expressing yourself so you feel like you’re doing something to alleviate some real or perceived illness. And so, now that I have given you a piece of my mind, please feel free to go on with your happy lives, have a wonderful summer and please vote Bayan Muna.

This Story is GOing Nowhere

Have you ever been so happy that you decided to spread that happiness by going on a random killing spree? Well, that's exactly what Mike, our protagonist is feeling right now. It's a weird feeling, he thought, it does not come and go like a wave, but it's continuous, like it's been this way ever since I was born and I grew up with this feeling that there's something lodged inside my ribcage just around the vicinity of my heart. Mike writes this thought in his journal which he then closes. He rises up from his chair and floats into the washroom, where he gazes upon his face, all twenty years old of him, staring back from inside the magic opposite mirror land and the face attempts a smile. Almost, almost. No, the attempt was a failure. He washes his face and floats back into his room, changes clothes, goes out.

It's windy and he breathes the cold air, holds it inside his lungs for several seconds then exhales. It's almost noon and the street is bustling with activity. The usual: beggars, office workers, cars, small mounds of garbage, stray dogs and cats. He digs inside his pocket. He forgot something.

Now all packed and ready to go, he goes where exactly we do not know. For this story is not about Mike but about the man he's about to kill that afternoon and that man is currently sitting inside a fastfood restaurant called the joyousbee or happywasp or something like that, munching like a pig on his supermegadoubledeluxe burger. He's a simple man with simple needs: such as a mansion, women and expensive cars. He has just been from a rather strenous meeting and all day he's been looking forward to this meal. Wrapped around his right wrist is a rolex which reflects the light coming from the outside and fills the whole restaurant with its radiant wonderful health-giving golden glow.

He awaits the jeepney and Mike whistles a happy tune and every single time, the happiness of the tune convinces him that he's not afraid.

Ah what's the point of all this, what's the point of life, what's the point of suffering, what's the point of breathing at all, all these thoughts raced across his mind while looking at the blur of sceneries outside: the usual working people on the streets walking going to their offices and work and jobs and him, where am I going, nowhere, I'm going nowhere. Nowhere.

He's a man of purpose and importance and the last thing that he wants right now is to be late for his next important appointment, so he wipes his mouth and rises up. You could hear the trumpets and drums rolling on the background, proof of how important this fat, ugly sonofabitch really is. Thank you, come again sir, the guard who opens the door, says to him.

Mike thinks about something, what we do not know, and why the hell would we want to know. We don't even know the guy, we only know that he's going to kill that fat bastard, and that's the only reason we've come this far in this narrative anyway. Anyway, Mike actually thinks that someone is watching him and he does not like the feeling. He digs inside his pocket just to feel the security offered by his new and shiny butterfly knife aka balisong. Fellow passengers look at him with that funny look people give you when they think you're about to shoot them in the head.

Someone shouts HOLDAP, Mike looks at him. The guy is maybe sixty years old, frail-looking and wearing old man clothes, the rusty knife he's holding is wriggling and jiggling as if having an epileptic seizure. The people smile at the old man, and they all say at the same time: AW Grampa, you're so funny. And that's when the old man stabs Mike on the knee.

The end

No not really, Mike beats the crap out of the old man. The other passengers joining him.

Now, if you think this story is going nowhere, you are probably right for the author only made this all up to pass the time and he apologizes if you do not like it. Meanwhile, he has to close this journal now so he can go out, breathe the cold air and go kill some fat, rich politician in some fastfood restaurant called the happywasp or joyousbee, you know, just to spread the joy.

PLease God Smite the one Reading this Right now

or Why I am Atheist

by narodniki


There's always this talk about achieving world peace. It's probably the most abused phrase in the whole of creation. I often wonder why God, in all his wonder and awesomeness did not include this itsy tiny bit in the whole package. Now what we have are people killing people. And as time progressed, so did our creativity in inflicting pain and suffering towards others.

They (the Catholic Church, evangelicals, charismatics, etc)  always say that all of this is just a test for God to see if we truly are deserving of our place in heaven. So he's up there right now, watching all these killings and sufferings and what does he do about it? Nothing. Because the cocksucker wants to find out if we truly are deserving to be with him for all eternity.

This is just plain fucking stupid. If that is true, if God truly exists, then the least that I can say about him is that he is an insolent obnoxious asshole who has a twisted morality. Yep, that's what he is. And I give him the opportunity right now, right at this moment to smite me for all this blasphemy, and for future ones to come.

Personally, I would not even think of getting near a person like him. Talk about omniscience, eh? Knowledge about all the things that have and will happen. Why can't he use that?

And then there's the Bible. Just what the fuck is it all about? I think that the Bible is the filthiest piece of garbage there is. I've read much more enlightening stuff. Crazy religious folks (CRFs) hold on to its words like its giving them an orgasm or something.

Maybe people subscribe to this bullshit because of fear. They think that they do not want to go to hell. They think that being all burned up in eternity forever with Satan in the lake of fire, is something that's really terrible. They don't want God's wrath to descend upon them, they think that damnation really sucks.

Personally, I don't think that's the most terrible thing that can happen. I am a TVaddict and I'm telling you, the stuff that I see on the news everyday is far more horrible than all that damnation stuff.

Children on Africa dying of AIDS and hunger in extreme misery. Young girls, 3, 4, 5, years old being raped by an entire squad of soldiers. And these kids, if they're lucky, are left to live. I once heard of something called a fistula. Children in their early teens get pregnant, and because their vaginas are still too small, it would tear in childbirth and complications would occur, involuntary urination and defecation would result, that is if they survive. And more often, the infant, being squeezed up and all that trauma, would not survive the birth.

And all these stupidities are repeated again and again in the history of mankind. Dumb monkeys, stupid fucks, retarded assholes  that people are, I honestly cannot see any ray of hope.

We're already in hell. We just don't realize it yet.

Are you proud to be a Filipino?

Anyone who says that he is proud to be a Filipino either does not mean it, is totally delusional, is in a complete state of denial, was brainwashed successfuly by the educational institution (although this would be highly unlikely, i personally once had teachers who could not fucking care less about nationalism. i love them all by the way), is being forced to say so at gun point, has political motives and or totally insane.

Personally I would rather be an American. Americans are the greatest most benevolent people that has ever graced this beautiful planet earth. Watch their splendor in television everyday. The wonderful spectacle that they make of themselves. Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Brad Pitt, Lindsay Lohan, George Bush. With their democracy, their businesses and economy, their, god bless them, american culture which is now daily permeating all across the globe and which they claim is the greatest thing that ever happened since jesus christ came out of his mother's pussy.

Or I would rather be a German. Like HItler. I would kill lots and lots and lots of Jews. I would be an Ubermensch, Nietzsche's Superman, the greatest human ideal of social darwinism. Heil Hitler. Seig Heil! Down with all those black, brown, red, orange, yellow mongrels. Survival of the fittest. Let the chips fall as they may.

Or I would rather be Japanese. I would rape lots and lots and lots of Chinese women, just like what happened in Nanjing, CHina and in the PHilippines and Korea. I would invade other nations and butcher their men, snatch their babies from their mothers, throw the little dog in the air and as it falls down, let it land on the knife-edge of my bayonet. For I am Japanese, descendant of Gods, descendants of Izanami and Izanagi and all those people are fucking barbarian dogs. I would be famous for making technologies like cellphones, computers, cars, radios, walkmans and also animes and mangas like Naruto, DragonBall Z, YU=Yu Hakusho aka Ghost Fighter and Urotsuki Doji (Legend of the Overfiend OVA) which features among others, TENTACLE RAPE. Hah, man am I proud.

But, you ask me, do you truly mean this? Are you saying that being a Filipino is such a terrible thing? I would answer: well, with the way that all these politicians, movie stars, TV and radio evangelists act, the way they so piously look and sound, the way they smile and jump and bend over and let Uncle SAm fuck them in the ass (aka imperialism), well, hell yeah, Iam fucking ashamed to be Filipino.

Oh my God, you exclaim, what are you saying, you poor misguided little boy with your false beliefs and hideous unrighteous thoughts. Papa Jesus is not happy with your blasphemies. I will pray for your soul that you may, when the last judgement finally comes at least get to see the Lord's holy middle finger before you are swallowed by the ground and barbecued in hell.

Well, I reply, please do that.

Bored to the depths of his being, God, the Father, the Creator looked down from his golden throne in the heavens down to what looks like a microscopic single speck of blue dust. Magnified several million times, this tiny speck of blue dust, turns out to be the planet Earth. Out of the infinite worlds in the infinite universe, God chooses to direct his attention to this piece of floating cosmic debris. An angel approaches  and asks what's the matter. God sighs. The angel, which looks like a flourescent light bulb in human form, repeats the question. God looks at the angel. The angel looks at him straight in the eye, a million eyes to be exact, covering every inch of his body. Unlike the image popularized by Christian evangelists of an old grandfatherly figure with long white hair and beard, draped in immaculate flowing robes, God is actually this mass of eyes clumped together. Besides this tiny mistake, the followers of Jesus Christ as they claim themselves to be, has a pretty accurate picture of what God truly is like. For this God here my friend, is not a kind, forgiving, loving God; this God is the god of anger and jealousy and vengeance and retribution so you better not mess with him. And now this God is bored and is being interrogated by a nosy angel arrogant enough to assume that somehow it can alleviate the boredom that only beings as powerful as the God of Moses and Abraham can possibly experience. He glared at the angel and told it to please fuck off. He slumps on his throne and with his right hand, picks up the remote and turns on the television.

Nostalgia and Suicidal THoughts Under the Searing heat of the Afternoon Sun








The overpass that one must pass in order to get to Trinoma, a gargantuan box of a mall, from SM North, a much older gargantuan box of a building, is colored pink. The cement stairs are littered with plastic cups, plastic wrappers of candies, cigarette butts and all the other tiny garbage one finds in the cement steps of a public place heavy with human traffic. An old beggar, dressed in rags that looks like it has been soaked in automobile oil, coated with a layer of dust and then left to dry for several weeks, squats in the step halfway to the top of the stairs. He stares at that empty space a few feet beyond his eyes as if hypnotized by an invisible magical fairy. He thrusts out his right arm, at the end of which is a grime-covered hand holding a transparent plastic cup. Inside the cup are several coins. His other hand lazily scratches the sole of his left foot. A few steps upward are two beggar children attired the same way, one is asleep and the other is seated beside the sleeping one, muttering to himself while stroking the sleeping one's hair.

The sea of people climbing the steps just ignore them and they walk on briskly, quickly, as if one must not linger in this space longer than a few milliseconds or the whole tapestry of the universe will unravel, as if the whole order of the world depends on their getting to wherever it is that they are supposed to be going at this present important moment. Several of the people wear shades and earphones, shutting out the glare of the afternoon sun, the magic of veiling the afternoon world in a pleasant shade by simply putting colored pieces of glass or plastic in front of one's eyes; shutting through popular music blaring through their skulls the noise of the trucks, jeepneys, buses, motorcycles, private vehicles, flowing underneath the overpass like a sea of howling metal mechanical monsters on rubber tires. The smell is something that they cannot totally shut out unfortunately. The carbon monoxide from the exhausts, the dust rising from the surface of the cement steps, saturates the air and together with the smoke from someone's cigarette completes the mixture that enters their lungs and fills their air sacs with life-giving air.


Several years ago, back in the province where I came from, our teacher told us about her experience in Manila. One image that really stuck with me was of how she would clean her nose with a white handkerchief and that part of the handkerchief which she cleaned her nose with, she told us, would come out darkened with grime from the smoke she inhaled while walking through the streets of the city. That's how terrible the air there is, she told us. And now, standing here, I realize the truth of her words. I have been in the capital of the country for more than two years now and through all that time, the only beautiful spot that I know of are the tree-lined streets of the Academic Oval of the University of the Philippines Diliman. Maybe it's the nostalgia seeping in, all those memories at my father's farm, lying on a hammock under the shade of trees, the leaves filtering the rays of the sun.

Every now and then someone will be kind enough to drop a coin into the old man's cup. When this happens, the old man mumbles something. It could be a prayer, an incantation, a very short song, an apology, or simply words of gratitude. Or it could simply be nonsense spouting out of a brain, dried and hardened throught constant exposure to the rays of the merciless urban sun. It could be the conditioned reflex of a Pavlovian dog trained by the clinking of coins, by the minute addition of weight in the plastic cup, to produce vibrations in his voicebox. But then maybe not and maybe I'm the one hallucinating here because of the heat.

Anger And Unnameable Emotions OVer the Fucked Up Craziness Of My Mother Country




by








narodniki






Manuel L. Quezon is an arrogant paternalistic asshole who wallows in his own excrement of self-importance and ignorance. He thinks he is so righteous and so right and so secure in his dedication that the Filipinos should have a goddamn national language. He thinks oh so nationalistic when in fact he is nothing but a goddamn puppet by the goddamn american imperialist corporations who shove their dicks up his ass and wiggle him around for a bit, shake his goddamn internal organs for a while and then they shove it deeper and deeper and deeper until the fucker dies. And on the third day the little fucker is ressurected and the people beat him back to death but the fucker just won't die and now he is glowing off the white light of holiness that saints are supposed to emit. And a statue is made in his honor and like all the goddamn statues in this goddamn country, it sheds tears. But not only tears. It also pisses and shits and mucus drips from its mouth every day during the Holy Week and people from around the country would flock to this statue and then they would wipe their immaculate white handkerchief with the liquid emissions of the holy statue. And then they would apply the handkerchief to whoever it is tha is sick and that sick person would lapse into a coma and die within minutes. Goddamn I hate all these fucking politicians and this is the only way that I can get back at them for fucking this country really bad.

Why am I so angry you ask. For the simple reason that I love this country so much that's why. Because in my dreams I often see her in her splendor and glory, before she was defiled by all these parasites that came from across the seas in order to 'civilize' her. And the parasites have grown and multiplied in the soil of this country and more than five hundred years later, the rot and the defilement has sunk so deep within her flesh that I cannot bear to look at her anymore. Sometimes I wish for the total annihilation of everything that exists, that all these ugliness be wiped out off the face of the earth and then everything starts anew. Beautiful fresh flowers, green surroundings, air so fresh and clean it feels as if with every breath another year is added to your life. And when you look up there are no airplanes and helicopters and electrical wires, only the trees and their leaves and the birds. The ground your standing on is nothing but soil, not dead cement. But who am I kidding? Such things will never ever happen for the simple reason that the parasite that came from the west has infested us so thoroughly that any attempt at authenticity is an attempt to create something out of nothing, an impossibility, a futility.

Everywhere there is this feeling of sickness and death. Everywhere hypocrisy reigns for behind the smiles and the beauty are liposuctions and botox injections and breast augmentations and old people want to look young and young children they want to grow old fast and start having sex at thirteen years of age and the great herd of mindless zombies, simply follow the same stupid road followed by generations upon generations of their ancestors who worshipped the same gods and deities. Nothing ever changes in this place. It just decays and dies, no, it does not even die. It's like an ugly old vain rich woman who because she wants to preserve whatever is left of her youthfulness goes through great lengths like injecting her bloodstream with formaline and mercury and other heavy metals just so the fake suppleness of her mutated white skin is retained. Why can't she just fucking die!

There is nothing here but the same feeling of helplessness that people feel everywhere. Where the awakened ones with pure hearts and even purer intentions cannot survive in this toxic environment of apathy and moral callousness. Everyone is busy, so busy minding their own business, so busy getting rich and powerful and successful and complete. Everyone wants to be fucking complete. Stupid fucks. Me, I just want to blow up all the goddamn government buildings that infest the country. All I want is the simple dream of seeing all of these goddamn spawns of satan politicians hanged and quartered and their mansions and imported automobiles blown up with dynamite, then if a stick still remains upright, that too is to be burned down. And then when not a trace of them is left, the soil that their mansions were once built on will be sprinkled with salt so that nothing will ever grow out of that godforsaken soil. These people, these benevolent assholes, paternalistic self-serving liars and hypocrites, these good-for-nothing lowlives, worse than the most disgusting tapeworm that you can think of, these are the leaders of this Goddamn Filipino Nation and these fuckers they have the ability, they constantly claim in the news, of speaking to GOD. These heartless creatures with no morality whatsoever, grown fat and pale by the suffering of people, these narrow-minded pigs, they think, they breathe nothing but thoughts of staying in power.

May they all suffer an eternity in hell.

Class Discussions (the tale of the brave proglottid)

Mr. Pacifico, Grade IV mathematics teacher, is telling his students about the huge tapeworm that came out of his ass last weekend. He says that one can get tape worm when one eats improperly cooked meat and that it probably was the fiesta buffet he attended last month that gave him the tapeworm. Tapeworms can live in the human intestine for months, even years and all that time they just grow and grow and grow and he says that when it gets too big, it sometimes crawls out through ones mouth and nose during the night.

A clear symptom that one has contracted tapeworm is itchiness in the anus. He says that during nights several days last week he could not sleep because his anus is always itching and that due to constant scratching, his anus has become sore and red and painful. That fateful Saturday evening, while sitting at the toilet, Mr. Pacifico felt something ticklish coming out of his anus and gazing down into the toilet bowl, saw, just hanging above that brown lump of Mr. Pacifico poo, the upper end of the tapeworm, judging by the presence of its head. Quickly, sensing that this is his opportunity, he slowly pulled the tapeworm out of his anus. The tapeworm was, he estimated, about three feet in length. He threw it at the tiled floor of his comfort room and it just wriggled weakly there. He wiped his ass, picked up the tapeworm using a lot of toilet paper then went out and started a bonfire in his backyard. When the fire was big enough, he threw the tapeworm in and he says that he could hear the crackling noise that was the tapeworm being consumed by the fire.

After telling this to his students, he sees that there is still twenty minutes left before the end of the class and so to fill the time, he tells them what he did the next morning. The next morning, Sunday, which was yesterday, Mr. Pacifico felt so glad because it was the first time for several days that he was able to get a proper sleep, that he decided to go to the early morning mass instead of the six o clock evening mass which he usually attends. After church, he quickly went home and had a healthy breakfast of longganisa and fried rice. And then he played chess on his computer. Then he watched porn videos on his computer.

Mr. Pacifico says that the people in the porn movies that he saw have very big penises. One student asks, how big Sir? Oh, Mr. Pacifico replies, as big and as long as a flashlight and they would fuck the woman in the ass and the woman would make sounds like ooohh ahhh ooohhh ahhhh she would say harder harder harder and that because the woman is still not satisfied, they would then bring the pony in. He asks the girls if they know what a pony is. He says that the pony would fuck the woman in the ass. One student asks, does the woman get pregnant with pony babies? No, Mr. Pacifico replies, pony sperm and human egg do not mix because human beings and ponies are of different species so that it was okay because the woman would not get pregnant. And besides women only get pregnant if you fuck them in their vaginas. The bell rings and Mr. Pacificio gathers up his things into his bag and along with his students, walks out of the classroom while telling the children to be good boys and girls until their next meeting tomorrow.

Little does Mr. Pacifico know that tapeworms are also capable of an unusual kind of reproduction. A tapeworm has proglottids, meaning segments which are capable of surviving and then growing on its own. These proglottids have both male and female reproductive organs. When Mr. Pacifico pulled the tapeworm, as a last effort to survive, I separated myself from the tapeworm and so here I am and able to narrate this story, urging you dear reader, to please report this sick and disgusting man to the proper authorities. He currently lives in...

Feb 29, 2008
12:17am

karaangtawo.multiply.com