(Warning: Mature contents with complex “Science” below.)
ALVY
Unbelievably sexy. Yes, you are.
Because … you know what you are?
You’re-you’re polymorphously perverse.
ANNIE
Well, what does-what does that mean?
I don’t know what that is.
ALVY
Uh … uh, you’re-you’re exceptional
in bed because you got -you get pleasure
in every part of your body when I touch you.
-From Annie Hall, Woody Allen
Tonight, before sunrise, I write my dream about Memory Lane.
In my dream I transcend space and time, aboard on a train. Traveling in Freudian railway and speeding fast towards the train station called The Collective Unconscious Station. Aboard with me is you. The girl from outer space, the stellar. The mistress of Orpheus with coquettish smile churned with transcendental beauty.
As the train hurtles in the Freudian railway, I depart myself from reality. I make my sexual fantasy real. I ask you to make love with me. No, let me change that. I want to violate you. And you answer me as an answer to my philosophical problem.
And so, dearly beloved, I kiss you. I perverse you. I fancy the moment and somehow feel the place as mystical . The moment comes before me as revelation: you are Eric Clapton’s epic song masterpiece.
I’m staring at you now. I look deep into your eyes and into your nose and into your lips and then I let myself mesmerize with your coquettish smile. I close my eyes and smell your hair that breathes like a perfume rain. Suspended in weightlessness, I kiss you. As your lips is touching mine, I wander within my dream. I remember Julie Delpy and her movie with Ethan Hawke. I remember their dialogues, how they smile, and how they shared their little dreams with each other. With your slutty-oh-God-lyrical shape lips, I remember their romanticism.
I feel like, within dream, the simulacrum is real. I walk like horny somnambulist. I whisper an ode to your ear, slowly my lips travels from your ear to your neck. Do I make you shiver? I touch your breast underneath your shirt and inside of it feel your firm nipple. The gravitational pull between the moon and the earth is yet to intensify. As I gasp, I carefully unbutton all the buttons of your shirt. You moan as I unhook and pull your bra with my teeth down from your breast. How vivacious is the two moons of a distant planet laying before my eyes. My eyes gleams with mischief.
The devil is staring at your silky breast. I imagine them like the two moons of Jupiter. And your nipples, God, they look like diamonds that runs wildly in the river of Nile. Do I inflame you with my stare? I touch, then kiss, then touch, then kiss again your nipples in endless loop. My left hand slowly taking off your pants, next your underwear down to your knee. I do not want to take off all your clothes. You know why. The body being partially naked is sexier than a body that is completely naked.
You’re a good lay. I run my hands all over your body and feel the heat of your eyes. I feel the softness of your breast with my finger violating your delicate maudlin nipples. I close my eyes. With agitation, my hands runs through your tummy. I imagine it as a flat universe. I feel life so wonderful. In a manner like Libertine, I touch your thigh and feel the shape of your pussy. You are wet and creamy now so warm it breathes poetic memories. Your body sway like a verse of a poem as I flip my middle finger inside your wonderful cosmos. Do you enjoy how I violate you? Can you feel the left hand of God touching your cosmos?
And so I perverse you, kiss you, touch you, violate you, and devour you as I enter uninvited to your cosmos. I hold your feet and turn them upward. Faster and faster and faster. I feel the force of gravity breaking up my body. As I feel the wet mystery inside your cosmos, I enslave my elongated self inside the wet vulva of the universe. The singularity ends in brutal climax. And God sigh from a brief supernova explosion that fills the void.
You smile after a long exclamation point!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Note: The following article is one of my works from being a part-time web content writer.
Blogging is not only a road for social networking. To other people, it is a tool for finding opportunities to make money, making web logging not just a mere hobby, but a lucrative investment.
The financial reward of blogging is one of the primary motivations why bloggers are vent with their thoughts in creating blogs sprouting like mushroom in one’s backyard. It is amazing how internet enthusiasts are spending lots of time posting and updating their own blog. Some are already making dollars; others are still beginning to understand its basic rules while waiting for the double digits to come up in their Paypal or credit cards. The Internet has become a hub not just for information superhighway, but also a money-generating investment that can provide a steady source of income especially for people that are hooked online and are subscribed to a steady connection.
The joy of blogging is in its dual role. It is an effective way of having a part time job like web content writers and editors and software programmers. On the other side of the coin, it can create more revenue if one can set up its own site and maintain it by himself while attracting and building its own clientele. It comes as no surprise that many bloggers take refuge in the interweb and do online writing seriously.
Earning online in blogging can help a person build a positive attitude towards money. As with any kind of job, one learns the real value of money and motivates a person to strive and develop the work attitude, like beating deadlines. Also, choosing to earn money online keeps a person in charge of his own schedule. Selling thoughts and ideas with the promise of generating money online also kills boredom and procrastination while chasing dollars on the web.
As blogging need no technical expertise of any programming language, generating income online gives you financial freedom. The beauty of blogging is that it is very simple to do once talent and style is acquired. A person writes and sells his ideas in the interweb without much complication and restriction. The key is to understand visiting readers — their motivation, interest, and passion in order to develop a style that will keep them coming back. A blogger can attract more readers and gain heavy traffic to his site by studying his readers and treat them, in a financial sense, not just readers but customers. More visiting readers mean having a good marketing sale of your blog.
But the lack of physical office does not separate a blogger from the rules of basic work etiquette. Self- discipline and resourcefulness will always remain the key ingredients in becoming successful in this chosen endeavor. The modernity of this type of employment compared against the conventional office people does not exclude the necessary attitude and personality that one expects to an employee. It is important to create and maintain a good impression, and this can be achieved by treating one’s blog site as a work lifeline and produce the best articles all the time.
I came across to this poster while having a forum posting.Below is an ad poster showing a group of beautiful nuns (okay, it’s made-up nuns) sketching a naked man. Honestly, I don’t like the ad. Because it shows another disrespect and attack my Christian sensibility. I would prefer an ad that shows priests sketching a naked nun. And I mean, real naked nun.
Flip your simstim, baby. Welcome to his shit-hole!
Naked, he is trying to hack God’s hidden porn site. Let us call him Deathpunk– a torrent junkie/techno-junkie/disturbed space cowboy/insensitive orc/ who gets a real hard on in every label he tugs to his self. He likes sleeping on a couch, likes reading books in the bathroom while dreaming of his muse. He always dream aboard on a train with his muse going to Prague or Vienna or Amsterdam, a before sunrise dream.
He hates Bill Gates, but please, don’t ask him why.Well, the name Deathpunk is just one hell of a kind pseudonym he uses every time he jack in to cyberspace. You know, the kind of stuff he likes to invent as alias for the sole purpose of writhing his mind while drifting in the ocean of information in cyberspace. In fact, he has no name in real world. The simulacra is the only real world for him. Sometimes, he think as the Google Man goggling in Google world, snooping from his bunker all the information of the digital world. Just do not believe him if he tell you about his dream of Peter Pan or Cinderella or Paquito Diaz. He’s a lousy story teller of that kind of weird stuff.
He believe his life is a complete waste of time summed up with ordinary circumstances and ordinary consequences. However he cherish life with sad stuffs he finds in books, music, literature, torrent, graphic novels, movies, solving Soduko and rubik’s cube, Starcraft, and of course, the yummy pornographic sites. All the places in the Net where God’s Divine Algorithm resides.He is an amoral and apolitical nocturnal Droid, meaning, he has no conviction other than believe in the exponential power of sex and death while debugging scripting languages or understanding the inter-system of PHP language. To him debugging the programming codes is like staring a teen nude picture then masturbating minus the stack overflow; it makes him feel like Libertine solving the syntax error. Yeah, it makes him feel good and so bad. Really, soooooooo bad, baby.
When unplugged from cyberspace, he does enjoy self-loathing. He unwind with his friends (you know, those starving poets and dreamers) in Malate, contemplate life with beers and cigar lights in between his lips. It makes him feel the blissful fire inside his heart knowing he can control his own life. He listen to music for refuge, the kind of music Eva Green would lure her to bed for a beautiful conversation. Ha! He listen as if listening to a nymph reciting a poem in Aegean sea. Again… Ha!
Ask why he writes poetry? Please forgive him. He just doesn’t know what to do with his life.
Imagine Estragon is talking to you. “Don’t be tired,” he said. “Let’s wait for him. There is joy in waiting.” “Why wait here?” you asked. “Why not look for him and kill him.” Estragon laughed. “No one knows where he is. Let’s just wait here. If you try to look for him, you kill the suspense. You kill the anticipation.” “What if he will not come?” “Still, we wait. There is joy in waiting.”
How can non-scientists fully appreciate the beauty of science? Take a rose and ask Richard Feynman. Below is the interview in which he explains his appreciation of science.
“To appreciate nature is not all about its outer dimension,” Feynman said. The most important thing is knowing also its inner structure. That’s the joy of understanding Physics. Knowing not only the outer realm, it’s understanding also the inner structure.
May kilala ako na pag nalalasing ay kayang tiklupin ang kalsada. Kapag wala ka na sa wisyo, masarap magmura. Masarap mag-isip. Masarap magmahal. Ang kabigan ng kaibigan ko, kapag lasing nanunutok ng baril, hinahamon ang buhay, hinahamon si Paquito Diaz. Kapag lasing ka, masarap maging pulutan ang nakaraan. Lahat ng anggulo kaya mong tignan, ikaw ang bida sa sarili mong umiikot at unti-unti nang nahihilong mundo. Kuwento ng kaibigan ko sa isang kaibigan namin, tumae sa kalsada nang lasing na pero hindi sumuka. Kung San Mig Light ang trip mo, walang problema. Itagay mo, dude. Huwag ka lang magtatanong tungkol sa pag-ibig. May kaibigan ako na umihi sa plato matapos ang mahaba-habang usapan sa harap ng bote. Si Janis Joplin ba kamo? Sige, patugtugin mo. Huwag ka lang iiyak sa kanta niya. May kaibigan akong Joni at Mitch-ell pero hindi sila singer. Masarap silang kasama, masarap silang kakwentuhan. Isa sa kanila kapag lasing na, kinakausap ang dalawang speaker ng PC namin. May ibat-ibang lasa ng alak depende sa mood ng mga umiinom. Kung pakiramdam mo, nag-iisa ka sa mundo punta tayo sa Antho sa Malate, mag-request tayo ng Pixies o Jimi Hendrix habang nag-iisip tayo kung ano ang dapat gawin natin sa mga buhay natin. Kung wala ka namang pera at hindi ka pa gradweyt, i-text mo lang ako, susunod ako sa Vanz, tapos lipat tayo sa harap ng WPD, doon natin ituloy ang naudlot na pangangarap, mag-videoke habang kaya pang kontrolin ang boses, wala sanang sisigaw, walang makikipag-away, patak-patak na lang sa bayad, wala na akong pera, hindi pa ako kumakain. Kung bitter ka talaga sa buhay mo, inom tayo ng hard na walang yelo. Kung intellectual masturbation ang hanap mo, masarap ang strong ice, dude, tamang-tama lang ang amats. Soft-porn, ika nga. Dried Martini para kay Kristine Hermosa, Strong Ice para kay Katrina Halili, San Mig Light para kay Anne Curtis at Gin para kay Piolo Pascual. Trip kong mag-lasing, i-text natin si nomzky baka walang work yun, si Pule may lakad. Ibat-ibang panlasa sa hamon ng buhay. Sa amin sa Ilocos masarap ang tuba. Nakaka-tatlong shot ka pa lang nag-iinit na ang tenga mo, feeling ikaw na ang nawawalang Messiah o si Panchito. Sabi ni Mitch, sa paglalasing lumalabas ang tunay mong pagkatao. Tinatanggal ng bote ng alak ang iyong maskara. May kakilala ako na kapag nalalasing, nagiging horny. Ang isa, nagiging madaldal, kwento nang kuwento, kayang sabihin ang mga litanya ni Tyler Durden. May kaibigan ako na kapag nalalasing, gustong maligo sa ulan nang nakahubad. Ang bote ng alak hindi hinahalikan kundi iniinom. Ayaw na ni Pule, sa iyo na ang shot niya. Si Nomzky malayo na naman ang iniisip. Si Tikgirl, nagsusulat na naman sa kanyang notebook. Tang enang babaeng ‘to, nag iisip na naman kung paano ang pinakamahusay na pagpapakamatay. Si Joni, kumusta na kaya yun? Puro German beer siguro ang iniinom. Tang ‘ena mo Bibe kalimutan mo na ang malaking titing yun. Huwag kang éklat. Hoy Ken kailan ka magpapagupit? Dude, jutes naman tayo minsan, miss ko nang tumawa nang tumawa eh. Wala nang alak, gusto niyo pa? Si Erno ngumingiti lang, miss niya siguro ang syota niya. Sinong siyota? Si Jaeson tahimik pa rin kahit may syota na. Si Zierra nagpapacute sa harap ng bote, kumanta ka na lang kaya. Sigh. Gusto ko nang umuwi. Dude, wala nang yelo. Naku, bitter ang alak kapag walang yelo. Baka may problema. Dati akala ko masarap ang inom kung ang problema mo ay babae. Dati dalawa lang ang dahilan kaya ako umiinom: Babae at kung ano ang gagawin ko sa buhay ko. Dude, dati yun. Ngayon wala nang pakialam sa babae, basta umiinom na lang. Kung magyaya si Pule at may pera, shoot ako. Ang pag inom ng alak ay nangangahulugan ng pagbabalik-tanaw sa buhay estudyante, doon sa Kalaw ang tambayan. Isang nostalgia ang pag-inom. Paksyet, medyo lasing na ako, masusuka na ata ako. Manong, pwedeng humingi ng sabawww!!!!!!!!
I am no New Yorker Fat Ass Critic but three words for “A Brief History of Time: from the Big Bang to Cum-hole err…Black hole—“dude, how kinky!”
What would you sacrifice to win Paris Hilton?
Sorry, wrong question. What’s in the mind of God when he created the universe? French Fries or how to wear a thong, maybe? Well, mentatStephen Hawking (How do you pronounce apple in his talking computer?) of University of Cambridge offers some interesting answer why the universe acts like this way as we know it and not the other way around (like all those third rate sci-fi movies in Hollywood). It also answers some interesting question in the field of cosmology and theoretical physics, like why Paris Hilton is Biatch. The book is a cult-classic pornography for popular science book fanatic turned torrent junkie. Hawking knows the missing piece of the Grand Unified Theory of Your Own Wet Dream, believe me. Enough said.
Ex-Nihilo, out of nothing, God created the universe? Pre-Socratic philosophers, like Heraclitus, mystified the void and insignificant space. The Omnipotent and Omnipresent Being seemed the right answer why the universe bothered to exist. For them such question as “Who made God?”, “What is the role of God in creating the Cosmos?” is taboo. The basic nature of the universe and the role of God in the dark realm of the Cosmos are reserved only for a kind of mind like Woody Allen. The Vatican even said (ah, screw the Pope, will yah!) that the Big Bang was the moment of creation and therefore the work of God.
An old philosopher even summed up his old idea about the universe and God: We exist only in the mind of God. But the promise of tomorrow continues Man to search why the human species and the universe bothered to exist out of futility and helplessness. To put Ellie Arroway in Contact: “Look, all I’m asking, is for you to just have the tiniest bit of vision”. It’s like craving for more milk chocolate.
It’s really one hell of a promise for humanity. Man is not only pre-occupied on prevention of premature ejaculation, indeed. The bigger picture is to understand your place in this “benign neither hostile universe”, deconstructing theoretical science into unified truth to fully understand ourselves, and perhaps, quoting Hawking, knowing the mind of God.
Did God construct the Universe out of nothing? Is there a creation in which time and space is eternal? (I wonder the URL address of God’s porno sites. That’s worth knowing, isn’t it?)
Is there a divine purpose? If there was a moment of creation and God as sole creator of everything, is it possible for us to understand the profound implication of divine laws and finally know the mind of God?
Yes, for Hawking, knowing the mind of God is explaining the unexplainable, digging the underlying principle, the box within the box questions concerning the mechanism of the Cosmos. The ultimate goal of science is to search for the single theory of everything, an accurate and complete description of the workings of the Cosmos and “of the events around us, and of our own existence”.
The idea of Grand Unified Theory makes me think of my lost obsession with Hegel’s Absolute Idea while still an addict of Barely Legal series.
Hawking explores these questions like using an infrared mapping the uncharted body of a woman. His goddess is Marilyn Monroe. In his book, he explicitly deduced, “so long as the universe had a beginning, we could suppose it had a creator. But if the universe is really self – contained, having no boundary or edge, it would have neither beginning nor end, it would simply be. What place, then, for a creator?”
Hawking also reminds us that a scientific theory exists only in our mind and has nothing to do with reality (Martin Heidegger, hands off!). It is a mathematical model that “corresponds to our observation and therefore, an abstract representation of reality”. You can apply the Copenhagen interpretation of reality as, “nothing is real unless it is observed”.
Is there really a hope for us to understand who we really are? What is our place in this vast ocean of colliding galaxies, flavored cosmic quarks and streaming info-porn? Perhaps the answer was first explored by Stanley Kubrick in 2001: Space Odyssey. Our ultimate goal is summed up in our effort to compute the last digit of the infinite sequence of the Pi.
As Hawking puts it, without our insatiable appetite to search for the possibility of a single theory we would stagnate.
Perhaps, the edge of discovery would just end like the film Zodiac: dumbfounded, end of credits. And God will reply, “See, I screw you, you stupid machine!”
The news of his death halted me to continue Lolita.Kurt Vonnegut (November 11, 1922 – April 11, 2007), the man who gave life Kilgore Trout, died from suffering brain injuries after a fall at his home in Manhattan.
I have been working this article since his death, started writing as requiem for the man who wrote novels just for indulgence to Planet Tralmafador. No, requiem isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s an elegy for the comic writer who farted in his writings. Or maybe to pay my last respect to the black humorist who thought me the beauty of war and human frailty. I don’t know. I am no death vulture. Besides, dude, I am just a groupie with a cute ass trying to call himself a lover of his crappy novels. But Vonnegut is different.
One, Vonnegut is a writer. Two, he is one of my God Poet. And so on.
I used to snatch his books from the musty corners in Recto along with the other authors I care to read. I am his kid, dude. I can feel his fusty books, as Jedi feeling the force, rotting like hell in dingy corners in Recto or book stalls. I remember I bought Slaughterhouse Five for only 30 pesos (Oh, the book reminds me of a luscious dream). I chose Breakfast of Champion instead of Leo Tolstoy’s The Death of Ivan Ilyich. I finished Slapstick in just a night contemplating every word of it in our bathroom enough to suffocate me from the smoke of Lucky Strike, the night I lingered the scent of my Ice Princess (Ha-ha, I can still remember what song I played while reading the book). Some of his novels I read are HTML files downloaded directly from IRC chat-room.
I thought the only thing that could stop the motor of the world is writer’s death. I am wrong. It saddened me that the world is still changing; the camera of life is still rolling, spinning its beauty in dismal vogue. The world seems doesn’t change at all. His death is just an ordinary day in a pixilated world obsessed with info-porn. No the same funeral fashion like what happened to Jean Paul Sartre funeral march. I am not kid who feel sad over the death of his kitty, but frankly speaking, dude, I haven’t got laid since his death.
Perhaps I’m just vain. Looking for something to write, something he can call himself a grand thing. And Vonnegut is the perfect character, a god in cage whom I can play with. A writer’s death is someone’s vanity. So why am I writing this piece? To borrow from Breakfast of Champion: “Because I felt like it, you stupid machine,” The Man said to the bear.
Kilgore Trout summed up our masquerade and what we really are in The Man’s tombstone: Not even the creator of the universe knew what the man was going to say next. Perhaps the man was a better universe in its infancy. Don’t ask me its meaning, dude, I don’t understand either.
I sure will read all his books again, as if reading like a kid for the first time, skimming with awes on its theme and style of episodic non-sequitur stories. Playing with The Postal Service’s Iron and Wine, I wonder how much yosi I can consume reading Sirens of the Titan.
I’m not sad. My only regret is that I never had the chance to thank him.
mayilow : lala napadaan lang bad trip suspended class khpon e pang hapon ako? naku naku..
algar68 : Hi Bondgirl
algar68 : Are you talking about astorga of ECE dept?
bondgirl4ever : sino ba pwede maka chikahan dito ngayon? ngayon din.
algar68 : Hello..
algar68 : HI any Batch 2006 here..
mayilow : @asia. eto buhay pa rin, not the greatest school in town but surviving. Dont wanna comment on the extreme..^^
stiban_graffiti : Sino ba yang ADMI na iyan? Kung estudyante ka, alam mo ba na mas masahol ka pa sa mga Makapili. or Kung admin ka man, nakakatawa ka. Nawalan tuloy ako ng ganang umebs.
admi : kasi kung sana nag complaint ka ng harapan hindi sa ganitong paraan para hindi na naman naghahasik ng magic at lagim si astorga. History is repeating again and again
eCe_spy : hahaha di naman admi hitting below the belt lang.. thats why..
admi : nagsusumbong ka ece_spy, hahaha
eCe_spy : Naming names? How come.. Tsktsk sir JB cud you please clean this mess..
Rastafariana : Anybody home?
schrondingeristhec : HUH?
admi : ece_spy is fcc
invaderzim : si captain america ba yun?
invaderzim : hahahahha...
admi : kaya si ece_spy hulugan muna
invaderzim : wow!nireveal na yung ibang superheroes!
admi : onlooker si Mr. joshua Tadena
admi : sigbin is Mr. Allan Camacho
admi : ece_boses is Mr. Ralph Corsiga
rowie0123 : ano ba itsura ng unoform ng it sa school natin ? 1st year ako sa pasukan .. ndi pa nabibigay uniform ko .. huhuh' di ko din alam kung anung itsura ng uniform na bibilhin ko ..
rnarcise : panu ba ma view ung blog... i'm just intrigued..kaso na blocked na ata ung post
macintyre13 : hello dyan
batongbuhay : panu b mgpost d2?
domeepogee : panu ba maglog-out dito? panu ba icancel yung registration ko?
