Journeying through memory lane, I remembered what question Holden Caulfield (Catcher in the Rye) asked to the cab driver when he was about to go back to his New York home when he was (again) kicked-out of his school, “Where do the ducks move in the winter?”. He was referring to the ducks that he often looks at on the mini ponds at Central park. And they were debating and debating but they weren’t able to give the answer to each other. They still haven’t figured out if the ducks went into hibernation or have just moved south (or north). What greatly affected me during this time of reading and finishing J.D. Salinger’s novel, Catcher in the Rye, is that Holden and I shared something in common during that time in our lives; we were both at lost. We were both searching for that justification of where and what will happen to our lives. We were paddling our own boats into the world; we, sucking our baby teeth and whistling the lullabies that we had learned during the sleeping sessions both of us have had on the afternoons are being swamped into the realities of life. And regards to the street proverb “Being a teenager is hard”, which made me think to paddle hard. But I digress.
Then I just realized that I want to be a Catcher in the Rye, just like Holden Caulfield wanted himself to be, after several realizations, dates, and Tom Collinses. We will be two characters, one in the fiction, and one in reality, who will hang around the so-called edges of the cliffs of life where “children and teens” play around the rye fields. And then, if one of them tries and strays out to the edge, we will be the ones to catch them and lead them back to the harmonious life in the rye field, where they could scurry down and learn a thing or two about it. If this metaphor gets your neurons moving, yes my reader; I realized what my weltanschauung is. After closing down the book, along with its chapters of laughs and realizations, I realized that I am to fulfill Holden’s dream, in a way that it let me see and pursue my self-growth. Life for teenagers is like a rye field; it is full of golden sunlight if you would only look up and try not to hide under the shadows of the stalks. During my go as a teen, I was always on that rye field; freely moving, freely running and horsing around without a doubt that the world is hard, just like falling into the cliff (and into oblivion, if I may exaggerate). If not for that realization, that enlightening moment when I finished the book, I might be one of those who haven’t a single care in mind. The immature adults, as they say. The ones who have fallen into the cliff without [them] realizing it. My moment might be objective, because it happened only to me, but I would like to point out to you, my dear reader, that living in the most transient state of life (teenager life) without realizing what it is to be one, what we wanted to be, and without that eventful enlightenment will only make our maturing or fermenting to stop-short. Even a quintessence of what maturity is or even an idea will motivate us as to what it is to be human, to be living the life out of being that risky adolescent with a proboscis of a skunk.
I was lucky enough that Holden caught me; if not, I would be one of the fallen children in the cliff; forever swimming to the rocky shore, missing out the grandeur lessons of the rye field, missing out its shiny mornings and cool nights. Living a very unsatisfied adulthood, or if we go to the extremes, living like a zombie: without realizations, without an identity. In this path where we all search for ourselves, wouldn’t it be too good to just fly off somewhere where it would not be as stressful as being a teenager? I doubt it. Without passing the rye field of life, we will all go down to swim into the murky depths of the river where the cliff is silently sitting, bidding its time to lure us to jump down. I was lucky; Holden’s thoughts caught me when I was on the verge of falling and crashing down onto the rocky end of the cliff. Into the abyss of what we call “self-induced prophesies” of what we ought to be, dictated by others. I was lucky; Holden caught my arms when I was slithering away to the edge of the cliff.
Few people have experienced traveling into space. Even fewer have experienced the smell of space. Now this sounds strange, that a vacuum could have a smell and that a human being could live to smell that smell. It seems about as improbable as listening to sounds in space, yet space has a definite smell. Being creatures of an atmosphere, we can only smell space indirectly. Sort of like the way a pit viper smells by waving its tongue in the air and thenpressing it to the roof of its mouth where sensors process the molecules that have been adsorbed onto the waggling appendage. I had the pleasure of operating the airlock for two of my crewmates while they went on several space walks. Each time, when I repressed the airlock, opened the hatch and welcomed two tired workers inside, a peculiar odor tickled my olfactory senses. At first I couldn’t quite place it. It must have come from the air ducts that re-pressed the compartment. Then I noticed that this smell was on their suit, helmet, gloves, and tools. It was more pronounced on fabrics than on metal or plastic surfaces. It is hard to describe this smell; it is definitely not the olfactory equivalent to describing the palette sensations of some new food as “tastes like chicken.” The best description I can come up with is metallic; a rather pleasant sweet metallic sensation. It reminded me of my college summers where I labored for many hours with an arc welding torch repairing heavy equipment for a small logging outfit. It reminded me of pleasant sweet smelling welding fumes. That is the smell of space.
They said it is a very unique smell. As they pulled the hatch open on the Soyuz side, I smelled “SPACE.” It was strange… kind of like burned almond cookie. I said to them, “It smells like cooking” and they both looked at me like I was crazy and exclaimed: “Cooking!”
– Anousheh Ansari, world’s first space tourist, who happens to be a chick.
I know Filipinos are not much fans of Formula 1 racing, but I’m crazy about this sport. And my idol in this field is Brazilian Ayrton Senna. The lesson I learned from him is to give your best shot in whatever you do. Sadly, he passed away on May 1, 1994 when his race-leading Williams crashed on the Tamburello corner in the San Marino Grand Prix.
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.
In this age of reason, would it be permissible to urinate in your styro coffee cup if you are in a free way and you really need to pee yet there’s not a single visible gas station or public comfort rooms within a mile’s range?
***
It was said that psilocybic mushrooms (as par to incubus’ psychopsilocybin) connect us to the “overmind”, to the thoughts or ideas that give us new intelligence, new meanings to every day things, and very sophisticated understanding of the things around us. the wonderful mushroom gives us an opportunity to glimpse the real from the unreal, to grasp the unreachable, to get answers from the stars, to bridge the gaps between our consciousness to our subconsciousness.
indeed, the hallucinogenic mushroom has been abloom in the world for over five thousand years ago, back to where Egypt rules the intelligentsia of the world, where they have already acquired the perfection of mummification and the aesthetic and hygienic use of circumcision (and you thought the Jews, did it first. Ha!) and the perfection equation to build the perfect pyramidal buildings. what then? where am i heading?
well, obviously, the paganic Egyptians where the first ones to establish beliefs, knowledge, and obviously, integration. Their belief in the goddess, Isis (or Io, in Greece) and Astura (Ashtir in some), Mother Nature in her full splendor, gives us a hint into the difference that slices the cake between intelligence, advanced technology and free thinking, versus ignorance, backwardness, and dogma.
** **
when i say dogma, what comes into your mind, first?
***
According to what i’ve read recently, the city of Babylon, where Jezebel, the repulsed queen (whore for the Bible, but we’ll get to that, actually) placed her gypsy temple (well, that’s an understatement) and her paganic festivals and rituals, as well as her “vessels of divination” (the conch shell and the magical stick are appropriate) was crudely killed in an ambush made by a certain man (i already forgot his name, is it Jonas something? enlighten me); she died, or rather killed, by being fed to the dogs. only her hands were salvaged from the reckless imprudence of the bubbling, salivating, smelly dogs of the palace. Not a worthy price to pay after continuing one’s belief in a different environment, eh?
anyway, let me just tell you that Jezebel is a Phoenician. Yep, a pure blooded, gypsy wimsy, pagan Phoenician. her beliefs, or rather, their beliefs are as that of the salutations for Astura, for Mother Nature, for the world, not the people, and for nature, not for the human’s ability to destroy it. they were, shall i say, due to my lack of vast knowledge about them, nature-worshippers. they worship the sun, most especially the moon, the trees, the lakes, rivers, seas, even rocks and butterflies.
everything that is natural, everything about nature, they hold sacred.
now, when Jezebel married king Solomon, she was transported to a place where people worship only one God, although they don’t know what or who it is. the matter of their faith is the only thing that they hold on for, which, may i remind you, may have been undoubtedly be made by any other fellow who wants to give his countrymen something to hope for, just like their Phoenician counterparts. anyway, these people, according to their own beliefs, is that no one should believe in any other God other than their God. whoever digresses from it is insinuated as a heretic, an atheist, a pagan, a non-believer. this transforms as something very objectionable; very objectionable to the elders, and clergymen (assuming that they are implementing their own dogma towards that belief? hmm..).. and Jezebel’s act of building temples and shrines to contact the divine with her Inanimate objects, as well as her colorful and often very expressive (with signs of pornography, mind you. spill the beans time) festivities, this made the drools of those against the Phoenician tradition, the paganic rituals, and made them Oh so against Jezebel that they did what they wanted to do to her.
Execute the little bitch who is trying to poison the dull minds of these poor people. She is a big contender. and she may ruin our most established reli….
**
Okay, remember what i told you about the difference of intelligence, advanced technology and free thinking against ignorance, backwardness and dogma? Exhibit A:
Intelligence and Advanced Technology vs. Ignorance and Backwardness
The Pyramids of Gyza, the temples of olmec, the stonehenge, the gangantuan statues of christmas islands and the vast library of Alexandria. the cute, little idea of making the rays of the moon to touch King Tutankhamen’s tomb in a specific time and date. the wondrous old medicinal use of herbs, dating back from five thousands years, in alabaster jars excavated under the land of the Fertile Crescent.
Aren’t these the wonderful, often mysterious, structures that early earthlings like us have made (which could have been waaaay above their time. how they’d managed, science is still wondering).
Palestinian war. The unbearable cruxifictions. Blood and holy wars. Those who were killed in the name of the Crusade. the farmers who were forcefully made to plant this and that but was never theirs. Torching of libraries (remember Nero?). Ceremonial killing of babies (and we thought that cults do that). The horned guy story that gave us the creeps, from television shows, to movies, and nightmares (which was the result of those exhibitions of power by those “higher” than us). Political merging with those high “faith” dealers, which resulted in the eradication of maternal beliefs, and paved the way to paternized belief…
these spooots, where did these came from? whose bloody hands had drawn this remorse over the world? how about the torched, ancient books, those old knowledge? Our society is now the result of the political system that was almost convenient in during those old times of “ruling” through “Divine Providence”.
**
Intelligence or Ignorance? Which has the advanced technology, which was backward?
Remember that Egyptians are astronomers, they study the heavens for the divine, while some on the same side of their part of the world, has shrugged divinity of the Moon, and followed spoot-knows-who-wrote some totalitarian writings.. they may have even altered these, according to their desires.. for hunger of.. p-o-w-e-r. Okay, I am generalizing.
Exhibit B: Free Thinking vs. Dogma
Order is what the world needs. if there is order, everybody can live serenely, everybody would be able to live peacefully without the eventual crime or crimes done to them. How harmonious..
But then again, there would be no order if there is no chaos. How would we be able to distinguish ORDER if there is NO chaos? You must simply wonder.
Rules, totalitarianism, and limits surely gave us order. Aye aye, Sir. How did this helped us? it made us become decent civilians, concerned citizens, civilized humans.
Have you ever wondered why we, at the first place, we were given these? of course, for the simple logic of eradicating evil. But how would be we able to define evil?
is it because one killed someone? On what grounds did he killed that someone? Is he that evil?
How evil is evil? is it because a certain act has been condemned to be evil by that big fat book, which is full of ambiguous metaphors?
Let’s put it in this way. Neglect made people steal, kill and be depraved, repressed. Certain dogmas made them feel inferior, as if they believed that their original sin (i didn’t even tasted that apple! wait, is this a sure fire sign that our faith and piety is because of guilt, and not because of true belief?) have already tainted them with the polka-dots of the Seven Deadly Sins.
Guilt is a very big, fat, and juicy word. are we really guilty of things that we do not even know yet? Purification is good, yes.. but purely inhibiting purification of the self, yet making everything around you into the depths of pollution (be it the conscience, the mind,or the environment) is not a good way of purification.
Dogma has made us live in a very crude little world wherein we all have to abide by the rules or else we’ll get spanked by that someone-up-there. Oh yes, it did a lot of goodness for our own. But have we ever considered, my dear lovable reader, that these dogmas could have shaped the violence that our society now has been exhibiting?
**
As farming and herding is the ultimate lifestyle back then, people work and work and work, from all walks of life, from men to women, from children to ancients, and they have specific tasks in which they have to fulfill in order to make the community thriving. Those were the days were everyone vibrates the working aura; everybody gets what they worked for.
And in these times, festivals such as Saturnalia and Eostre, the winter and summer solstices, were made in favor of Mother Nature, for giving them good harvests, good crops and good herds and stocks.
the festivities are colorful, whimsical but with a bit of ritualistic silence, in order to maintain that certain height of the feast. They give out poetry and candle lightning ceremonies, food, and other good harvests that they had during the past seasons, and offer it to Mother Nature. Sure, people at those times are thankful enough to appreciate Mother Nature, Astura, Io, Isis.
**
Fasting, long hours on the pillar, and collecting “indulhensiya” from the farmers and others are the rituals of Christianity. And then, a feast would be given, but not before the strenuous sermons (often to make us guiltier even if, for example, we have worked hard and prayed hard, because of our original sin). Often, the rich and the clergymen, as well as those who are in the churches, get richly cooked food and deliciously seasoned birds, while the farmers, the poor ones, may eat what they have; what they only have. And that means, whatever they have planted and harvested, as long as where they planted it is the church’s property, then it is not theirs; and whatever they have grown from it is not theirs; therefore, they can live in eternal poverty and eat gruel or what-not after the fastings and the long hours of praying.
And still, breeding thoughts of inequality would make them feel guilty because they are making such a fuss over the rights of “those hand-picked by the Divine hand” and theirs.
** JEEZ.**
Pagans lived in their belief that is so potent with the heavens, the stars and the divine that they have worked it out harmoniously until Christianity took the serene beliefs and tore apart the shrines and made them believe that there is a God out there that would punish them if they did not submit to He’s power. it could be quickly noted that its a He, meaning the God is not Mother Nautre, but something else..
something else..
So, if it is not Astura, or Mother Nature, who gave us these wonderful waters, these vast lands, these astonishing greens, then who?
What is so “so much” of this one Divine Being that He allegedly made rules for us, on how to behave and what to believe?
There is, yes, a creator, but, unfortunately, there could be creators. The world was created by SomeHand. And so is paganism. And so is Christianity.
If everything is just made, then is it permissible to believe in one’s own vision? If yes, then why is there this “guilt” thing? Is it because it was dictated upon us, since we were wee kids, that we were born sinful, and that the only way to redeem ourselves is to swim with the flow of these rules, of these limits?
And how about Mother Nature? Is she dead? Where is she? Where is our mother wherein in her womb, we all sprung out?
Was she locked up on a cabinet of sorts?
Locked up, i guess. Shall we set her free? She might die from suffocation there.
In due time, when we have the key, or as long as we have devised such an instument to be able to cut through the steel chains of paternized beliefs.
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.
These are some excerpts from Jose Rizal’s letter to his sister Trining during the former’s stay in Heidelberg:
“The German woman is serious, studious, and diligent, and as their clothes do not have plenty of color, and generally they have only three or four, they do not pay much attention to their clothes nor to jewels.´´
“They go everywhere walking so nimbly or faster than men, carrying their books, their baskets, without minding anyone and only their own business. ´´
“…because German women are active and somewhat masculine. They are not afraid of men. They are more concerned with the substance than with appearances. ´´
Let me say that I truly admire a woman who is capable of independence. I might write again my observations in this European country I am in, but let us not tackle about that.. I want to write about women. Women who are called Bitches when they express themselves, when they compete with men, and when they beat men.
I do not think that it is about subduing men or competing with men. I think that it is about self sustenance and liberation to be able to learn, to practice one’s craft, to simply map her own purpose. This might sound like from the Women’s Lib, a reality which we thought already happening. If that is the case, then stop calling me a Bitch.
I might point out the women in my Heimat (fatherland). And the women here where I am staying. It is still customary that a Filipina stays at home, attends to the kids and waits for her husband’s salary, and in between, she will watch noontime shows and telenovelas as her endowed entertainment. Thanks to the so called Women’s Rights, women attend schools and even universities, even being able to pursue Engineering, Law or Medicine. Yet, in between, she will succumb to a man, put on expensive make up and clothes, watch t.v., wait for the man, and daydream. Because, in such education, women are isolated to learn only the theories and praxis of the discipline they choose. Outside the degree and the career, they still need to have those multiple facial creams and they need to stay at home, because she is a wife and a worker (careerwoman). She will still have that fragile emotions and she will still be conscious at what others may say, she will still be conforming and will not have her own disposition over matters.
Where I am staying right now, to which, I might also suggest (but not necessarily impose) to the women in my Heimat, women are considered strong. Rizal has the accurate definition of them which is valid up to now. Women don’t waste time, they, in fact make the most of their time. Women read, a common household bookshelf here is filled with books, no matter if she is the Mechanical Engineer of a metal company or the cashier of a bakery, she collects books of her own interest be it about geography or Ernest Hemingway or marine life. Women indulge themselves into sports, some women even drive to cliffs to cycle, or even climb mountains. During their free time, they study new sports, at 40, they attend arnis lessons or rowing lessons. Women go to museums, opera and cultural festivals, mostly affordable and not expensive during festivals as they are being upholded by the government as well. Women express themselves, they have their opinions and not afraid to be heard out. Women think, they use logic and techniques for convenience, even from cooking, to driving, to mostly anything. They don’ linger long moments in front of the mirror because they want to be punctual. They don’t say, “Pwede na ito´´, they execute things to the best way they can and they expect efficiency also.
Being a woman is not about being a bitch to men, but being a bitch because a woman satisfies herself. And that satisfaction comes from the things we try to discover as humans here on earth who appreciate beauty and art, who use rationality bestowed upon us, who develop ideas and skills for the betterment of our own selves and who have goals to be fulfilled.
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invaderzim : hahah oo,tlgang hndi mo rin maiwasan yung mga stupid moments with the guards. maikwento ko lang.once naiwan ko ang i.d ko.so wla akong choice kundi kumuha ng violation slip.tas may nakasabay akong stud. (nakacvilian,during uniform days) balak nyang magp-asa ng letter to excuse/inform the school bout sa gagwin nyang absences,dahil sa natupok ng apoy ang bahay nila(daw)so wla xang ibang dala kundi kapirasong papel
asia : you wudn't beieve me, nahihirapan aq pumasok sa gate dhil sa mga bwct na guard na yan. once i am inside the campus, ndi na aq pwd lumabas unless uuwi na aq. otherwise, habulan ulit kmi ng guard coz of my dress code... arte..
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asia : to: invaderzim
invaderzim : kamuzta ang adu?ayun.bawal ang cd players pero pwede ang mp3 players.bawal ang camera at video cam pero pwede ang mga mobilefone na may ganun.naka wi-fi na ang ST quad pero kelangn mo paring ikuha ng permit ang laptop mo.nakkabadtrip paren madalas ang mga guard.at higit sa lahat andum paren yung mga punggok na poste sa st gate na wala namng silbe.
