Never believe that your loved ones suffer for your sake, or that you suffer for the sake of others.
You can suffer only for yourself.
Other people have their own souls. They do not serve as your audiovisual aids.
My online journal: continued beginning December 18, 2014 on tonyperezphilippinescyberspacebook24.blogspot.com.
Go GREEN. Read from THE SCREEN. |
Jalan-Jalan with Jerwin in Singapore
CURRENT ENTRIES:
Tuesday, September 30, 2014
This Message Is For Men Only
Do you know why toilet paper sheets are scored into seemingly unrealistic, small squares? It's because each piece is meant to blot your pecker after urinating, to prevent your dribbling on the floor.
On-the-spot painting competitions are fun, but, due to the time pressure imposed on the participants, the products are a result of speed and spontaneity and are far from the perfection of carefully-executed sculpture, embroidery, literature, and food. They are, typically, works that lack layers of reflection. Like sketches and children's drawings, they are either boring or bear too many slapdash strokes and mannered swashes that scream, "Yoo-hoo! I'm a Fine Arts major!"
I had many a day sketching portraits in school fairs, of course. Today, whenever I observe such competitions, I cannot help but think that they are a desperate attempt to match the speed of photography.
I had many a day sketching portraits in school fairs, of course. Today, whenever I observe such competitions, I cannot help but think that they are a desperate attempt to match the speed of photography.
Proper hydration is one effective solution to high blood pressure.
The other is to dilate your blood vessels by eating three chili peppers with every meal. Do not be dismayed with an ensuing runny nose--it is a sign that your inner channels are indeed being dilated. Simply move away from the table and discreetly blow your nose.
Diet.
Do stretching exercises.
The other is to dilate your blood vessels by eating three chili peppers with every meal. Do not be dismayed with an ensuing runny nose--it is a sign that your inner channels are indeed being dilated. Simply move away from the table and discreetly blow your nose.
Diet.
Do stretching exercises.
Monday, September 29, 2014
My astral travels:
1) I saw a clothes designer developing a series of rugged pants with colors simulating metals--bronze with verdigris, tarnished brass, black silver, unpolished copper, and rusted iron.
2) I saw a paint company developing an experimental, new color that will not sell, because it will discolor and fade all too easily.
1) I saw a clothes designer developing a series of rugged pants with colors simulating metals--bronze with verdigris, tarnished brass, black silver, unpolished copper, and rusted iron.
2) I saw a paint company developing an experimental, new color that will not sell, because it will discolor and fade all too easily.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Friday, September 26, 2014
It was my Indian week, but only by synchronicity. Watched Slumdog Millionaire starring Dev Patel in Lingayen Wednesday night, and watched The Guru starring Jimi Mistri in my bedroom last night.
The first, a gothic melodrama. The second, a sex comedy.
I perceived both as spoofs on The Great Dream, not necessarily American.
The first, a gothic melodrama. The second, a sex comedy.
I perceived both as spoofs on The Great Dream, not necessarily American.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Zoe,
Here are my possible, personal definitions of "hoi-poloi":
--Groups of people whose opinions and taste don't matter to me. Needless to say there are many such groups in my life. But then again the "hoi-poloi" might call people like me "hoity-toity", which only proves that everyone has an appropriately condescending name for everyone else.
--People who prefer sheer entertainment as opposed to literary theater.
--People who are symbolized by the zombies in The Walking Dead, which could very well be a series about people avoiding being chased and consumed by other people who are unlike them.
Here are my possible, personal definitions of "hoi-poloi":
--Groups of people whose opinions and taste don't matter to me. Needless to say there are many such groups in my life. But then again the "hoi-poloi" might call people like me "hoity-toity", which only proves that everyone has an appropriately condescending name for everyone else.
--People who prefer sheer entertainment as opposed to literary theater.
--People who are symbolized by the zombies in The Walking Dead, which could very well be a series about people avoiding being chased and consumed by other people who are unlike them.
There is no such thing as "death energy." What we know as "death energy" is merely energy that has transformed from creative energy into decomposition, only to re-transform into creative energy afterward, like the rising of a phoenix. The more dangerous forms of energy are anger, rage, recklessness, vengeance, lust, illness, ill-wishing, and vandalism--and they are generated whenever the moon is full.
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Sunday, September 21, 2014
Saturday, September 20, 2014
I love watching How Do I Look? but cannot help but feel that the host herself would greatly benefit from a fashion intervention.
Quite often she is bedecked with fancy jewelry and looks like a Christmas tree.
Other times she looks like a flight stewardess on a 12-hour furlough.
Perhaps the unseen message is that EVERYONE needs a fashion intervention from time to time anyway, and that there are no exceptions. After all, you don't change your life only once. You do so several times.
Quite often she is bedecked with fancy jewelry and looks like a Christmas tree.
Other times she looks like a flight stewardess on a 12-hour furlough.
Perhaps the unseen message is that EVERYONE needs a fashion intervention from time to time anyway, and that there are no exceptions. After all, you don't change your life only once. You do so several times.
Friday, September 19, 2014
I hear that New Bilibid Prison will be relocated to a huge facility that is already being built somewhere, and that its present location will be developed into a novelty hotel and shop complex, conserving its historic structures.
I believe that this is a giant step forward. We need a modern, national prison that is state-of-the-art and that has security features that make use of technology.
I believe that this is a giant step forward. We need a modern, national prison that is state-of-the-art and that has security features that make use of technology.
Before entering any specific field, check out who is best in it. If the odds are against you, you will end up as only second best, or worse. This is the reason many people end up thinking of themselves as failures--because they imitated someone else, didn't realize the sacrifices entailed, and didn't quite match up.
I am sure, my hermit's hut on Grande Island will be a simple number for starters--it will probably look like an albularyo's hut.
Our initial visions, however, were quite ambitious: a Pirates of the Caribbean hut partially on the water; a Romany encampment with a bonfire in the center; a Brother Cadfael hut with an herb garden and conservatory.
I would like an assistant or two a la Brother Cadfael's novices--they have to be island residents--who will not only do herb planting but can serve as apprentices for magic as well.
Our initial visions, however, were quite ambitious: a Pirates of the Caribbean hut partially on the water; a Romany encampment with a bonfire in the center; a Brother Cadfael hut with an herb garden and conservatory.
I would like an assistant or two a la Brother Cadfael's novices--they have to be island residents--who will not only do herb planting but can serve as apprentices for magic as well.
If the rains stop I am going to Grande Island tomorrow with its proprietors and managers. If not, we go next weekend.
I'm authoring three "mystery treks" titled "The Hunt for The Shaman's Talisman", possibly to occur on the island's maiden Halloween weekend October 25.
They are building a hermit's hut for me on a slope some distance away from the cottages, where I will be conducting consultations and oracle readings while the treks are ongoing. It is also possible that I will be using the hut and conducting such consultations on the first weekend of every month.
As an additional activity I'm thinking of doing a Halloween midnight lecture in one of the function rooms but still mulling it over because I do love to sleep at night.
Anyway, this is another sneak preview of my retirement.
I'm authoring three "mystery treks" titled "The Hunt for The Shaman's Talisman", possibly to occur on the island's maiden Halloween weekend October 25.
They are building a hermit's hut for me on a slope some distance away from the cottages, where I will be conducting consultations and oracle readings while the treks are ongoing. It is also possible that I will be using the hut and conducting such consultations on the first weekend of every month.
As an additional activity I'm thinking of doing a Halloween midnight lecture in one of the function rooms but still mulling it over because I do love to sleep at night.
Anyway, this is another sneak preview of my retirement.
Caught the final episode of the Merlin TV series titled "The Diamond of the Day: Part II". Three major characters died.
Were I a young man I would order a complete DVD set of this series. It's one series in which the magic isn't risible.
But, I am not a young man and I am not ordering the series because Merlin is the only three-dimensional character here. Everyone else is a flat, cardboard cut-out.
Were I a young man I would order a complete DVD set of this series. It's one series in which the magic isn't risible.
But, I am not a young man and I am not ordering the series because Merlin is the only three-dimensional character here. Everyone else is a flat, cardboard cut-out.
Placed all of my homicide investigation books in our library flush-out.
Saw two Agatha Christie paperbacks tucked away somewhere, and I think I'll read those on this consistently rainy day.
We are a bottle terrarium. We really don't have more rain than we need.
Don't complain too much about the rain. You have no idea what's coming next.
Saw two Agatha Christie paperbacks tucked away somewhere, and I think I'll read those on this consistently rainy day.
We are a bottle terrarium. We really don't have more rain than we need.
Don't complain too much about the rain. You have no idea what's coming next.
If you live in a place that gets flooded or has landslides every year or volcanic eruptions from time to time, shouldn't at least some of you make a serious effort to move permanently elsewhere? The location of your house is one of your biggest capitals in life.
Scarlett O'Hara's tragic flaw was not her romantic inclinations--it was her sentimental attachment to Tara.
Scarlett O'Hara's tragic flaw was not her romantic inclinations--it was her sentimental attachment to Tara.
You have often been in love with ideal persons shaped by your fantasies. But, a fantasy cannot love you back, because it feeds on false illusions.
The persons who really love you are right there under your nose. They are not as good-looking. They are not as perfect. But, they are the real persons who will make you blossom to your fullest beauty.
The persons who really love you are right there under your nose. They are not as good-looking. They are not as perfect. But, they are the real persons who will make you blossom to your fullest beauty.
Thursday, September 18, 2014
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Strangers on the Train
Most of the time I am able to get myself a seat on the MRT on my way to work. Whenever I do so I take out my notebook and pen and jot down random notes. This morning I sat beside an elderly man and did the same. After ten minutes or so the man could not help but ask me where I was headed every morning and what I do for a living--he'd been very curious about me because, according to him, we are often together on the same train. Strange, because I hardly took notice of him until now.
The incident reminded me of something similar two years ago, when Alan and I attended the International Museum of Women (IMOW) presentation under the Museums Connect program at Ayala Museum. During the reception that followed, a woman approached me, introduced herself, and said that she'd been seeing me on the LRT2 (my route at the time) every morning. She said, "It's you! I always see you writing in your leather-bound notebook with a fountain pen, and I always tell myself, 'I like that man!'"
The incident reminded me of something similar two years ago, when Alan and I attended the International Museum of Women (IMOW) presentation under the Museums Connect program at Ayala Museum. During the reception that followed, a woman approached me, introduced herself, and said that she'd been seeing me on the LRT2 (my route at the time) every morning. She said, "It's you! I always see you writing in your leather-bound notebook with a fountain pen, and I always tell myself, 'I like that man!'"
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
"Thieves" (Night of Monday, September 15, 2014)
Day Notes:
Chito and Chevy visited at noon. I gave them three glass mugs with Chito's initials, a tiny chess set and a little girl's flower basket for Chevy, some goodies from Marinduque, and some odds and ends that Chevy and Vinci could play with. I also gave Chito some money for his birthday.
Working online, I was quite dismayed with a Follower whom I'd let into my Friends Circle; most of his posts are appeals for donations to assist the medication of a child.
Some tenants' children came to our library and decor flush-out to purchase a dozen pens, a book, and an easel, all at bargain prices, of course. I decided to give a little girl a small drawing board for free to go with her easel.
The rest of the easels and art stands I gave away to Arvin, who owns the art gallery and school across our house.
Despite the rains it was a balmy night.
The Dream:
Part One:
I am out of town and sleeping over in a dorm. I am all alone. As I lie in bed I become aware that the room is gradually filling up with elemental spirits. I become annoyed, knowing that they will disturb me. I am somewhat relieved to see that Neil, who has come from the office, is sleeping on a bunk bed across mine. He tosses and turns in his sleep and mutters to himself, "Two minutes, two minutes..."
Part Two:
The scene shifts to my captain's cabin bedroom. I am surprised to see that Cerefina is sleeping on the floor; she eventually gets on my bed and snuggles against my body. I see, however, that there is a second dog, also with brown fur, padding about the room--and then three more dogs, apparently neighbors' dogs, all of them with brown fur. One of them licks my face. I actually feel this, along with the pressure of the dogs' bodies against mine, and I am convinced that I am awake and that the dogs are real.
I then see that, at the foot of the bed, there are two little boys who have entered the room in order to burgle it. I grip one of the boys' arms and demand to know how they were able to come inside. His fingers, however, have spikes fashioned out of sharpened paper clips on them, so that I am unable to hold on to him for long without getting hurt. The boys exit quickly through the bottom of my aluminum door that opens onto the rear passage. In this dream, my bedroom is on an upper floor that looks out onto the street. I shoo the animals away, including a black-and-white cat that falls onto the street, breaks its bones, yet manages to crawl across the street despite its injuries. I inspect the door's transom, which is made of double-paned glass, and see that the thieves entered this way by prying at the screws. I make a mental note to have the panes fixed. I decide that this kind of transom is ineffective; it seems that the screws must have been undone a little at a time over several nights. I think of making a list of the things that were stolen from me and I think of praying, but I begin both and ultimately abandon them.
I rue the loss of my wallet. It is slipped in through the door and I see that the wallet is completely empty, not only of money but of Angelique's high school graduation portrait and a copper talisman.
I especially regret the loss of my workshop materials, including my pendulum and my Tarot cards. Like the empty wallet, the empty box that contained them is slipped in through the door.
Part Three:
Now I am in the kitchen area of our old, ancestral house in San Fernando, Pampanga. I. is there. She is apparently privy to the thievery that has been going on. She shows me all she could possible return to me, which is someone else's grimy notebook in which some of my Tarot cards have been pasted. We try to peel off the cards but they get torn and damaged.
Two boy-thieves enter; they are apparently adolescent versions of the two little boys in my captain's cabin bedroom. They are aloof and uncooperative. I know that I will never get my stolen possessions back.
A man and a woman, also behaving like thieves, enter and go to the dining and living areas of the house. I try to stop them and scare them off but they move too quickly. The dining and living areas have become the tiled roof of a long structure in the center of what looks like a Chinese courtyard. I pull on a rope across the roof, hoping to trip the man, but the rope gives. The woman turns to me and challenges me. She extends her hand as though expecting a handshake, but I refuse to give her my hand because I know that she will only pull me aside and drop me over the roof. I go back to the kitchen area. The man and the woman follow me there. I now see that the man looks like Gil, the gang leader of Genuine Ilocano, one of many gang leaders whom I met when I conducted a "Writing from The Heart" workshop for gang leaders at New Bilibid Prison more than a year ago. This time the man has a wooden, home-manufactured gun that he threatens me with. Strangely, the gun looks like the toy gun I had when I was about seven years old. The man looks at my signature ring on my right hand and my insignia ring on my left hand; for a moment I worry that he will take them. He moves to the small window of the kitchen area, the one beside the servants' room.
I sit on a chair and note that I. has placed some folded money, possibly a thousand bill and two five-hundred bills, into a crack in the seat for me. I take the money and slip it into my empty wallet, which I then tuck inside my black shorts.
Interpretation:
When I awoke from the third part of my dream I checked the time on my Blackberry cell phone. It was 2:39 AM. I initially and distinctly felt that there were thieves inside the house. Yet, after I rose and got dressed for work, nothing was amiss.
I have four interpretations of this dream:
1) The elementals, dogs, cat, and thieves were actually spirits that came and visited me during the night.
2) I have been giving away too much lately to friends and neighbors who are, in a way "thieves" not only of material things but of my time and talents.
3) I was dreaming about things that were actually happening to my co-workers, Neil et alii. At the Octagon this morning, the conversations were all about actual burglaries that victimized my co-workers. Rey's wife was approached in her car by men who knocked on her door and said that she'd dropped some money behind her car; when she stepped out to look there were indeed coins on the street, but upon her return to the steering wheel she discovered that the men had run off with her bag containing PHP5,000. Julius's father-in-law had left their front gate open; thieves entered their front door, ransacked the ground and upper floors, and made off with electronic gadgets and money while everyone in the house was fast asleep. He later found out that two of his neighbors were victimized in the same manner, all three of them a week apart each. One of the consular aides told us the story of how his neighbor's house was burgled in the same manner of cell phones and one watch from a precious watch collection. We decided that, in all cases, all of the thieves were teenagers who recognized only electronic gadgets and money as precious.
4) My psyche is telling me to be cautious about thieves at this time.
I am thankful for now that, due to our house renovation, our balconies and loggias are completely wrapped with iron trellises.
Chito and Chevy visited at noon. I gave them three glass mugs with Chito's initials, a tiny chess set and a little girl's flower basket for Chevy, some goodies from Marinduque, and some odds and ends that Chevy and Vinci could play with. I also gave Chito some money for his birthday.
Working online, I was quite dismayed with a Follower whom I'd let into my Friends Circle; most of his posts are appeals for donations to assist the medication of a child.
Some tenants' children came to our library and decor flush-out to purchase a dozen pens, a book, and an easel, all at bargain prices, of course. I decided to give a little girl a small drawing board for free to go with her easel.
The rest of the easels and art stands I gave away to Arvin, who owns the art gallery and school across our house.
Despite the rains it was a balmy night.
The Dream:
Part One:
I am out of town and sleeping over in a dorm. I am all alone. As I lie in bed I become aware that the room is gradually filling up with elemental spirits. I become annoyed, knowing that they will disturb me. I am somewhat relieved to see that Neil, who has come from the office, is sleeping on a bunk bed across mine. He tosses and turns in his sleep and mutters to himself, "Two minutes, two minutes..."
Part Two:
The scene shifts to my captain's cabin bedroom. I am surprised to see that Cerefina is sleeping on the floor; she eventually gets on my bed and snuggles against my body. I see, however, that there is a second dog, also with brown fur, padding about the room--and then three more dogs, apparently neighbors' dogs, all of them with brown fur. One of them licks my face. I actually feel this, along with the pressure of the dogs' bodies against mine, and I am convinced that I am awake and that the dogs are real.
I then see that, at the foot of the bed, there are two little boys who have entered the room in order to burgle it. I grip one of the boys' arms and demand to know how they were able to come inside. His fingers, however, have spikes fashioned out of sharpened paper clips on them, so that I am unable to hold on to him for long without getting hurt. The boys exit quickly through the bottom of my aluminum door that opens onto the rear passage. In this dream, my bedroom is on an upper floor that looks out onto the street. I shoo the animals away, including a black-and-white cat that falls onto the street, breaks its bones, yet manages to crawl across the street despite its injuries. I inspect the door's transom, which is made of double-paned glass, and see that the thieves entered this way by prying at the screws. I make a mental note to have the panes fixed. I decide that this kind of transom is ineffective; it seems that the screws must have been undone a little at a time over several nights. I think of making a list of the things that were stolen from me and I think of praying, but I begin both and ultimately abandon them.
I rue the loss of my wallet. It is slipped in through the door and I see that the wallet is completely empty, not only of money but of Angelique's high school graduation portrait and a copper talisman.
I especially regret the loss of my workshop materials, including my pendulum and my Tarot cards. Like the empty wallet, the empty box that contained them is slipped in through the door.
Part Three:
Now I am in the kitchen area of our old, ancestral house in San Fernando, Pampanga. I. is there. She is apparently privy to the thievery that has been going on. She shows me all she could possible return to me, which is someone else's grimy notebook in which some of my Tarot cards have been pasted. We try to peel off the cards but they get torn and damaged.
Two boy-thieves enter; they are apparently adolescent versions of the two little boys in my captain's cabin bedroom. They are aloof and uncooperative. I know that I will never get my stolen possessions back.
A man and a woman, also behaving like thieves, enter and go to the dining and living areas of the house. I try to stop them and scare them off but they move too quickly. The dining and living areas have become the tiled roof of a long structure in the center of what looks like a Chinese courtyard. I pull on a rope across the roof, hoping to trip the man, but the rope gives. The woman turns to me and challenges me. She extends her hand as though expecting a handshake, but I refuse to give her my hand because I know that she will only pull me aside and drop me over the roof. I go back to the kitchen area. The man and the woman follow me there. I now see that the man looks like Gil, the gang leader of Genuine Ilocano, one of many gang leaders whom I met when I conducted a "Writing from The Heart" workshop for gang leaders at New Bilibid Prison more than a year ago. This time the man has a wooden, home-manufactured gun that he threatens me with. Strangely, the gun looks like the toy gun I had when I was about seven years old. The man looks at my signature ring on my right hand and my insignia ring on my left hand; for a moment I worry that he will take them. He moves to the small window of the kitchen area, the one beside the servants' room.
I sit on a chair and note that I. has placed some folded money, possibly a thousand bill and two five-hundred bills, into a crack in the seat for me. I take the money and slip it into my empty wallet, which I then tuck inside my black shorts.
Interpretation:
When I awoke from the third part of my dream I checked the time on my Blackberry cell phone. It was 2:39 AM. I initially and distinctly felt that there were thieves inside the house. Yet, after I rose and got dressed for work, nothing was amiss.
I have four interpretations of this dream:
1) The elementals, dogs, cat, and thieves were actually spirits that came and visited me during the night.
2) I have been giving away too much lately to friends and neighbors who are, in a way "thieves" not only of material things but of my time and talents.
3) I was dreaming about things that were actually happening to my co-workers, Neil et alii. At the Octagon this morning, the conversations were all about actual burglaries that victimized my co-workers. Rey's wife was approached in her car by men who knocked on her door and said that she'd dropped some money behind her car; when she stepped out to look there were indeed coins on the street, but upon her return to the steering wheel she discovered that the men had run off with her bag containing PHP5,000. Julius's father-in-law had left their front gate open; thieves entered their front door, ransacked the ground and upper floors, and made off with electronic gadgets and money while everyone in the house was fast asleep. He later found out that two of his neighbors were victimized in the same manner, all three of them a week apart each. One of the consular aides told us the story of how his neighbor's house was burgled in the same manner of cell phones and one watch from a precious watch collection. We decided that, in all cases, all of the thieves were teenagers who recognized only electronic gadgets and money as precious.
4) My psyche is telling me to be cautious about thieves at this time.
I am thankful for now that, due to our house renovation, our balconies and loggias are completely wrapped with iron trellises.
Check your shampoo--don't get swayed by advertisements.
1) Dilute your shampoo with water to make it milder by pouring everything into a TRANSLUCENT glass bottle--50% shampoo and 50% water. Shake well. This should allow you to shampoo everyday.
The shampoo should MINGLE with the water and STAY THAT WAY. If the shampoo eventually separates from the water and sinks to the bottom of the glass bottle, you can be sure that your shampoo is unsafe--some of it will stick to your hair despite rinsing.
2) Take a sample of your shampoo and place it in a smaller container with a tight lid and set it aside for three months. You could actually set the entire shampoo bottle aside for three months.
If, after three months, your shampoo turns into a tacky substance, you are better off using it as a substitute for plaster of Paris in executing a sculpture project.
Remember: There is a reason why shampoo manufacturers use opaque containers. It's because they don't want you to SEE what the shampoo looks like inside.
1) Dilute your shampoo with water to make it milder by pouring everything into a TRANSLUCENT glass bottle--50% shampoo and 50% water. Shake well. This should allow you to shampoo everyday.
The shampoo should MINGLE with the water and STAY THAT WAY. If the shampoo eventually separates from the water and sinks to the bottom of the glass bottle, you can be sure that your shampoo is unsafe--some of it will stick to your hair despite rinsing.
2) Take a sample of your shampoo and place it in a smaller container with a tight lid and set it aside for three months. You could actually set the entire shampoo bottle aside for three months.
If, after three months, your shampoo turns into a tacky substance, you are better off using it as a substitute for plaster of Paris in executing a sculpture project.
Remember: There is a reason why shampoo manufacturers use opaque containers. It's because they don't want you to SEE what the shampoo looks like inside.
Monday, September 15, 2014
The messages of spirits are always clear. They are clearer than the messages between incarnate human beings, which are hindered by and filtered through defense mechanisms.
The only times the messages of spirits are "not" clear are when producers of horror movies want them to be unclear in order to frighten their audiences.
The only times the messages of spirits are "not" clear are when producers of horror movies want them to be unclear in order to frighten their audiences.
It is all right to deactivate your social media accounts without alerting your friends.
It is all right to change your cell phone number without telling anyone.
It is all right not to answer your phone, or not reply to text messages and e-mail messages.
All of those are affirmations that, despite technology, you are not a slave to it. You are free to make choices, and everything relies on you rather than the other way around.
Gone are the days when a person would jump whenever their telephone rang.
It is all right to change your cell phone number without telling anyone.
It is all right not to answer your phone, or not reply to text messages and e-mail messages.
All of those are affirmations that, despite technology, you are not a slave to it. You are free to make choices, and everything relies on you rather than the other way around.
Gone are the days when a person would jump whenever their telephone rang.
In Lucena, Quezon, a young man approached me and asked me what my nationality is. I said that I am Filipino, but that he may have asked that question because my grandfather on my mother's side was Portuguese.
He then said that (probably because of my hair, which I'd left untied) I reminded him of Hulk Hogan.
I was shocked speechless.
Being a creative writer, I felt that it was a most unlikely metaphor.
He then said that (probably because of my hair, which I'd left untied) I reminded him of Hulk Hogan.
I was shocked speechless.
Being a creative writer, I felt that it was a most unlikely metaphor.
Thursday, September 11, 2014
The Ghost of Christmas Future
Yesterday after lunch I began cleaning out my paper files at the office. It was a relaxing, centering, activity. I visualized myself as a ghost from the future--from May 2015, perhaps, a month or so after I'd have retired.
From inside my module I heard Pong negotiating with a program partner on the phone over a speaker scheduled to arrive at the end of the month; she wasn't quite having her way with dates and times and her voice was strained. I heard Nonong explaining a press activity to Craig, who had many questions about arrangements. I heard Marilou briefing an exchange grantee regarding requirements needed for the grantee's travel. I cast my psychic ears farther and listened to other co-workers' conversations about food, weekend dates, favorite colors, and family.
I said to myself, "This is how the office will be after I leave it--people centering their lives around issues and plans I will no longer care about or bother to think of." I thought of all the meetings I'd had to attend, the many contacts whose support I solicited, the rallies in the streets, the work delegated to me because someone was lazy or incompetent and there was no one else to do it, the office Blackberry I had to be constantly attuned to for calls and text messages and e-mail messages at whatever hour of the day and night, the daily commuting to and from work, the rains, the riffraff, the petty office intrigues--and of course people have to be riffraff in order to indulge in petty office intrigues, meaning, there are riffraff in the workplace too.
On March 31, 2015, I can announce to the world, "No more of this!"
Retirement is the true meaning of resurrection. You are finally given the golden opportunity to define yourself, to focus on your own goals, to select your friends, to assert what you like and what you do not like, to determine your mission and meaning to the world and not merely to an office.
It is how you will really live, and how you will die and meet your Maker.
From inside my module I heard Pong negotiating with a program partner on the phone over a speaker scheduled to arrive at the end of the month; she wasn't quite having her way with dates and times and her voice was strained. I heard Nonong explaining a press activity to Craig, who had many questions about arrangements. I heard Marilou briefing an exchange grantee regarding requirements needed for the grantee's travel. I cast my psychic ears farther and listened to other co-workers' conversations about food, weekend dates, favorite colors, and family.
I said to myself, "This is how the office will be after I leave it--people centering their lives around issues and plans I will no longer care about or bother to think of." I thought of all the meetings I'd had to attend, the many contacts whose support I solicited, the rallies in the streets, the work delegated to me because someone was lazy or incompetent and there was no one else to do it, the office Blackberry I had to be constantly attuned to for calls and text messages and e-mail messages at whatever hour of the day and night, the daily commuting to and from work, the rains, the riffraff, the petty office intrigues--and of course people have to be riffraff in order to indulge in petty office intrigues, meaning, there are riffraff in the workplace too.
On March 31, 2015, I can announce to the world, "No more of this!"
Retirement is the true meaning of resurrection. You are finally given the golden opportunity to define yourself, to focus on your own goals, to select your friends, to assert what you like and what you do not like, to determine your mission and meaning to the world and not merely to an office.
It is how you will really live, and how you will die and meet your Maker.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Hacker scam:
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Tuesday, September 9, 2014
Re-viewing "Tatarin"
Watched Tatarin on PBO yesterday evening and waited patiently for my attention to flag--it didn't, and I saw it all the way through the end. I saw it on the big screen many Christmases ago. This time around I felt that I was more appreciative of it. I enjoyed the Fitzgeraldesque attempt to tell a fantasy story in a period setting. I saw absolutely no pretensions in the making of the movie; if there was any pretension at all, it was in the third-generation Spanish posturing that regularly peppered the dialogue, which was the shortcoming not of the screenplay writer but of the original author, National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin, whose work the movie was based on.
I recall that Tatarin was a critical flop in its time, and no one could tell exactly why. No one was willing to articulate that: 1) a movie like that should never be pushed into a festival that caters mainly to non-intellectuals; 2) the production chose, unfortunately, the most immature work of Nick Joaquin as material, a Tennessee Williams hodgepodge of characters and situations from The Glass Menagerie, Suddenly Last Summer, Sweet Bird of Youth, Cat on A Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire, and Period of Adjustment. When I was a sophomore college student, my drama mentor Rolando S. Tinio frequently advised me after I wrote my one-act play "K-31," "Tony, never write a play about sex, about characters who are preoccupied with sex and sexuality, or who have sexual hang-ups. It will always be an embarrassing work." Indeed, I thought that the movie's director was remiss in having his bacchantes fully clothed and writhing at the peak of their orgasms; he might have been better off showing them in the act of tearing off their robes, panning the camera to locate them off-screen, and simply filming their shadows. The choreography, after all, was too mannered for my comfort. And, in "normal" scenes, the performers were compelled to spout dialogue that was more appropriately kept within their minds, and express in acting what should have remained within their inner selves.
Poetic realism works onstage with colored and unusual sources of lighting, but it is very alienating when transferred to the screen.
The only other non-sequiturs I noted are:
--The use of John the Baptist as a principal figure in the fictional ritual, which is theologically wrong. It is speculated that John the Baptist was an Essene, that he kept the company mainly of males, and would have been averse to being surrounded with women giving vent to their primal urges.
--Every period director's Waterloo: shooting a period story in an actual, period house and thereby restricting camera movement within the limited space of that house. Frankly, one has to construct a "period" house in order to shoot a movie in it, i.e., all of the walls should be capable of being disassembled for proper camera movement; otherwise the shots will be composed merely for convenience and from the most unconvincing angles. Such a movie would also become a mere visual derivative of a typical and predictable Noli me tangere.
--Showcasing other people's antiques that look like they were begged for, stolen, or borrowed, and mixing them with fake pieces. Those biombos, for example, look like they were salvaged from a Rustan's clearance sale of non-moving items; the only time I ever see such unenlightened eclecticism is inside Opus Dei parlors--which might suggest that there is no salvation for decorators with very bad taste, no matter what their religion happens to be.
--Giving in to the temptation to show unnecessary architectural details (painted ceilings, winding staircases, archways). I saw none of that, for instance, of Tara in Gone With the Wind; the camera showed only what it had to show. Fifty years from now, would any director make a movie set in a condominium in the 2000s and bother to focus on architectural details?
All in all, though, I loved watching the movie once again. I hope it has occurred to the producer that it is possible to take the final cut as is and revamp the story, using a totally different plot and dialogue, to come up with a stunning new movie.
I recall that Tatarin was a critical flop in its time, and no one could tell exactly why. No one was willing to articulate that: 1) a movie like that should never be pushed into a festival that caters mainly to non-intellectuals; 2) the production chose, unfortunately, the most immature work of Nick Joaquin as material, a Tennessee Williams hodgepodge of characters and situations from The Glass Menagerie, Suddenly Last Summer, Sweet Bird of Youth, Cat on A Hot Tin Roof, A Streetcar Named Desire, and Period of Adjustment. When I was a sophomore college student, my drama mentor Rolando S. Tinio frequently advised me after I wrote my one-act play "K-31," "Tony, never write a play about sex, about characters who are preoccupied with sex and sexuality, or who have sexual hang-ups. It will always be an embarrassing work." Indeed, I thought that the movie's director was remiss in having his bacchantes fully clothed and writhing at the peak of their orgasms; he might have been better off showing them in the act of tearing off their robes, panning the camera to locate them off-screen, and simply filming their shadows. The choreography, after all, was too mannered for my comfort. And, in "normal" scenes, the performers were compelled to spout dialogue that was more appropriately kept within their minds, and express in acting what should have remained within their inner selves.
Poetic realism works onstage with colored and unusual sources of lighting, but it is very alienating when transferred to the screen.
The only other non-sequiturs I noted are:
--The use of John the Baptist as a principal figure in the fictional ritual, which is theologically wrong. It is speculated that John the Baptist was an Essene, that he kept the company mainly of males, and would have been averse to being surrounded with women giving vent to their primal urges.
--Every period director's Waterloo: shooting a period story in an actual, period house and thereby restricting camera movement within the limited space of that house. Frankly, one has to construct a "period" house in order to shoot a movie in it, i.e., all of the walls should be capable of being disassembled for proper camera movement; otherwise the shots will be composed merely for convenience and from the most unconvincing angles. Such a movie would also become a mere visual derivative of a typical and predictable Noli me tangere.
--Showcasing other people's antiques that look like they were begged for, stolen, or borrowed, and mixing them with fake pieces. Those biombos, for example, look like they were salvaged from a Rustan's clearance sale of non-moving items; the only time I ever see such unenlightened eclecticism is inside Opus Dei parlors--which might suggest that there is no salvation for decorators with very bad taste, no matter what their religion happens to be.
--Giving in to the temptation to show unnecessary architectural details (painted ceilings, winding staircases, archways). I saw none of that, for instance, of Tara in Gone With the Wind; the camera showed only what it had to show. Fifty years from now, would any director make a movie set in a condominium in the 2000s and bother to focus on architectural details?
All in all, though, I loved watching the movie once again. I hope it has occurred to the producer that it is possible to take the final cut as is and revamp the story, using a totally different plot and dialogue, to come up with a stunning new movie.
"It Doesn't Work That Way."
"Friends" often shun requests for assistance with the trite reply, "It doesn't work that way." I'd experienced this with an Ateneo professor and a U.P. press director, among others. I took careful notes of their responses and made sure that, the next time they asked me for assistance, I would send back their replies word for word.
Sure enough, the day came when they eventually asked me for assistance, since they were planning to travel abroad and needed to have their interviews rescheduled.
My replies to them: "It doesn't work that way," followed by the verbatim responses they gave me in the past.
I never walk an extra mile for people do not walk an extra mile for me.
Sure enough, the day came when they eventually asked me for assistance, since they were planning to travel abroad and needed to have their interviews rescheduled.
My replies to them: "It doesn't work that way," followed by the verbatim responses they gave me in the past.
I never walk an extra mile for people do not walk an extra mile for me.
Monday, September 8, 2014
Sunday, September 7, 2014
Hacker scam:
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"Please do not reply to this message. Mail sent to this address cannot be answered."
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We noticed a login attempt to your account from an unrecognized device on Fri, SEP 5, 2014 5:32 PM GST from Fiji Island. | |
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"The Production Number" (Night of Saturday, September 6, 2014)
Day Notes:
I spent the entire day re-arranging furniture on the upper floor. Benjie assisted me. Our work was incomplete because I thought we'd finish hanging chandeliers but were unable to.
In the evening I spent some time on the front balcony with the lights off--just merging with the environment and observing how the night sailed by past our house. I felt wonderfully cozy and invisible.
Watched the first third of The Petrified Forest on TCM. Hoping it was a good Bette Davis; it wasn't. Evidently a stage play directly translated onto the screen.
The Dream:
Part One:
I am in the red light district of Ermita with Butch, who is wearing a red-and-white jacket. We have some business about magic with another man, who leaves us quickly. When I look around we are standing in front of a house of pleasure. One of the prostitutes has been watching me. She now approaches me and propositions me. I am not interested. I leave with Butch. We take a public vehicle to my house, but the scene switches to the second part of the dream, which is nowhere near my house at all.
Part Two:
I am inside the Main Theater of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I have just been informed that my new, full-length play, a musical, is being premiered this evening. One of the marketing people gives me a sheaf of complimentary tickets for my family; the tickets, however, have different dates and times on them, so that my family will be unable to come and watch my play together. I am happy that my sisters from Australia and their families are here for a vacation. One of my sisters has brought along a female friend, a Caucasian Australian, who is evidently enamored with me and makes advances toward me.
I have been given a lot of tickets. I consider inviting everyone I know, including my co-workers, but think better of it.
I watch the performance of my play. The entire theater house is dressed up to look like the exterior and interior of the Metropolitan Theater of Manila, replete with fiberglass, art nouveaux statues. One of the male men in the audience accidentally leans against a statue and damages it. I am disgusted with his clumsiness. I take cell phone shots of the set to eventually post in cyberspace.
The play I have written has two parts: in the first part, the cast and crew are rehearsing a play within a play from the house side; in the second, the same performance is repeated but from a backstage point of view. I converse with the director, who is excited to be staging and premiering my play. Monino is also there. I am glad that he is, because I value his criticisms.
I note that, in the audience, there are a lot of executives in white apparel like doctors' and nurses' uniforms.
Interpretation:
This dream is about the death of my old anima (the prostitute, who has frequently been in my dreams since I was a teenager) and the birth of a new one (the Caucasian Australian). Butch committed suicide in the U.S.A. barely two years after he migrated there as a male nurse; this change then implies that a "death" is necessary in order for something new to begin.
I have been viewing my life from the perspective of an audience inside a theater house (first part of my play)--the first thing that came into my mind was the presentation of my life and works in cyberspace, particularly on blogspot/blogger and on Google+, and I wonder whether people see the real me or merely an aggregate image of me based on what I post online; I guess that it is time for me to view my life from the perspective of people backstage (second part of my play), meaning, from the points of view of my family and the people who are closest to me.
It is perplexing how, long after my death, people who have never known me will continue to view me in cyberspace and see me as someone that I may not have been at all.
I spent the entire day re-arranging furniture on the upper floor. Benjie assisted me. Our work was incomplete because I thought we'd finish hanging chandeliers but were unable to.
In the evening I spent some time on the front balcony with the lights off--just merging with the environment and observing how the night sailed by past our house. I felt wonderfully cozy and invisible.
Watched the first third of The Petrified Forest on TCM. Hoping it was a good Bette Davis; it wasn't. Evidently a stage play directly translated onto the screen.
The Dream:
Part One:
I am in the red light district of Ermita with Butch, who is wearing a red-and-white jacket. We have some business about magic with another man, who leaves us quickly. When I look around we are standing in front of a house of pleasure. One of the prostitutes has been watching me. She now approaches me and propositions me. I am not interested. I leave with Butch. We take a public vehicle to my house, but the scene switches to the second part of the dream, which is nowhere near my house at all.
Part Two:
I am inside the Main Theater of the Cultural Center of the Philippines. I have just been informed that my new, full-length play, a musical, is being premiered this evening. One of the marketing people gives me a sheaf of complimentary tickets for my family; the tickets, however, have different dates and times on them, so that my family will be unable to come and watch my play together. I am happy that my sisters from Australia and their families are here for a vacation. One of my sisters has brought along a female friend, a Caucasian Australian, who is evidently enamored with me and makes advances toward me.
I have been given a lot of tickets. I consider inviting everyone I know, including my co-workers, but think better of it.
I watch the performance of my play. The entire theater house is dressed up to look like the exterior and interior of the Metropolitan Theater of Manila, replete with fiberglass, art nouveaux statues. One of the male men in the audience accidentally leans against a statue and damages it. I am disgusted with his clumsiness. I take cell phone shots of the set to eventually post in cyberspace.
The play I have written has two parts: in the first part, the cast and crew are rehearsing a play within a play from the house side; in the second, the same performance is repeated but from a backstage point of view. I converse with the director, who is excited to be staging and premiering my play. Monino is also there. I am glad that he is, because I value his criticisms.
I note that, in the audience, there are a lot of executives in white apparel like doctors' and nurses' uniforms.
Interpretation:
This dream is about the death of my old anima (the prostitute, who has frequently been in my dreams since I was a teenager) and the birth of a new one (the Caucasian Australian). Butch committed suicide in the U.S.A. barely two years after he migrated there as a male nurse; this change then implies that a "death" is necessary in order for something new to begin.
I have been viewing my life from the perspective of an audience inside a theater house (first part of my play)--the first thing that came into my mind was the presentation of my life and works in cyberspace, particularly on blogspot/blogger and on Google+, and I wonder whether people see the real me or merely an aggregate image of me based on what I post online; I guess that it is time for me to view my life from the perspective of people backstage (second part of my play), meaning, from the points of view of my family and the people who are closest to me.
It is perplexing how, long after my death, people who have never known me will continue to view me in cyberspace and see me as someone that I may not have been at all.
Never reveal your business or entrepreneurship secrets--your capital, your profit, your resources, and your marketing. The minute you do so, your business or entrepreneurial venture will plummet.
By the same token, never write a book about how successful your business is or was. Once the book is published, its contents will no longer work--for you or for any of its readers.
By the same token, never write a book about how successful your business is or was. Once the book is published, its contents will no longer work--for you or for any of its readers.
Saturday, September 6, 2014
Clearing of the upper-floor study room is done.
There are things I need to go through even before my retirement--piles of papers and stacks of canvases for starters--and I drastically need to dispose of most of them.
Most especially, I need to go through all of our kitchen stuff and give or throw away things we haven't been using. I just realized this morning that kitchen, dining, and bathroom items comprise most of the gifts my four sisters gave me over the years since I was in college. All of them probably assumed that those were items I never seriously shop for.
There are things I need to go through even before my retirement--piles of papers and stacks of canvases for starters--and I drastically need to dispose of most of them.
Most especially, I need to go through all of our kitchen stuff and give or throw away things we haven't been using. I just realized this morning that kitchen, dining, and bathroom items comprise most of the gifts my four sisters gave me over the years since I was in college. All of them probably assumed that those were items I never seriously shop for.
Viewing "Red Lights"
Fought off drowsiness with all my might just to finish viewing Red Lights on HBO last night. An intelligent film about psychic frauds--with a twist I wasn't expecting at the end.
Friday, September 5, 2014
HOW
I USE MY CRYSTAL BALL/HOW TO USE YOUR CRYSTAL BALL
Bonding
with your ball:
If
your ball is from a trusted source it is not necessary to cleanse it; it will
have accrued good energy and magickal blessings you can draw from, as from an
infinite well.
If
your bed is big enough, sleep with your ball beside you for at least three
nights in a row to allow the ball to connect to your energy field.
It
is all right to display your ball in your room as long as the sunlight does not
shine through it. (There is nothing occult about this; the crystal ball
functions like a magnifying lens and has incendiary powers.)
It
is also all right to insulate the ball by wrapping it in a dark, silk scarf and
placing it inside a dark, velvet pouch. You then expose the ball only when you
need to use it.
Some
uses of the ball:
To
heal someone, hold both palms over the ball on its stand, close your eyes, and
visualize the person healing within the ball, as though a miniature 3D film
were playing within the ball.
To
ask something from the universe, i.e., manifestation, hold both palms beneath
the ball, minus the stand, close your eyes, and visualize whatever you want
within the ball, as though a miniature 3D film were playing within the ball.
To
incubate a dream, set the ball at your bedside (in lieu of a glass of water) and
focus on an issue while gazing at the ball before going to sleep. You will then
dream of your psyche’s best solution for you to handle the issue.
To
protect yourself, place a symbol of yourself (a flower, an action figurine, a
piece of jewelry) on top of the ball before leaving the house.
To
make a long-term wish reality, write your wish on a piece of paper, fold it
three times, and place it under the ball stand for as long as you like.
On
scrying:
From
my experience and observation, scrying on a ball is a myth that has been handed
down to us via movies, comic strips, and stereotype notions of how the Romany
use crystal balls. For the record, let me state here that it is highly
distracting to scry on a crystal ball—you ended up being fascinated in the
different refractions that you see on and inside the ball. I scry, instead, on
BLACK DISCS.
There
ARE indirect ways to use the ball for scrying,:
--Place
a lit candle behind the ball and gaze at the flame through the ball, which is
then a form of fire-scrying rather than crystal-ball-scrying.
--Place
a small dish of water behind the ball and gaze at the water through the ball,
which is then a form of water-scrying rather than crystal-ball scrying.
Final
Notes:
Your
ball is yours and yours alone, and it is yours for a lifetime. You may not sell
it or give it away.
Should
it get bruised or damaged, that becomes part of the history of the ball—it does
not diminish in value or in magickal potency.
As
much as possible, do not allow others to touch the ball. If you feel that you
must wash the ball after someone has accidentally touched it, do so with mild
soap and water, and polish-dry with a lint-free cloth.
The latest hacker scam:
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"Your mailbox has exceeded the storage limit is 1 GB, which is defined by the administrator, are running at 99.8 gigabytes, you can not send or receive new messages until you re-validate your mailbox.
"To renew the mailbox,
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"Web mail system administrator!
"WARNING! Protect your privacy. Logout when you are done and completely
exit your browser."
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"Your mailbox has exceeded the storage limit is 1 GB, which is defined by the administrator, are running at 99.8 gigabytes, you can not send or receive new messages until you re-validate your mailbox.
"To renew the mailbox,
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"Thank you!
"Web mail system administrator!
"WARNING! Protect your privacy. Logout when you are done and completely
exit your browser."
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