Friday, February 24

Confessions of an Insomniac Part IX {usted sabe que quiénes usted es... esto está para usted}

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know that life is in front of you - smiling and embracing and waiting...

know that someone is proud of you - of your endeavors, of your hopes and of your dreams...

know that you are always in someone's thoughts - always hoping the goodness to come out in you and flourish...

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know that you are good. that no matter how you may always think you are not, you are a wellspring of what is good and true and pure. the universe declares so, my friend. and the universe is never wrong.

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know that you are strong. violent forces may touch you, defile you, harm you, cripple you until it all may seem blur, greyish-black, biting the thing you call your soul, summoning forth the darkest edge of reason beckoning unreason... but you stand panting, bleeding and wounded yet undefeated. you are david in the desert. your heart is your sling. your soul, your pebble. and your will is a trebuchet...

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know that you are loved. that there are people who care for you and think and hope the best of you. distance does not exist...

know that you are embraced. know that your past is absolved, forgiven, consecrated...

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know that now is what matters. now you are here... now you are strong... now you are loved...

know that you are becoming. that what you were and what you are now are together, embraced, post-coital. that tomorrow will be another you and the day after tomorrow will rise forth another you... and the day after that and the day after that... you are a (lovechild)child of tomorrow's tomorrow's tomorrow. therefore, become.

the universe loves you, my friend. i love you...

know that time is a patient lover. ever constant and ever faithful...

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know that it doesn't matter how long it takes or how many pitstops you make or which road you take, or even if you actually get there... what really matters is that you are taking the journey...

tomorrow patiently waits for you, my friend .

seize it.


Sunday, February 19

Reflections of an Early Riser

it's 8 am. i am surprised that i woke up this early. the coffee is so warm now, it's not even hot. i like it that way, warm. i've been sleeping on my couch for a coupla nights now. why the sudden fetish for small spaces? ahhh. i don't know. i ask myself the same question.

my rose plant is starting to grow leaves again. sophie b. hawkins is playing in my head... it felt like springtime, on this february morning.....

in a little while i will go to my scared place - the bathroom. then i'll think happy thoughts. {no perve, not THAT kind of happy thoughts. too early. and besides i am not in the mood}. think about the people i love. my goals for today. the people i will meet today... that sorta thing. happy thoughts.

i like the quiet in the mornings. it gives me time to collect my thoughts and clean it up a bit. 'coz i know the rest of the day it will be all in a puddle. i look at the tanka on the wall and i could see all the 37 buddhas in quiet meditation. such bliss. i wish i could be like that, sometimes. multiplied and blissful (all 37 of me). life would be easier for me if there were 37 of me.

  1. one doing the work
  2. one doing the learning
  3. one hedonistic me
  4. one philosophical me
  5. one monogamous me
  6. one polygamous me
  7. one agnostic me
  8. one atheistic me
  9. one poetic
  10. one stupid
  11. one logical
  12. one romantic
  13. one serious
  14. one easygoing
  15. one drunk
  16. one sober
  17. one to make all the decisions
  18. one to clean the flat
  19. one to mess it up
  20. one to cook
  21. one perverted me
  22. one holy me
  23. one vegetarian me
  24. one devoted to family
  25. one devoted to self
  26. one devoted to friends
  27. one bedouin, to go to any place i wish
  28. one bubbly me
  29. one couch potato me
  30. one secret agent me
  31. one superhero me
  32. one autistic me
  33. one quiet me
  34. one leftist me
  35. one rightist me
  36. one moderate me
  37. one greenpeace volunteer me

but alas, there is only one me. so i have to live with everything... in one body.

i have to meditate in the shower now.

Tuesday, February 14

The Confessions of an Insomniac Part VIII

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never a fan

I was never a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Not even when I was in a relationship back then (which was a long, long time ago). I've always thought it was another way for making people spend their hard earned cash for meaningless symbols of love and eroticism like flora, cocoa products, hotel/motel and restaurant receipts, the works. I admire the concept though. But like Christmas and Easter, it has become rather too commercial for me, too established, too automatic. Perhaps it was because I never equated love and eroticism with February the 14th. Or perhaps I didn't care at all. Funny, that I don't remember having a good memory in that day. I'm sure there must be something, but it somehow didn't leave a long lasting impression. Looking back, my best memories were not in this day. I have to admit that I never remembered "celebrating" Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I think I did, but only once.

and after 5 valentines...

I have been "single" for 5 Valentine's now. Do I regret it? I wouldn't call it regret for it is too harsh a word. Nostalgia maybe. Well, there are moments, yes. Especially when you wake up in the middle of the night with just a pillow on your head and not a shoulder or an arm to rest on, and a blanket and not a body to keep you warm. When that happens, I usually smoke it off with a fag and go back to bed. But most of the time, I revel in my singularity. My solitude. My being to able roam, to let my feet lead me to whereever. But there are moments... Oh yes, there are moments.

what gives?

What happened? Well, I came to a point where I had to make a 2003_12_heartbreak choice. I realized that I could never, achieve some of my most relevant goals if I were in a commited relationship. Somehow, there was a point when I got weary of all the rituals that were involved in love and sex - the language, the name calling, the fights which can vary from verbal to the physical then to the carnal, the jealousy, the drama (basically), the breakups, the what-happens-after, the familiar faces and placesm the whole nine-yards. It got so annoying to the point of being banal. I took a "breather". And here I am, 5 Valentines later, writing this blog entry.

I cannot say I don't miss it, that I don't long for it. In fact, behind my cynicsm and acidity, I still think that I am a romatic. I may not be the usual romantic turd with the flowers and hershey's bar in hand, but I think I am. I trust that I am. I have been in love. It may not be many, but I know what it is.

Omar's first

I was so young when it happened. And I was so naive, so foolish. It was rapture. And I knew I was doomed in the end. Looking back, I search for memories of my first, and I found out that I hadthousands of them, a plethora of feelings and emotions but never regret. I may have made bad choices in my past relationships, but never the first. Never my first.

I guess that's one of the main reasons why I am still on a "breather". I cling too much on my first. I may have let it go, but it became the archetype in my succeeding relationships. I was looking for the feeling, the rush, the rapture, the violence, the serenity and yes, even the drama. Only to find out later that there is really no archetype in a loving relationship. There is no blue print. A lot may disagree, but hey, this is my experience.

little things

I learned that you make the rules as you go along. That love is about agreeing and disagreeing and compromising. It's also about the being mundane and being sacred at the same time. It's also about being raptured from time to time in moments and places you least expect. Mostly, it's about the small things - the smile, the lashes and eyebrows, the frown, the eyes, the sound of his breathing when he sleeps, the rhythm of his heartbeat that woke you up in your sleep at three am to find yourself that you were sleeping in his chest, the compliment, the criticism, the lesson learned, the unexpected tears, the unexpected fights, the unexpected notes on your desk, the togethernes, the silence... small things... details.

I miss the details.

I had hurt many people in the past. I have found out a long time ago that I wasn't the perfect specimen for authentic existence. Who is anyways? I am probably paying my dues right now. Lady Karma has been kind to me, though. She has, and I thank her for not smiting my ass. I am not made of titanium either. I've been fucked badly by some in the past. I used to hate them, but what's the use? Shit happens.

About a year ago, I sorta fell in love. I did. It wasn't as strong a feeling that I had with my first but I knew the feeling. It was still love. It turned out bad. Lies unfolded. Hopes rejected. Dreams got trampled upon. People got hurt. My heart shattered. Shit happens. Even in love.

the hollywoodification of love and eroticismHollywood_love_romances_1939spr

I grew up in a culture of Hollywood movies. Straight. A house with a garden and a car. 2 kids and a dog and probably a cat and a pet canary. Sleepless in Seattle. Serendipity. An ocean liner sinking. Sex inside a vintage Ford. Pretty in Pink. Proms. St. Elmo's fire. Casablanca. Falling in love with your boss then making it big in the big city. Finding your Prince Charming. Barbie and Ken. Looking for love in the big city and then finding it in the end... yada yada yada. I have the impression that almost everything is hollywoodified these days. People tend to pattern their relationships with the flicks they see not even thinking it's just celluloid. To a certain degree, it's not completely our fault. When Hollywood and Cupid made a merger, we were never included. We were the consumers. We merely consumed. When I became conscious about it, I realized that I wasn't part of the stipulations. I was always an outsider. I was never in the plot. I was always the "extra". My story didn't fit in.

So, I made a decision. I decided to fuck Hollywood... and fuck Cupid.

Dead_cupid







I make my own rules now.

the valentine embargo

and on being possible

I have decided to place an embargo on love. There are things that I need to accomplish. There are horizons that I need to conquer. I believe have to conquer it, even if I have to conquer it alone. Don't get me wrong. I still believe in the idea of LOVE {sans Cupic sans Hollywood, that is}. But I won't be looking for it. Nor will I be waiting. I'm tired of looking and waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet. If he comes he comes. If he doesn't, well fuck him. I'm gonna try to enjoy my life, even if I die trying. I heard someone say that the essence of being human is trying. So I will try to be happy. After all, LOVE begins with the self. I still hope and dream, after all I am a stoned romantic. But there is always that possibility that I would never meet the person that would make me want to vomit everything that I wrote in this blog entry. I will always have this naive heart. It will always be a part of what makes me, me. But I won't let it rule over my life, my existence. I believe that I am more than my naive heart. Apart from it, I am also possible.

I__green_lights__by_al3x_mp3 will be possible.

never a fan

I was never a huge fan of Valentine's Day. Not even when I was in a relationship back then (which was a long, long time ago). I've always thought it was another way for making people spend their hard earned cash for meaningless symbols of love and eroticism like flora, cocoa products, hotel/motel and restaurant receipts, the works. I admire the concept though. But like Christmas and Easter, it has become rather too commercial for me, too established, too automatic. Perhaps it was because I never equated love and eroticism with February the 14th. Or perhaps I didn't care at all. Funny, that I don't remember having a good memory in that day. I'm sure there must be something, but it somehow didn't leave a long lasting impression. Looking back, my best memories were not in this day. I have to admit that I never remembered "celebrating" Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I think I did, but only once.

and after 5 valentines...

I have been "single" for 5 Valentine's now. Do I regret it? I wouldn't call it regret for it is too harsh a word. Nostalgia maybe. Well, there are moments, yes. Especially when you wake up in the middle of the night with just a pillow on your head and not a shoulder or an arm to rest on, and a blanket and not a body to keep you warm. When that happens, I usually smoke it off with a fag and go back to bed. But most of the time, I revel in my singularity. My solitude. My being to able roam, to let my feet lead me to whereever. But there are moments... Oh yes, there are moments.

what gives?

Sunday, February 5

The Rantings of an Insom{a}niac




Merquieades Salazar cried over the body of his wife, who was among those crushed. Salazar, 45, said the couple was jobless and wanted to try their luck at winning a raffle with a jackpot equivalent to 19,250 dollars."In the desire to win money, she is the one I lost." *photo and script courtesy of Associated Press

A friend of mine told me about the stampede that happened back in my country that killed more than 80 people. She saw it on BBC. I went online to learn more about the news myself. I read that all of the casualties were mostly middle aged women who come from among the 40% of the chronic poor in my country. There was this gameshow that announced it would be giving away almost 20,000 dollars as prize for it's first year anniversary, plus a house and lot and shit like that. Thousands of people flocked to the place where the show was gonna be held. The organizers were expecting 17,000 people. More than 30,000 people came. Apparently, a steel barricade was broken which started the stampede. Some people say there was someone who shouted 'bomb' which caused people to panic. More than 80 people (all living in the lowest class of society) died a senseless death, all because they wanted to win 20 thousand dollars in some stupid gameshow. A gameshow, like all the gameshows in a country that has a profit oriented mass-media, which capitalizes on the poverty of the masses and "helping the needy" and "charity" and "hope", all for the sake of ratings and sponsorships. Media networks in my country are mostly like their American counterparts - way too centered on the reality (bullshit) marketing phenomenon, hyped on drama in both news and entertainment, exercising selective morality way too often especially when it affects their interests thus, very partisan, very colonial, very stereotypical, and very, very numbers (ratings) oriented. In the media wars for power, supremacy, influence and control, numbers are important.

The ancient Greek philosopher, Pythagoras was right all along. Numbers are everything. Let me give a little exercise just to prove my point, that numbers matter in this shithole of a world we live in.

I live in a country that consists of 7,100++ islands (depending on the tides) that is populated by more than 80,000,000 people, 40% of which live on 2 dollars a day. In my little tropical nation barely 500 families practically own the country's lands of which many members of these so called "families" comfortably sit in their leather (think Italian) chairs in the offices they hold in both the private and public sectors. Interestingly there are barely 25++ media networks operating in my little tropical nation, mostly owned by, who else... look above. Speaking of 500, the same amount in my currency wouldn't last a week. 10 if you convert it into USdollars and barely 7 into euros. If I give 500 to a whore, she'd bitchslap me twice and spit on my face and tell me that I will get crabs or syphillis the next day. If I multiply the same number by 12, you'll get what the average worker would get in a month in my coconut republic, not including the shitty taxes we pay which only goes to my public servant's greedy pockets (which is probably deeper than my ass). 20 the average number of typhoons that visit us every year. If you divide it by 4 you'd get the number of coup d'etat's (5 coups, with only 2 being labeled 'successful') that happened within the last 20 years. 2 is also the number constitutional conventions that were done in this century alone, with another one fast approaching. But still the same faces in the government with barely little additives from grass roots organizations. 0 is the number of representatives from the Communist Party in the Congress and the Senate. (Luckily) 0 is also the number of tsunami incidents. Let's hope it stays that way. 2 is the media network that airs the gameshow that caused the stampede that killed more than 80 lives and injured 300 more. 7 is the rival network. These two networks have been at war ever since the word "ratings" started to mean "profits". 40 is the age of the host of the gameshow who cried in tears in front of the tv news cameras (of both networks) apologizing for the incident. 40 is also the average age of the people who died in the stampede who were mostly women hoping to get the 1,000,000 peso prize of the day. 1,000,000 pesos translates to 19,250 dollars. 51.9 was the exchange rate for the peso against the dollar which was the highest in more than 3 years, which caused the elation of a 56 year-old president hoping for another 6 years in office.

Today there are less than 80 people in my coconut repuclic's population. 19,250 dollars. 51.9 to 1. 32,000,000 people to 500 families. 80 million captive audiences of korean-chinese-mexican telenovelas, news dramas, reality tv, gameshows, home tv shopping, religious networks that spread love AND hate, and 60-second award winning commercials that only give you false hopes for better days to come, as long as you buy their product.

After all the numbers I wrote, you might ask why do I even find the slightest bit of humor in all of this? And what do I have to say about it? Only this, reader of my blog...

WELL FCUK WE ALL.

And I meant that.

If you want me to be sympathetic and turn this into a real bad melodrama shitfest that's already infested most of the televison netowrks by airing them ALL DAY, I have to say NO. I have my own version of sympathy, thank you. And I trust my own version. And I don't need a copy from last night's episode of whatsitsname telenovela. I don't want to pity the people who were affected by this tragedy, God knows they will be receiving a pity fest from all directions. And after six months or so, most of them would be forgotten. Sure there'd be an anniversary special for all who died in the stampede and there might even be a memorial for the 80++ people who died. But who would really remember them? The network? The host? The President? The Senate? The Congress? The Church? You? Me? No one really, except for the people who survived that day. People like Merquieades Salazar who, as much as he wants to, will never forget the day he lost his wife.

You might even think I am this high and mighty asshole preaching in this makeshift pulpit that I call a blog. That temptation is just so hard to resist. But you were thinking of it, weren't you? No use in denying it. At the back of our heads, in the deep recesses of our minds, we all want and think of the same things. I really don't give a shit. But if you'd be so careful to notice and look up above and try to read the funky green pronoun in all caps and underline, you'd figure out easily that I am not excluding myself. I am swimming in the same cesspool as you are. Let's face it. We are all but used toilet paper floating in this ocean of excrement. This is REALITY UNEDITED. And no amount of drama, or 700-club morality, or "reality" tv, or gameshow, or networking scam, or "showbiz" politicking or 60 second award winning commercials from from transnational corporations can cover it up. Reality is knocking on our doorstep. She's trying to wake us up to smell the air and to get real. Maybe if we start there, for once, we might actually get somewhere.