Sunday, May 11, 2014

Chinese Poachers Caught with Dead Sea Turtles (AGAIN) in Palawan.

WHAT DID THESE TURTLES EVER DO YOU???!!! I HOPE YOU GET REBORN AS TURTLES AND SUFFER LIKE YOU MADE THESE CREATURES SUFFER!!! BUT THEN AGAIN IT WOULD BE SUCH A GREAT INSULT TO THESE GENTLE CREATURES SO I HOPE YOU GET REBORN AS COCKROACHES.

"Pictures of the apprehended foreign vessel for possession of endangered wildlife species at the vicinity of Half-Moon Shoal, West Philippine Sea, Palawan last Tuesday (May 6, 2014)."
Photos courtesy of the PNP Maritime Group

https://www.facebook.com/pnp.pio/posts/721072281267364






Saturday, May 10, 2014

SHAKE THE DUST - Anis Mojgani

I've probably played this about hundred times by now. This is Anis Mojgani




SHAKE THE DUST
This is for the fat girls.
This is for the little brothers.
This is for the school-yard wimps, this is for the childhood bullies who tormented them.
This is for the former prom queen, this is for the milk-crate ball players.
This is for the nighttime cereal eaters and for the retired, elderly Wal-Mart store front door greeters.
Shake the dust.

This is for the benches and the people sitting upon them,
for the bus drivers driving a million broken hymns,
for the men who have to hold down three jobs simply to hold up their children,
for the nighttime schoolers and the midnight bike riders trying to fly. Shake the dust.

This is for the two-year-olds who cannot be understood because they speak half-English and half-god.
Shake the dust.

For the boys with the beautiful beautiful sisters. Shake the dust.
For the girls with those brothers who are going crazy,
for those gym class wall flowers and the twelve-year-olds afraid of taking public showers,
for the kid who's always late to class because he forgets the combination to his lockers,
for the girl who loves somebody else.
Shake the dust.

This is for the hard men, who want to love but know that it won't come.
For the ones the amendments do not stand up for.
For the ones who are forgotten.
For the ones who are told to speak only when you are spoken to and then are never spoken to. Speak every time you stand so you do not forget yourself.
Do not let one moment go by that doesn't remind you that your heart beats a hundred thousand times a day and that there are enough gallons of blood to make every one of you oceans.
Do not settle for letting these waves settle and for the dust to collect in your veins.

This is for the celibate pedophile who keeps on struggling,
for the poetry teachers and for the people who go on vacations alone.
For the sweat that drips off of Mick Jaggers' singing lips and for the shaking skirt on Tina Turner's shaking hips, for the heavens and for the hells through which Tina has lived.

This is for the tired and for the dreamers and for those families who'll never be like the Cleavers with perfectly made dinners and sons like Wally and the Beaver.
This is for the bigots,
this is for the sexists,
this is for the killers.
This is for the big house, jail-sentenced cats becoming redeemers 
and for the springtime that somehow seems to always shows up after every single winter.
 This is for you. This is for you.

Make sure that by the time fisherman returns you are gone.
Because just like the days, I burn both ends and every time I write, every time I open my eyes I am cutting out parts of myself just to give them to you.
So shake the dust and take me with you when you do for none of this has ever been for me.

All that pushes and pulls, pushes and pulls. It pushes for you.

So grab this world by its clothespins and shake it out again and again and jump on top and take it for a spin and when you hop off shake it again for this is yours.

Make my words worth something. Make this more than just another poem that I write, more than just another night that sits heavy above us all.

Walk into it, breathe it in, let it crash through the halls of your arms like the millions of years of millions of poets coursing like blood pumping and pushing making you live, shaking the dust.

So when the world knocks at your front door, clutch the knob tightly and open on up, run forward into its widespread greeting arms with your hands before you, fingertips trembling though they may be.  

#inlovewithwords



  

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Yeah me too, I deleted my mail archives.

Since joining the idiot parade last night, I've been trying to recover the pst files (about 11GB) I 'unwittingly' deleted. I have to say that Recuva is the bestest free recovery tool I've tried. Despite the 'poor' status after the deep scan, I managed to salvage a large chunk of my archives. Although I lost most of my mails between June and July, but a great part of my archives are still intact. And lastly, the Microsoft Inbox Repair Tool made the .pst file recovered by Recuva, readable by Outlook again. Thank you for saving my arse Microsoft. I promise to be kind and until the next time I get too trigger happy with my keyboard.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

On dying...

I remember being asked the same question by Mama's doctor on the second time she ended up on the hospital. I was angry, shocked, furious... you get the idea. I could go on and on. Like most people, we all thought we would have more time. Deep down I was furiously denying the fact that at the rate that her disease has metastasized, she is going to die. But I never reconciled myself to this fact. I still have difficulty until now and it's been 6 years.

It's true. How we die is important because it lives on in the minds of those we left behind. The stress left on those who survived you is enormous.  I wished someone had talked to me before the doctor asked me that question. But even with so many nurses in my family, we never talked about dying.

It was Mama who brought it up to me and I have never felt as fragile as she was as that moment. I was broken but she wanted me to be strong; but the possibility of going on in this world without her was so unthinkable to even contemplate. So I did what most daughters would do then, I cried and begged her to stay. I still have dreams of our talk in that hospital bed. If I forced myself to, I can still remember the smell of the hospital room. In my dreams, I still sobbed and begged but she is silent.

I have reconciled myself to the fact that I am going to die. But the other side of the truth is, I would rather do the dying than be the one left behind. And yes...the truth will set you free, but at first it will undoubtedly pissed you off.


Ted Talks with Peter Saul: let's talk about dying.

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Note to LTFRB

Dear LTFRB,

What's the point of publishing your good office's hotline numbers to report abusive cab drivers if no one in your office is answering the calls? Why run it on newspapers or print it on PUVs? What's the effin' point?


Sincerely,

Annoyed PUV Passenger

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

A Shoe Odyssey


i have an insane insane INSANE shoe obsession particularly with ballet flats. a love affair which began in kindergarten and is still going strong despite my pocket's loud objections. lemme tell you that you've never been in love unless you've fallen in love at least thrice for some real-lovely-to-die-for shoes.


(and i am currently OBSESSED with yellow shoes at the moment. i am on a great odyssey to find the purrfect lemon yellow ballet flats. so help me god of shoes.)



You want to fall in love with a shoe, go ahead. A shoe can't love you back, but, on the other hand, a shoe can't hurt you too deeply either. And there are so many nice-looking shoes.
- Allan Sherman

Thursday, April 05, 2012



If your tongue's the only muscle that you've been working hard, ever thought of your heart?