We all live in a yellow submarine, a yellow submarine, yellow submarine...   -The Beatles





A part of me has died. I am swamped by the waves of mediocrity. I struggle to revive myself, but the inertia borne of long-standing conformity prohibits me. There shall be retribution. One day...


If to the fleeting hour I say
'Remain, so fair thou art, remain!'
Then bind me with your fatal chain,
For I will perish in that day.
'Tis I for whom the bell shall toll,
Then you are free, your service done,
For me the clock shall fail, to ruin run,
And timeless night descend upon my soul.
    - Goethe, Faust, the bargain with Mephistopheles


Sift through my mind...

Arrow of Scarlet Ruin
    accompany the wilderness tracker Anuis Drake Scarletarrow, Night Caste Exalted, as he travels through the world of Creation and rediscovers his past

Quiet Times with God
    a page for daily bible reflection

Stages of Rebirth...

Author's note: all the artwork on this page is mine, unless otherwise stated. I don't believe in copyrights so go right ahead and use em. Just tell me about it though, and try to be sparing on linking, snapfish might flag me for exceeding bandwidth.
   

<< June 2004 >>
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To blogly go where no one has gone before...

a josephine hopeful wanderer
aileen ... my light...
anatalia ana the pooh
andrea the dog pound
anj purveyor
ayen boulevard avenue
ben stormwrite
carmen chainreaction
cha absolutely not
cyril a beautiful mind
dara strangefire
gen every hour...
gyll xhybrid17
halcyon contradiction
ivy life as i live it
joy backspaced
kalag kalag hell is made of...
lady lazarus poetic art
maybelle i'm bored
myla twisted solitude
moks silent screams...
neng ... alleged narcissist
owen the stew chronicles
ramonster 11am...
romel soulsearching
sam chronicles of sam...
sancho sancho benavides
sancho the mad tea party
shiro journeys
sj lugaw madness club
t. tulala-tulele
toi luna
tony outside looking in...
zane fell out of love...



Call me Ishmael... or rather, call me when there's something I can contribute. I like a good book anytime; over a cup of coffee, while I'm in the shower, while I'm chasing the cat to get its tail between the jaws of a laundry clip. I believe in socialism, I believe in capitalism. I believe in exorcism, I don't believe in demons. I am a walking contradiction of sorts, always looking over my shoulder just to make sure there's no dentist around. You would call me friend, I will call you by your name, and only when I need you. I believe in the rationality of man, but only when it's convenient. There are times when i paint, just before I slice the onions to sauté. I spend my time hanging upside down on the sofa, with a good book in hand. I never stop thinking, except while I'm sleeping, and even then, I still do. I hate sleep. It's Time's ultimate thief. But don't remind me of that when I'm sleepy. I was an atheist, now I'm a Christian. I'm an Objective Realist, but I believe in God. I've met Him and took Him to eat at a gourmet burger shop down the corner. It's gone now. I fed Him fries and a large Coke. He fed me with Life. I don't believe in religion. It's slave morality, the moral code of the looters. I believe in relationship; and reality. I will ask you to walk with me, so that you'd notice my pink Chuck Taylor's, and then I'd leave you if you cannot keep up. I'll give you something to help you on your way though, but only if you ask. You'll call. I won't look back. I never look back; except when there's the threat of a dentist. Call me Ishmael... call me tomorrow.


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Tuesday, June 22, 2004
a fistful of chickens...

a new ministop franchise opened in front of our office. it set me thinking, "Finally, an end to those days of spicy hotdog and bola-bola siopao from 711." it gets to you after a while you know.

i trudge through the waterlogged streets in my cardigan and pink Chuck Taylor shoes with anticipation, my mouth salivating at the new and fabulous cuisines that will be presented to it after a long staple diet of processed pig gristle and aborted chicken feti; maybe i can eat a grown specimen for once. ah, the chicken. that noble representative of the fowl family. it has so ingrained itself into our racial consciousness that whenever we think of fowl it's automatically a chicken. the chicken is the animal of life. walk down the streets of Krus na Ligas and you find skewered chicken heads staring at you everywhere. chicken entrails make for a delectable excursion into the wonders of vinegar, cayenne pepper and minced onions. you could even bow down and kiss the feet of the noble chicken for just 3 pesos per stick. for now though, it's their meat that concerns me.

i enter the establishment. one thing peculiar about most ministops is the way the smell of fried chicken pervades the whole place. this store being new, has only that faint flavor in the air, inside of the store. eventually, that smell will creep out of their glass double doors and pervade the locale for a radius of 20 meters. interesting, though it gets to be a bit annoying afterwards.

i spot the chicken part that i want. it's as if it was made only for this moment. immediately i rush to the front of the line and with goggling eyes point with my right index finger. the store attendant with a puzzled expression asks, "Chicken sir?" i stare at him incredulously and point once more at the golden vision before me. exasperated, he gets his tongs and plops the chicken right in front of me. i pay him and run off.

ah, the chicken. that mouthwatering picture of a bird. in a few minutes short of 10, that chicken breast had passed mutilated through my digestive openings. shredded, chewed and swallowed. no more chicken. enough. i go back to my office.


Out of the ashes of bennet at 06:02 am

Bennet
June 24, 2004   03:00 AM PDT
 
You don't have to hate life man. it takes many kinds to make a world. their smell has a purpose, somewhat.
Bennet
June 23, 2004   11:53 PM PDT
 
i've tried lots of ways to avoid that grimy-used-frying-pan-oil smell; down to covering myself up head to toe in protective armor, rushing in and out of the store within 60 seconds, and discarding my damaged outer covering. it does nae work.
emiko
June 23, 2004   06:18 AM PDT
 
can't say i empathise with the chicken, though. one thig i agree on is the SMELL of that 24-hour convenience store. it permeates the entire surroundings with its fetid smell and clings to your garment waaay after you have stuffed your mouth full of something. i hate life.
 

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