She lives and works from her laptop on a little paradise island in the Philippines. She's a writer, graphic artist, and mountaineer. During rainy days she loves to sleep and oversleep and dream and daydream and then write. More »
+ Anaïs Walsdorf
+ Andy Macalino
+ Carlos Quijon
+ Chingbee Cruz
+ Christine Lao
+ Clara Buenconsejo
+ Dana Delgado
+ Eva Gubat
+ Glenn Diaz
+ Jeffrey Javier
+ Joel Toledo
+ Jordan Carnice
+ Kristine Reynaldo
+ Lyza Taguilaso
+ Oscar Sequina
+ Peachy Paderna
+ Pia Benosa
+ Raffy Recalde
+ Vlad Gonzales
Grahaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrar. I just wish this semester is over. Let there be solar flare, a conflagration of the whole planet, or, say, the next ice age (FYI, our climatic period is apparently stable when all other periods in the billions of years past wasn't so expect the next deep freeze a surprise.) or whatever cataclysmic disaster that'll startle all mankind. All of a sudden I'm awhirl with activities I don't have time to stop and think and supraoveranalyze and write and shit like that any more.
I want booooooooooks.
Halfway through H. G. Wells' The War of the Worlds. First hundred pages were as boring as hell (same problem with most science fiction novels) when the cylindrical space capsule falls from the sky and crashlands somewhere in England and everybody screams and panics when ginormous tentacles wipe out all life form with their Heat Ray. Boring narration, besides, as with all war books. But in this existential brainchild, people begin questioning where the fuck God is and arguing he cannot do anything about us lovely earthlings NOT THAT he can do anything because that's assuming he exists in the first place when he doesn't. Where the hell is this God person in this time of cosmic battle really? And then some dude in the book says the existence of God is irrelevant. God is irrelevant, unnecessary, superfluous. He's a mystery we don't need to complicate our uncomprehending brains with.
Another atheistic book. Same idea with hurricane Katrina: at least 1,836 died and those who survived to tell their stories thank this God person for sparing their lives. I mean, Jesus Christ, if those corpses could rise from the grave and hack these survivors with a samurai sword they would. Except that they're dead so they can't. Nobody can speak for the dead.
Why I less than three science fiction (I 
SF.XD) is because them authors share the same insights as I do. I can't find such brain wrenching mofongos from anybody in real life henceforth I resort to books. Love.:D
All the crap we study in school pales in comparison with the books I read. School is a hindrance to my education. Hum.:p
Four consecutive weekends I've been out whoring and surrendering my entire body, mind, and invisible spiritual whachamacallit--soul--to the mountains. The first three were a disaster: Mt. Balagbag was a snoring boring bullshit; thunderstorm struck us in Mt. Kalisungan; and Mt. San Cristobal was another snoring boring shit. The yawner part in Balagbag was the stupid hilly shit people call "mountain", and the yawner part in Cristobal was the, err, the lack of sardonic people to wit-wrestle and laugh out loud with. Wherever them witty people were they weren't in my group. I just ended up bullying this four-eyed dork professor dude (Our batch president! Harhar.XD) who lapsed into profound humiliating silence whenever I taunted him.
When I grow up I wanna be a professional bully.:D
And yeeeaaaaahhh, I surpassed the ten kilometer run at the first try. Huzzah!XD I still am a Ninja.:D But howcuddit?? Four times I tried running ten kilometers I collapsed in all of them, not even reaching half of the ten. Weirdgasm.:o
My breasts shrunk one cup smaller.X0 Not that I give a shit, mind. But still, HOLYFLYINGCHUPACABRASHIT. I love my breasts. It's my only evidence to prove my femininity.XP Chuck my breasts out and you'll turn me into a dickperson.
Fourth mountain just this weekend, me and a bunch of computer geeks traversed Mt. Pundaquit going to Anawangin Cove at the other side. The traverse turned my skin into crisp brown. There wasn't any bloody shade and it was like crossing a fucking desert but it was alright. Everywhere you roll your eyeballs to could bag a photography contest: the white sand, the zenish rocks and boulders, them dead trees and giant fucking pine trees, and them streams and mountains all around. It felt like I was in Japan or China or Neptune or something; a whole new dimension of the Philippines, to put. It was an eye feast that balanced out the three shit mountains I hiked the previous weeks.
But wait, there's more. Them computer geekazoids, all of them programmers, you'd think twice they slave their lives writing codes and scripting complex binary systems, no. They don't have the spindly anorexic physique and maggot-white skin most programmers have. They have the body of ancient Greek athletes--arms, chest, and abs toned, butts beautifully sculpted--and the skin of a workaholic marijuana farmer. We tippled four bottles of Grand Matador, two quatro bottles of Ginebra Gin, and one bigass bottle of Absolut Vodka (without chaser!XD), all them liquor igniting superlolo firecrackers in our tummy. Everybody vomited including I, The Great Alcoholic Ninja. I puked myself inside out in the tent. Teeeeeeeeh.XD Woooooooooooooot beach camping!
Haylabeeeeeeeeet! Labit labit labit!XD
The following day we bounced to Capones Island and swarmed its Spanish architectural ruins. I flounced around studying all the rust and ruble and undergrowth and felt like I was in Anne Rice's The Witching Hour. The only boogershit that sucked monkey nipples was the food. Someone with nonexistent culinary skills prepared the menu and cooked bland watery shit which Angel salvaged and experimented with. It was still shit food nonetheless. Meh. Angel should've taken over.
I need a month to hibernate and read and think. All this mountaineering crap, I don't know where I'm getting at. Books are cheaper and more fulfilling BUT. Mountaineering is my only form of contact with humans. Can I spare myself that?
I need booooooooooks. My brain is hungry for new ideas.
{ PIX }
Chito and I on the battlefield of chess.
Evolution, people. This was us before turning into chimps.
Magnificent view. Magnificent death tolls.
Where the flash flood usually is.
Them computer geeks.
And exhale. To expose them flabbies.
Semisilhouettes.
Electric blue evening.
Let the naked dance ritual begin.
Cooking pulutan: dynamite, or pinaputok na lumpia with siling labuyo inside!:p
Angel on the limelight.
Them spindly trees.
Anawangin Cove.
What a nice ray of fucking sunshine.
Camp site with a reject poser up front.
Capones Island.
Same blue shit.
Abandoned Spanish lighthouse.
Descent of the apes.
Sadako's wishing well.
