doorslam means yes.

Out of the X-men media frenzy, I realized that I was an owner of comic books. They were gifts from people I hardly recall. Thank God for giving us birthdays and thoughtful relatives. As a kid, I only appreciate the artsy covers and illustrations not much of the possible value of the comic book itself. Few hours ago I tried to look for my comic books, thinking that I could make good money from those. I asked our maid… no idea. I asked my sister… they were thrown away.

They were thrown away. My head waits to be swept and be dumped in the waste. I felt the continuous rupture of my blood vessel. Anytime my body could shatter into pieces and evaporate in the air. I have it under control, but the anger and guilt are still there biding, waiting to rip my head. I went to my room, closed the door, stared at the wall and cried (almost).

What I remember. It was late last year; we skipped school for something. I was tired, drained and moody. They were cleaning, clearing out our house’s shits. I walked to my room, saw a made bed, new sheets, fixed drawers and closet, and well-folded clothes. Nobody touches my stuff! Fumes of rage ignited my temper then I slammed my door right into their faces as they ask me about some I-don’t-care shit stuff. Perhaps that was it.

They were thrown away. I processed that fragment of memory as bounded by stillness. I managed to take myself off my bed. I stayed there for a while with a blank thought. Then I started to yearn for my lost. I ended up mournfully looking on ebay for the early 90’s issues that I unrecognizably lost. I suddenly desire for those comic books after seeing the continuous bidding and overpricing shit going on ebay. I guess it was some sort of a psychological urge, yearning on stuff that we lost.

My comic books were thrown away months ago. They found my comic books while clearing out some old stuff from our house. “Should we throw this out?” my sister asked. I barely looked then I slammed the door.

the last stand

X-Men: The Last Stand, the final chapter of the comic-book adaptation. A cure for mutancy was developed giving these mutants a choice whether to hold on to their unique capabilities or become a human. The opposing viewpoints of Prof. Xavier and Magneto triggered a war between the two contrasting sides.

I’ve seen the premiere of X-men3 in Shangri la mall last night. Far from what I was expecting. Perhaps it was fair enough in delivering intense and heart thumping action scenes. For me it succeeds more on the loaded special effects. It has a fast-paced adventure making it a real crowd pleaser. The film does a fair job in showing an emotional moment. Unexpected deaths caught my attention, quite unusual from a superhero film clichés giving attention to the mortality of the lead characters. X-men3 was not that superb, but comparatively good.

Disappointing: I am pissed at Bryan Singer for being a double-crossing monkey. He left this X-men franchise to direct DC comic's Superman leaving it to the hands of Rush Hour's Brett Ratner. The whole movie turned out to be a Rush Hour hangover. The first two movies of the X-men set a huge expectation for this final chapter, but it wasted its potential. The movie was so weak in developing the script and characters giving a rushed impression. They could have increase the movie length filling it with more satisfying subplots.

Interesting mutants should have given deserving screen time. Rarely-used characters like Cyclops, Colossus and Juggernaut could have contributed a better impact on the action scene. The film featured too many lame mutants while pulling out the cooler and better ones. It was indeed a disappointing finale for the x-men. But I hope to see better x-men adaptations in the future giving justice to my favorite childhood superheroes.

remember these?

As a little kid, I was a fan of old-ballads and love songs, and I seriously consider rock music as an unnecessary noise. Our maid back then was responsible for my appreciation for ballads. She frequently play these types of songs as she put me to bed for an afternoon siesta. I can still remember how she sings with her bisaya diction and roughly gets the lyrics right. My lola however, hums classic Filipino love songs ‘til I doze off in her wrinkled arms.

I got my first cassette/radio walkman when I was 6 or 7. I can still remember how I crazily dance on an MC Hammer or a Vanilla Ice song whenever aired on radio. (haha. forgive my youthful innocence) I don’t have that much albums to listen to. The only album that I appreciate was My Girl. The MyGirl movie soundtrack was my sanity drug when I was a kid. Whenever people pisses off by not giving what I want, MyGirl induces such an untroubled mood that keep me still and busy in one corner playing with my Lego.

My sister has a great collection of movie soundtracks and bands like greenday, oasis, the cranberries, the beatles, no doubt, blur, the cardigans, and blah blah blah. These artists introduced my curiosity to the world of music.

I used to hate my cousin’s music. He has this huge collection of not easy-listening rock bands; guns n’ roses, metallica, queen, ramones, sex pistols, nirvana, the smiths then morrissey, the cure, joy division, def Leppard, suede, iron maiden, radiohead mostly bands that I don't care that they exist when I was young. I can still remember how he pisses me off whenever he interrupts my cartoon habit switching wildcats or x-men to Mtv. He loves music. He worships the ear-damaging sound of heavy metal, adores the head-banging percussions, loves the heavy strumming guitar, and admires the savage-like rock-and-roll fashion of the early 90’s.

As I grow older, I’ve realized the fun part of my cousin’s music. I have recognized the sentiments behind the songs. Some bands produce brilliant sounds, some bands create influential themes, some bands construct an intense and enlightening lyrics yet misunderstood and some bands are really just noise, I guess. I grew up with this music. I never thought these bands would be a huge influence in music today. They've broaden my appreciation for this genre and perhaps responsible for the huge whack in my wallet.

randomness

I’m staring out the window of my room and all I can see are those odd-shaped clouds and that glaring sun. Having a quick glance last weekend, it was all grey and gloomy and I was not expecting a sun-drenched week. The same upsetting blistering summer is still here. It is disturbingly warm outside. I’d be again all sweaty and cranky every morning.

I’m staring out the window and all I can see now are those lowering shadowy clouds. A matter of minutes the weather changed. No glaring sun, no cotton-liked whatever shaped clouds, just an aggressive wind, a grumbling sky and the much awaited rain. Another day for flipping channels on the tv and a lot more hours for slouching and napping. It’s quite fun having a weather with unpredictable patterns, it satisfies my enthusiasm for spontaneity and randomness.. a precise metaphor of my life.

doodling

There’s nothing much to do around here. The weather is still in its worst condition which somehow I weirdly enjoy, leading me dependent on the tv. Eating, watching, napping, doodling and not thinking too much, stuff that I’m currently prioritizing.

The tv did not give that much comfort, and I saw my sketchbook and somehow it brought out a mood. I’ve started an unexpected drawing, more of a rush sketching, a quickie one haha. I was not expecting any great outcome. I have not given that much attention on this lately. I was experimenting on some techniques and I need practice.

I am currently on the mood and I should keep the flow going. Maybe I should start constructing a drawing habit or something, I really need to work a lot on my drawings. So for now, I’m aiming for at least more works or perhaps finish the whole sketchbook and I’m good.

all grey and gloomy

No school, no deadlines, no commitments. It was an all grey and gloomy saturday, the ideal weather for sleeping. It was a gratifying moment for all the lazy creatures like me who only indulge in comfort and pleasures. This has been the best of all shitty sweaty summer mornings. I woke up from the sound of the rain, convincing me to stay longer in bed. So I curled up under the blanket cushioning myself with warmth and comfort.

No school, no deadlines, no commitments, no guilt. My mind was nowhere as my body was savoring every minute like it’ll be the last. I was busy eavesdropping while the rain and the wind converse as my body partake in this kind of lavishness. My mind was floating, my body was in absorption and there’ll be no way I’m getting out of this costless luxury.

21-minute entry

It has been part of my routine to update my blog and it sucks that I find it tough to write, in my case words don’t swim in my head unless I’m all set in a quiet room. There are times that I find it lonely writing, it reveals more my sensitive side because of the mood it brings out. You sit all by yourself, spending hours on the words that you have written, thinking, recalling, and wondering about certain experiences. I’m not a good writer, I suck with words, and I don’t care what people will say when they read this.

This is quite awful, writing about how I write. My Blog is an expression of my life, how I live it, my experiences, how I learn from it, my emotions, how I shit with it. I don’t write about my foot, my neighbor or our lawn, I don’t write about my jeans, my shoes, or brag about who cares stuff. If only I’m good with this, I should be filling the pages of my blog with experiences, desires, discovery, stressful situations, unfortunately I suck. And I did spend twenty-one minutes writing this two-paragraphed-entry about a worthless matter.

drowsy

I’m getting the hang of what seems like my new a.m-p.m routine. I’ve been waking up early for breakfast, be back in bed around 10am, then a supreme nap before dinner— quite weird but I do feel a lot more rested. Frequent sleeping is I guess a good thing for someone who has been stressed with deadlines for like a whole semester, but it does limit the stuff that I should be doing. My drowsy mood refrain me from doing things— I’ve not clean my room for a month, empty mugs are sitting on my side table for days, couple of hangers are peeking under my bed, and my clothes are piling up on the floor. I was thinking that these things can wait and I should focus on more important and exciting stuff like— uhh.. Do I have more important stuff than my chores on a vacation?

after doodling

I'm trying to remind myself to be satisfied with the way things are right now, though I don’t find it very simple. I’ve been torturing myself with things that seem I’m not very good at; I’ve been recently struggling a lot with accepting stuff that is present in my life. I’ve been thinking that I have to look better and that I should wear this shit to hide the “not so good enough” me. I need to try harder on working with my strengths, making me realize that it is good enough to be me.

I think I am finally gaining back my life and confidence, enough to shape-back my character. I had a great doodling weekend, worked on a few drawings (more of scribbling haha) and unnecessary naps forgetting what once felt like an up and down moment. I’ve been thinking about pacing, living, continue learning from shits and enjoy what I can.

isolation

Another moment of obscurity and ambiguity. It’s this instant that the little sprite of doubt prowls my head distracting me, my life, and my career. I feel like I’m anchored in this puzzled situation of doubting my capabilities, refusing to go on and finding comfort in a little corner. It is an everyday fear causing me not to realize the lengths that I still have to take. Is this the role that I wanted to live? I’ve been waiting for a guide to come, could this make me feel the joy of a normal man? What will come next?

fart attack

It is funny how some Filipinos are complaining about life yet you’ll see them digging with high hopes in this mountain of branded jeans, leisurely walking with at least five shopping bags in their hands, and a big beam of excitement on a three-day weekend sale.

Two hours of long walk and all I got was a She wants revenge CD, and a starving stomach. We ran in for a New York pizza that pretty much inflicted a little damage in my wallet. This 14” New York’s Finest gave no problem of opening our drooling mouth, distending our face so horribly not caring at all with people around. It was a pleasurable meal not until a discreet fart flamed into our nasal nerves.

A fuglinda on a tight mommy-jeans was just guilty giving us this embarrassed grin. I mean that bean blower can surely kill one’s pleasure in eating. (Still gives me the nightmare up to now) But anyway, after an hour and five slices of New York pizza, two cans of coke, one bottled water, and two heavy eyelids I can say that was an ultimate non clichéd dinner valuing experience over complacency.