Tag Archives: Random Thoughts

Spot On

It’s not enough, never.

You don’t have enough sleep. You don’t have enough dreams. You don’t have enough time to get your wits back before making an imperfect cup o’ joe. ‘Cause there’s not enough sugar even though you thought there should be. But you’re wrong and you discover that a split second after you sip it. Not cool enough. You burn your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

An automatic chewing machine, you go through the mediocre breakfast lacking in salt. Take a shower. Look at the mirror. Not enough muscles but more than enough muffin top. Definitely not enough hair at parts you would appreciate it growing, more than enough at the rest. Shaving will have to be put off for another month or two to the inconvenience of some people.

God there are so many cars, rusty and new on the streets and highways, but somehow, you just can’t get a decent ride to the office. The train doesn’t have enough space but it’s overflowing with acrid human juice. The bus doesn’t have a seat for you but it’s got a lot of rattle to make you puke your mediocre breakfast out. Continue reading

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An Atheist Wants the World (or The Things I Write About When I Get Frustrated)

“This is a long serious lecture. Get out if you can’t handle the Force.”

Look, let’s say that there is indeed such a thing as heaven. Let’s say that this real heaven is exactly like the heaven every righteous, pious adult has been telling us all along — that once you’re dead and you enter its golden gates, everything will be all right because you’ll be in god’s presence. You will feel complete because the only thing that’s left to do there is to glorify god’s name for all eternity and to love him in all his goodness. You will stop desiring anything besides god…

Isn’t that the unfairest thing you’ve ever heard? Doesn’t that basically say that all your mundane hopes and desires when you were living will be thrown out the window into the abyss of nothingness?

Your wish to own a sparkling black Mercedes someday and park it next to your grouchy officemate’s Toyota — gone. Your dream of a huge beige house good enough to eat in the most gorgeous of all Americanized neighborhoods — spoiled. Your hope of being someone better, cooler, smarter, sexier, wealthier and more important than you are now — crushed. Your itch to have a foxy girlfriend or boyfriend — frustrated. Everything your heart longed for, everything your mind instructed you to achieve, everything your libido deliriously desired — disintegrated into a gazillion pieces of nothing called heaven.

My friends, I call that god darn unfair.

Because I am a base man. I am shallow, hedonistic, vengeful and, well, honest. I want the world. I want its dirty, decaying treasures and its deceiving, fleeting pleasures. If I were a trillionaire right now, I’d buy myself an imposing gothic palace in Germany, (kind of like Bruce Wayne’s mansion) stuff it with all the disco lights and barrels of alcohol my money can buy, and call all my friends to party there wild, senseless and naked for a year. Then I’d buy myself a black stallion, ride to Sasha Grey’s house, and invite her out for dinner with my friends and my girlfriend just for fun (for once, I’d love to hear about someone else’s career woes). I’d buy all my enemies and people whose faces I don’t like for no particular reason limousines, just to sue them for robbery and fraud the next day and watch them laughing while their bewildered faces peep through jail bars. I’d build my mom a golden mansion and call up our richest relatives to showcase how unimaginably infinite my mom’s moolah has become. I’d buy a star and name it Ely Buendia  X Death Star 149 just because I can. I’ll donate so much money to the Large Hadron Collider project, scientists there will secretly turn it into a time machine and give me a free ride to the day when Michael Jackson debuted the moonwalk on Motown 25. Everyone will line up my door to ask me for something and I’d choose who I’d help and shoo away. I will be so evil and so likeable at the same time that people will forget Darth Vader and instead unconsciously think of me when they’re thinking of him. Like, “So then Luke refuses to join the dark side, and Marvin Sanchez says ‘I am your father’ and — oh sorry, I mean Vader.”

I told you. I am god darn base. Continue reading


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Let Me Tell You About Myself

Let me tell you about myself.

I have a sore throat that’s three days old. By now, of course, it is obvious that this is no ordinary sore throat because sore throats do not persist this long. The weirder thing about my sore throat is that it’s just affecting the left side of my throat. Right side’s completely fine but the left side is creating havoc whenever I swallow my own saliva.

Cringed a little?

Yes, humans swallow their own saliva and blog about it sometimes, which is considerably disgusting but you can expect such a thing from us. We are a species that tends to get surprised by our own disgusting daily habits. I sometimes look down when I’m on the tiled throne and I stick my tongue out like I didn’t know the stuff came from the hard work of my own digestive system. Some girls are even scared stiff when shown a mirror reflection of their own labia minora and majora. I know shudders ran through my spine when I saw my shaved balls for the first time.

But back to my sore throat, it’s really weird that it’s just the left side that’s hurting. The hypochondriac in me conjures images of Roger Ebert in my head and I immediately think cancer. I see myself trapped in my house with my chin pasted to my neck because all the meat there is gone.

Don’t we all think like that? When it comes to petty pains and big pains alike, we just cut through all the bullshit and think cancer. “Colds? I got no colds. I’ve been healthy since forever so I must have lung cancer.” “Blood? I don’t get blood this early on my period. I must have ovarian cancer.” We can’t help just self-diagnosing ourselves with cancer because it’s a waste of time and energy to think of any lesser disease. That’s right, even when it comes to worrying about our health, we are efficient. Efficiency means living a life devoid of all bullshit. And if we like to hear or to have bullshit, we want it as soon as possible without any hassles. Bullshit without bullshit is modern efficiency. Continue reading

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We keep on waiting for that almost mythical time when chance will play with us and roll us like a pair of dice; a time when our routine lives will be shaken up and a new captivating story will start. As we go about our Thursday fast food dinners or Friday work procrastinations, we anticipate in the back of our mind that fateful magical hour or minute when our eye bags turn into horsemen and our cell phone into an enchanted pumpkin carriage. We wait to be Cinderellas, all of us. But sadly, such beautiful a twist is rare in real life, so we keep on waiting and waiting ‘til the desire empties itself out into the abyss of laziness and resignation. And in our obsessive sleepwalking, we fail to see that love – a force a hundred times stronger than chance – is waiting, stalking us all along, grieving at our unnecessary misery.


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Picked It. Like Mad.

A group of friends. Very noisy. Three were gays. The gays were even noisier. Said that if all gays died, the world will be quieter by 50%. Said that my gay friends will not like me for the thought. But this group had mouths as big as the moon’s craters. Filled the entire coffee shop with noise. Couldn’t hear my own explanation of my blog stats to my girlfriend. She was dazed and exhausted. But this group crawled out of hell. Screamin’. Noisy ugly devils in a cheap coffee shop. And as I looked, this guy – quite good-looking, too. He caught me looking at him. His index finger was shoved all the way to the inner depths of his nose. Wiggling there like a salted worm. No hanky nor paper towel. Just his pale index finger. Wigglin’ excitedly. Nose pushed side to side by the violent force. His eyes fixed on me. I looked away so quickly it’s as if someone slapped my face.

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We Are Inedible Pieces of Meat


A few months ago, in this country, the media saw dozens of corpses — stabbed in the eyes, shot in the genitals, swarms of flies having a sumptuous feast — they said it’s “inhuman.”

I went a bit further and read about cannibalism. Apparently, it has existed from time immemorial in almost every part of the world. Asians did it, Africans too, and you bet, even Americans. Today, the Korowai tribe in Papua, New Guinea is believed to be still practicing the gory ritual. While filming a documentary, the crew of a television show attempted to rescue a 6-year-old boy from being ham dinner because he was accused of being a witch doctor. They failed. I have reason to believe the boy’s body now fertilizes the ground that grows all sorts of healthy shrubberies and trees there. It’s hard not to feel sick after you read all of this taboo trivia.

But to me, it all comes down to one thing: We’re meat and we hate it. Continue reading

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Typing sleepy. Wanna ponder the world. Pondering is all one can do after a few paychecks. They just soften you. Make you gay. Now you don’t even care if you’re branded a homophobic. It’s just another difference in this stained glass global population of Asians, blacks, men, transsexuals, daughters under 18, daughters over 18, the handicapped, cool, nerd, goth, obese, soccer moms, sucker moms. I’m just one of them. A statistic with beliefs. I rome the Philippines restricted by a foreigner’s table indicating specific allocation of profits. I get his cents, my mother gets part of the cents, so I can eat part of the nutrition-drained meat she cooks. People don’t understand me. They don’t understand a single f*cking thing we’re saying and we’re proud of that. This sets us apart, baseless pride. Pride that has an actual measurable base is uncool, pathetic. Scums only have measurable bases of pride. And usually that means they have a lot of money. But I don’t have any, so I’m cool. I’m not a scum. Still, that doesn’t make me any less slimy. Now with all the negative adjectives you’ve rained on yourself, you wonder who’s the bastard who put this into your head. You can’t think of any because you can’t trace any effect into a single cause today. No God nor science now. Just this random incessant desire to make a difference that’s already there. Like I said, it’s a stained glass window of an existence. My body, my work and my dreams are a huge stained-glass window inside an empty church, glimmering red, blue and yellow on a hot, August night. So we write and take pictures of ourselves and scatter them all over the Internet to feel all right. We gotta make people read the next chapter in our lives. We’re protagonists and they are readers and vice versa. There’s a constant peeping going on and we’re all indecent exhibitionists to some extent. Imagine that, in the Philippines? This place was innocent a hundred years ago. Now, it’s just an extension of the latest Hollywood flick, only grimier because the MMDA is inept. We’re like Americans. Everyone is like Americans, more or less. The Chinese are like Americans except they have a bloody history of Communism and they’re more mysterious. Arabs are like Americans, only they’re learning how to be like them in a very painful way. The North Koreans are also like Americans, fate sees them getting there. And of course, Filipinos are like Americans, only their MMDA is inept. What the flying f*ck are those urinals for? Who’s the big dunce? The head of the MMDA? Yeah, maybe we should blame him. We can always blame the President but everyone’s hatin’ her already so that’ll just make us lame. Let’s just hate the MMDA head. Let’s see ourselves ranting, talking political, putting in our two cents worth a thousand bucks when we’re drunk. ‘Cause when there’s nothing less boring to talk about, politics is a sure bet. Gives us a sense of power. We’re all Filipino citizens, anyway. We wear t-shirts with yellow stars and a sun. We make a lot of money from it, especially the Chinese. Pirates love us.

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