tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79857418519394693992024-03-13T07:30:07.160+08:00where the almighty dwellsDisgusting and inaccurate relevance to mankind and decipherable verbiage.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-59948389100967550642013-05-30T00:37:00.002+08:002013-05-30T00:37:52.490+08:00They would have sex everywhere: on the queen-size bed, on the carpet where the famished pillowcases scatter, in the bathroom that reeks of lavender and pink tulips, on the beautifully-laid wood parquets on the floor. They would have sex wherever and how they like it: she would bend over on the edge of the queen-size bed, allowing him an entry; she would rest her legs on his shoulders as he protrudes, pillowcases underneath his sweaty and wobbly knees; she would face the nicely fumed bathroom wall as he enters her from behind; she would ride him in hysteria, his butt clasping against the delicately-chiseled parquets. <br />
<br />
They would make out everywhere and how they like it: in the cinemas where it's pitch-black and no one would notice him fondling her clitoris and caressing her breasts, in the back seats of a bus where she could give him a hand job, in the smelly restrooms of diners where he could sneak her in for a blow job, under the table of a fine-dining restaurant where he could eat her tender vagina in a muffled noise and no one would say that it's not a silver-platter meal. <br />
<br />
They would have the craziest sex everywhere and how they want it. And everywhere they would have multiple orgasms, and everywhere, too, flowers would always bloom. Honey or nectar would erupt from his swollen and pulsating penis as red, fat roses would flourish from her three-lip, crimson cunt.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-17654329691739781372012-10-15T11:39:00.000+08:002012-10-18T00:17:38.931+08:00Bughaw. Kayumanggi. Pilak. Ginintuang Puso.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GoB2fMM3CPo/UHt71n6dkvI/AAAAAAAAANo/H8uaVESCsAU/s1600/DSC_0238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GoB2fMM3CPo/UHt71n6dkvI/AAAAAAAAANo/H8uaVESCsAU/s400/DSC_0238.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Labis ngang mayaman ang Pilipinas sa mga likas na yaman. Kahit saan ka man mapunta, mayroong magagandang tanawin tayong maipagmamalaki. At higit pang nagpapaganda sa ating bansa ay ang magagandang katangian ng mga taong naninirahan dito. Nariyan ang bayanihan, ang pagtulong sa mga nasalanta ng kalamidad, ang kung anu-ano pang nagpapatunay na sa kahit anong estado ng buhay, marunong tayong magmalasakit sa ating kapwa na siya namang ating maipagmamalaki, at tunay na hinahangaan ng mga dayuhan. Tayo mismo at ang mga katangiang ito ang sumisimbulo ng ating pagka-Pilipino. Tayo mismo ay isang tunay na likas na kayamanan ng ating bansa!<br />
<br />
<br />
---<br />
Ang larawang ito ay aking lahok sa ika-4 na <a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/">Saranggola Blog Awards</a>.<br />
<a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/"><img alt="Saranggola Blog Awards" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ehcAdxgvk90/TlizYqwfJgI/AAAAAAAAANk/rpgqg4uQ43c/s320/Saranggola+336x280.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
Ang Saranggola Blog Wards ay nailungsad sa pakikipagtulunga ng<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.taragis.com/"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n5ATPjpGtqI/UEaECGNRunI/AAAAAAAAAo8/VpCzk_y8eDc/s1600/tgeek.png" /></a><br />
<br />
Malaking pasasalamat sa mga sponsors:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.mobeeu.mobi/"><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dWNogw5WyhI/UDw3cM8gVTI/AAAAAAAAAoY/GFDC2Na5wBw/s400/mobeeu.jpg" /></a><span id="goog_1439260269"></span><span id="goog_1439260270"></span><a href="http://www.blogger.com/"></a><br />
<a href="http://www.dmcihomes.com/"><img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_03xIbUucJbo/THxbsZPhQYI/AAAAAAAAAFk/o_sIZJ5UF5Y/s320/dmci+homes+logo.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-80006242204457115262012-05-10T21:26:00.000+08:002012-05-10T21:26:33.368+08:00Something Unrequited<br />
Cigarette butts lay idly on the tray as smoke erupted from Michael’s lips trailing its way blindly into nothingness. He stared at the ceiling as he sat on the porch with his feet touching the floor.<br />
<br />
“Do you love me?” he asked as he contorted his face to make a funny gesture. He was looking at Jane who was lying in the bed in a crouched position.<br />
<br />
“Jane!”<br />
<br />
“Hmmf?” she was not listening.<br />
<br />
“Do I make you happy?” he asked again in a more serious but less-troubled manner.<br />
<br />
“You never fail to make me laugh, Mike. Always,” she said as she looked directly into his eyes, through and through. ”Do I make you happy?”<br />
<br />
Michael smiled and closed his eyes. “I never thought of that. But now that you've asked,” he began. “I don’t think I could never be the happiest person on earth right now. Everytime. All the time.”<br />
<br />
It was tempting to feel his eyes a little burning and wet, but he parried the dread. He opened his eyes and scanned her as the crowing of roosters erupted from the outside.<br />
<br />
“I have to get dressed, Mike,” she said as she stood up and bent down to pick up her clothes. She started to dress herself up as quickly as she could. “The kids needed to be in school and my husband will surely freak out if he finds out I left early.”<br />
<br />
“And what if he did? What will you tell him?<br />
<br />
“Jogging,” she answered as she tie her hair into a more peaceful knot. “That always does the trick.”<br />
<br />
“In stilettos?” he badgered. He couldn’t resist laughing.<br />
<br />
“I can sort that one out. That shouldn’t be a problem.”<br />
<br />
“Your husband is a fool,” he muttered.<br />
<br />
She darted a look at him as she picked up her bag. “And you think you’re any different?”<br />
<br />
“Well, yes,” he retorted. “I make you happy and he doesn—”<br />
<br />
“I didn’t say that,” she cut off.<br />
<br />
“I just asked you and you said—”<br />
<br />
“—That you make me laugh,” she completed as she walked up to leave. “That’s different, Mike.”<br />
<br />
“Wait,” he followed her and grabbed her on the elbow and turned her around. “Do you love me?”<br />
<br />
Still bare and tugging nothing but desparation and sudden rejection, he looked into her eyes, through and through. The roosters crowed a little louder and now the sky is visible through the windowsill.<br />
<br />
She looked into his eyes ever so dearly; apologetically and sympathetically. The crows talked and echoed, paired with passers-by chirping and some motorists honking the streets as the chill continued to embrace his bare muscular body.<br />
<br />
She opened her mouth but words were dead and silent. She closed it as she took his hand off her elbow, turned her back at his and opened the door leaving him bare, broken, and undone. She walked towards the pavement as the musical of the crows belted the melodies of gloom and melancholy; turned left on the first alley, and then, she was gone.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-48429382761440849002012-05-01T19:33:00.000+08:002012-05-02T17:45:17.628+08:00On Blowjobs and Getting OffThis afternoon, I had an exciting thought: Over the years of having sex, which part of it did I really like and enjoy? Have I really liked it; or have I faked it and got on with it just to get off?<br />
<br />
I sent a "Sex Anthropological Research Question" to a few people regarding a specific phase in sexual intercourse: Oral Sex. I asked people about their opinions about oral sex (of course, there's felatio and cunnilingus, but my market is a sea of gay people). I asked them if they liked giving and/or getting head.
<br />
<br />
A cluster of gay people confessed that they like both. It's like reciprocating a kiss that leads to another thing. It's like doing to your partner what you want to be done to you. Thus, the Law of Reciprocity. To most people on that cluster, giving head is more than just exchanging body fluids, not to mention seminal. There's just this inexplicable subtlety in giving head -- the priceless feeling that you are the vital player in bed. In some cases, others prefer giving blowjobs while they masturbate until they both come(a fetish only them can explain, but at least, it works for them). And there are also people who just like getting head and not giving any. And there are those, of course, who don't like it. Or just the idea of it. They say it's gross and disgusting.
<br />
<br />
True enough, it is; but also, sex is just as disgusting as it is enjoyable.
<br />
<br />
I was successful to classify the clusters: The Givers, The Ones Who Reciprocate, The Passive One, and The Self-righteous Bitch.
I was once a Self-righteous Bitch. I don't like giving head but I like getting it. You see, sex works in different ways. To some, including me, just getting worked at and not doing anything at all gives you potency and power. It gives you superiority. It boosts up your self-esteem in ways you can not define. It makes you masculine and machismo.
<br />
<br />
On the other hand, the same thing works for The Givers. That in giving head, they acquire power. That in working their jaws arduously they gain control over the situation. They possess the advantage of finishing the game instantly, or play with your balls until you cry for the climax and beg for more, making The Giver the master of the game.<br />
<br />
You see, they may be on their knees but they got you right on the balls. And that is a wise game plan that works all the time that makes you twitch as you arch your back, and explode.<br />
<br />
And explosion is all that matters. Because we are, after all, The Self-righteous Bitches.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-53092741433107445592012-02-29T18:50:00.000+08:002012-02-29T18:57:51.164+08:00I’ve been here before. I’m sure I have. But I just do not remember when and how it happened. I can’t seem to find the holes where these seams are dangling from. Every thing is vague and unclear; a blurry image of what we once had. Or… did we really have it? The more I think of it, the more unsure I get. The more I reach a realization, the more it slips away. But how do I hold on to these? I’m weak to clench it tightly, yet I do not want to let it go. I’m too afraid to hold it dear for it might just burst into a fine china, escaping my grip swiftly. But this is a close cull. One move, and it might just lead into another mishap. How do I hold it? Do I hold it gently or tightly? I do not know what to do this time. Because with either touch, you’re still drifting away.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-40357333740749952262011-11-08T01:35:00.000+08:002011-11-08T01:36:38.086+08:00I perched myself on the gutter with a cup of coffee on my left hand and a cigarette on the other. Inching it into nothingness would never dull the shock out of me. No matter how hard I push myself into drugging myself with this addiction, I do not come near into finding out that I would soon be okay again.<br /><br />But like this pavement I am at where this gutter belongs—crooked, blemished, and fragmented beyond repairs of labor and time—our story does not stand afar. We are like this pathway: flawed and a part of each other’s existence that could never be one. And maybe, just maybe, I am this gutter, offering my existence to such lonely souls and unkept tears; the home of cigarette butts, shaken sanity, and pieces of shattered hearts.carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-8284308274198811782011-10-14T18:48:00.003+08:002011-10-14T18:52:38.707+08:00Hindi lang Bola ang Bilog<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CTUtt7A6Nt8/TpgTjF2c1GI/AAAAAAAAAG0/XIJPjDacSzs/s1600/SBA3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CTUtt7A6Nt8/TpgTjF2c1GI/AAAAAAAAAG0/XIJPjDacSzs/s320/SBA3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663298025005306978" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>Ang larawang ito ay aking lahok sa <a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/">Saranggola Blog Awards 3</a>. </div><div><br /></div><div> <a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/"> <img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GEuBrBXzRW4/Tl5mrkWmdDI/AAAAAAAAANo/4tpIY54VhSY/s1600/Saranggola+150x150.jpg" /></a></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-7370215009380416222011-10-14T16:35:00.010+08:002011-10-14T20:29:18.504+08:00Doon Sa Amin, Sa PayatasSa ilalim ng isang nakangiting araw,<p></p><p>tagus-tagusan sa mangilan-ngilang butas sa yero</p><p>habang pina-pangalmusal ang natitirang tutong at bahaw</p><p>isang ingay ang mula sa dako paroon ang pumukaw.</p><p><br /></p><p>Nangangahos na nginuya ng aking mga panga</p><p>ang almusal na s’ya na ring aking pananghalian,</p><p>nang sa gayo’y makapaglaro sa kanal kasama ang papel na bangka</p><p>at ang sangkatutak na dumi ng tao’t anu’t-ano pang karumihan.<br /><br /></p><p>Tinahak ko ang daan papalabas ng may ngiti</p><p>habang kasalubong ko ang marami:</p><p>natatakot, natataranta, punung-puno ng pighati.<br /><br /></p><p>Pilit na naghuhumiyaw sa galit</p><p>ang aking mga minamahal</p><p>hanggang sa langit ay magalit,</p><p>na pumuno sa bukana ng kaibigan kong kanal.</p><p>Dumating ang mga higante't matitikas na mga laruan;</p><p><i>Oh, ang pangarap kong trak at kotsi-kotsehan!</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Agad kong nasilayan ang iba</p><p>handang agawin ang mga matitipunong laruan.</p><p>Buong lakas na tinahak ng aking mga binti</p><p>ang distansyang naghihiwalay sa amin.</p><p>Binti ko ma’y napuno ng pagal</p><p>buong dipa kong yinakap ang magagarang laruang bakal.</p><p><br /></p><p>Kumagat ang dilim sa oras ng tanghalian,</p><p>animo’y isang malamlam na saad.</p><p>Nagpatuloy ang pagluha ng kalangitan,</p><p>nakikisama sa mga sawim-palad;</p><p><i>Mga bigo't inggit sa bago kong kayamanan!</i></p><p><br /></p><p>Biglang tumahimik ang paligid</p><p>na pawang binawian ako ng pandinig,</p><p>kasabay nito’y ang pagkawala ng aking paningin at tinig,</p><p>o maaring hindi ko lamang maibuka ang aking mga bibig</p><p>dulot na rin siguro ng aking matinding pananabik.<br /><br /></p><p>Ilang sandali pa ang lumipas,</p><p>ang pader ng katahimika’y nabutas;</p><p>isang atungaw ang aking naulinigan,</p><p>hindi ni Santa Klaws ngunit ng aming ilaw ng tahanan.</p><p><br /></p><p>“Putang ina mo!”</p><p>“PUTANG INA NINYONG LAHAT!”</p><p>Buong lutong ang pagsambit</p><p>tila punung-puno ng galit;</p><p><br /></p><p>Isang haplos at mahigpit na yakap</p><p>ang bumalot sa kanina ko pang giniginaw na katawan.</p><p>Dama ko ang init ng kaniyang hininga at labi</p><p>sa aking malalamig na pisngi,</p><p>kasabay nito ay ang pag-agos ng kanyang mga luha</p><p>kasabay ng kanyang pag-usal ng, “Anak, mahal na mahal kita!”</p><p><br /></p><p>Naramdaman ko ang muling pag-agos,</p><p>hindi ng mga luha o ng ulan</p><p>tila ito’y nagmumula sa aking bungo:</p><p>mainit, mabibilis na paglawa ng aking natitirang dugo.</p><p><br /></p><p>---</p><p>Ang tulang ito ay aking lahok sa <a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/">Saranggola Blog Awards 3</a>.</p><p> <a href="http://www.saranggolablogawards.com/"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ehcAdxgvk90/TlizYqwfJgI/AAAAAAAAANk/rpgqg4uQ43c/s320/Saranggola+336x280.jpg" /></a></p>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-9207580788081496162011-08-23T06:19:00.001+08:002011-08-23T06:20:52.693+08:00I don’t like waking up, for everytime I open my eyes, the thought that there are more days that I have to wake up alone — feeling empty as always — pierces through my skin like white-hot pins and needles. It makes me realize that I miss those days when I would eagerly wake up because I want to talk to you; or that I would rush myself to the bathroom, ignoring my breakfast because I need go to a place with you. And of course, those sleepless nights we spent together. I thought repetition will dull the shock out of it, but I guess I was wrong. Every time I wake up, it poignantly crawls on me that those days are gone now, and that there is nothing left but memories, a blanket and a couple of pillows I soaked in tears every night. <p></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 1.1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; outline-width: 0px; outline-style: initial; outline-color: initial; font-size: 13px; vertical-align: baseline; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; ">Waking up is just so fatal.</p>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-70275140794286949202011-08-08T20:19:00.001+08:002011-08-08T20:20:13.370+08:00Has it ever dawned your mind how arduous it has been for me? It’s like feeding myself with nothing, making my innards go berserk; it’s like taking my pills and half-drugging myself to death every time you usurped my sanity.<p></p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Sometimes it feels like my world is suffocated with its own oxygen; crouching under the intoxicated, nicotine-tinged atmosphere as though gasping for a fresher air to breathe, hailing feebly for survival. </p><p style="outline-color: initial; outline-style: none; outline-width: 0px; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 0px !important; margin-right: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">This is, as I have now realized, a turmoil. And I am writing this with what little sanity I have left.</p>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-60517293340874498692011-08-04T20:35:00.005+08:002011-08-04T21:54:34.429+08:00Unpopular Opinon: On Mr. LaoChristoper Lao's incident have circulated the new media quite fastidiously than the drying of his pants. It has even reached other continents and even <i>Trend</i>-ed on <i>Twitter</i>. Quite normally, it has been subjected and referred to as something funny, and that was not even difficult to fathom.<div><br /></div><div>However, as I see it, people have been abusing the new media in such a wrong way. True enough, Mr. Lao's incident has not only been a laughable matter, but has also been the basis of his identity as a person. With all prejudices aside, when I found out about the incident, I did not know yet that he was a student in UP-Diliman (my former school), but then, I did not find his 'adventure' quizzical.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have been driving for more than a year now, and I live in Malabon. As we all know, Malabon easily gets soaked and flooded, so it's quite easy for me to predict if I should storm my car in the flood or not since I have been living here since I can remember. Moreso, I share the same feeling of driving in a place you know very little things about, especially if you drive under the same circumstances.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you can still remember, Mr. Lao complained about the lack of traffic signs, of enforcement that will signal the motorists that the flood is not merely passable by any vehicle. Also, from where he came from, the road was dry and then suddenly there's this flood. It would clearly state that the flood is not passable if on the other end of the road, the flood flows into a continuum--but as we all know, it did not. There is only a little flood stuck in between two spaces lying on the same road.</div><div><br /></div><div>If I were on his shoes, I would have done the same thing. Not only no one stopped me when I assaulted the flood, but there was also no enforcement or at least a signage that should have been put there to remind in-coming motorists. </div><div><br /></div><div>I agree that the way he justified his complain is not very well-thought of. But who on Earth will still be able to think thoroughly after such aggravation?</div><div><br /></div><div>Come to think of it.</div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-1077179976236975492011-07-24T23:45:00.001+08:002011-08-04T22:04:59.734+08:00The human body is a vessel for constant suffering. It is meant to feel pain, bitterness, anguish, and the lightest of them all called “happiness”. But how could we not know, that after all, it is a cycle? That you start being happy and you’ll end up with the rest? How could we—the brightest vessel for this experiment—not know that from the very beginning, we are meant to such torture; to such excruciating pleasure? How could we not know that we are merely pigs being raised only to be slaughtered? How could we not know that we are nothing more than a beautiful flower, being nurtured only to be picked up and crushed in someone else’s gentle paws? How could we not know that we are nothing more than just a vessel for someone who plays stupid games in a place we do not know where?carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-15499257071801277802011-07-23T18:09:00.007+08:002011-07-23T21:49:15.221+08:00Bread Crumbs<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J5C4cQdI0sk/TiqeUim9TVI/AAAAAAAAAFY/QncTIx3Rqjw/s1600/_DSC0567.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J5C4cQdI0sk/TiqeUim9TVI/AAAAAAAAAFY/QncTIx3Rqjw/s320/_DSC0567.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632488359705005394" /></a>I sucked at portraiture, or maybe, I still remain woefully ignorant in that field; or perhaps, I am this person who owns a pair of eyes that needed practice. But sometimes, it's like magic that I am able to capture such precious candid moments of people.<div><br /></div><div>Children are my favorite subject in portraiture. There's just this subtle innocence that envelopes their eyes; inexplicable mystery that once you captured it, your image suddenly turns into a piece that tells stories. Stories that even the greatest men in history can't give us. Stories that only their eyes could tell, encrypted in a wordless manner.</div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-13164739968610597782011-07-22T13:58:00.000+08:002011-07-22T13:59:02.185+08:00<div> It brings me into a state of eargasm as those plenty tiny drops pounded my windowsill altogether creating a beautiful feat that makes my heartbeats mute; it puts all there is to ignore into absolute silence, just the pouring of it is all you can think of. You can wander into it as thoughts slowly slither your divine sanity.</div><div><br /></div><div> I love the breath-taking chill it delivers every now and then. That in that instantaneous, abrupt momentum, everything will be cold. And that chill will pierce you with its ice-cold daggers, slowly protruding your humanity through and through. It escalates the tension as it relaxes those anguished beasts inside you, making you breathe faster but calmer. You can wander into it fearlessly as you have nothing to be afraid of. After all, you have mastered the art of understanding and embracing such coldness.</div><div><br /></div><div> I just love the rain. I adore how it brutally and whimsically muffles my senses in a good, delightful, but poignant way. </div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-63561160879829201962011-07-21T22:30:00.001+08:002011-07-21T22:31:27.278+08:00Manila and Its Wonders<div> You alighted from the train during the starless and cold night. The noise of random people talking at the same time, the honking of buses, cars and jeepneys audible. You started walking through the noise as the night promised nothing but more business and noise. You took each and every step with precious precaution as you bumped into other people’s shoulders; sometimes faces, muffling every noise in the background.</div><div><br /></div><div> You started to walk in a more fastidious manner as though galloping together with that unknown, unwritten melody. Your heart pumped and skipped a beat; your throat lumped as you lunged for polluted air.</div><div><br /></div><div> You hailed for a cab as you choked. Stepped inside as he sat beside you. He smiled and held your hand and tugged it a little stronger as he looked into your eyes through and through.</div><div><br /></div><div> And suddenly, all was well.</div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-10975700776640609632011-07-20T21:18:00.001+08:002011-07-20T21:18:55.688+08:00<div> ”Bakla ka ba talaga?” tanong ng pinsan ko.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Oo.” sagot ko sabay inom ng aking tagay at hithit sa sigarilyong naka-ipit sa pagitan ng aking dalawang daliri.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”E may girlfriend ka dati a?”</div><div><br /></div><div> ”I had four. ‘Yung kapatid mo nga may tatlong anak na, ‘di ba?”</div><div><br /></div><div> Hindi na siya umimik. Sa puntong iyon, kahit alam ko na gaano mang ka-personal ang sinabi kong iyon, ay may punto ako. Na-corner ko siya imbis na ako ang na-corner niya. Hindi ko naman minasama ang pagtatanong niyang iyon kaya tuloy ang inuman. Inintindi ko na lang na marahil ay hindi niya naitanong ang mga bagay na iyon sa kapatid niya, kaya sa akin siya nagtatanong. </div><div><br /></div><div> .</div><div><br /></div><div> .</div><div><br /></div><div> .</div><div><br /></div><div> Tuloy ang inuman. </div><div><br /></div><div> ”Ilang taon ka na nga ulit, Kaka?”</div><div><br /></div><div> ”20,” sagot ko. Bente anyos pa lang ako nung mga panahong iyon. </div><div><br /></div><div> ”Tapos hindi ka pa graduate? Mauunahan ka pa ng panganay ko,” wika niya. Di ako kumibo. Hinayaan ko lang siya, habang ang ilan sa mga pinsan ko ay nagpapalitan sa pagtingin sa akin at sa kanya.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Ano bang plano mo sa buhay mo?” muli niyang pag-uusig.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Marami,” tugon ko. “Isa na siguro ay ang mabuhay ng malaya at malayo sa mga taong makikitid ang utak at pakielamero. Kaya nga ako nagpa-tattoo, dahil gusto kong ihayag panghabang-buhay ang pagiging malaya at liberal ko.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Nababasa n’yo ba ‘to?” sabay pakita ng aking tattoo sa likuran ng aking tainga na may larawan ng isang buwan, tatlong bituin at Alibata.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Ano bang ibig sabihin n’yan?” itinuro n’ya ang Alibata.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Alam n’yo naman mga pinagdaanan ng pamilya ko at patuloy na pinagdadaanan namin, hindi ba? Pero hindi pa rin ako sumusuko. Nakita n’yo na akong nakipag-live-in, nakita n’yo na akong manggulpi ng ka-live-in na niloko ako, nakita n’yo na akong umiyak at tumawa; pero nabubuhay pa rin ako. Parang inuman lang ‘yan e, tuloy ang laban. ‘Di bale nang sumuka, ‘wag lang sumuko.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Ngayon andito ako sa harapan n’yo, inuusig ng inyong mga matanong na isipan at mapanuring mata. May nagabago ba sa’kin?”</div><div><br /></div><div> Walang sumagot.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Bukod sa pisikal na kaanyuan ko, marahil nagbago ang pananaw ko sa buhay. Una, hindi ko pinagsisisihan na naging bakla ako. Ginusto ko ‘to, kahit alam kong hindi n’yo maiintindihan kaagad, wala akong pakielam. Hindi ko kailangan ng pang-unawa n’yo. Sapat na para sa akin ang pagtanggap na ibinigay ko sa sarili ko. Sapat na ‘yon para makapagtrabaho ako dati at kumita ng higit pa sa sahod ninyo buwan-buwan. Trenta-mil isang buwan— higit pa sa sapat ‘yon para ipamukha sa inyo na kahit bakla ako, na kahit hindi pa ako graduate, walang-wala kayo sa akin.”</div><div><br /></div><div> Napansin kong bumuka ang bibig ng isang pinsan ko, ngunit pinigilan ko muna siya dahil hindi pa ako tapos sa mga sasabihin ko.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Simple lang naman, e. Sa totoo lang, wala akong dapat patunayan at ipagmalaki sa inyo, kaso mukhang kailangan ko pang ipamukha sa inyo na marami akong bagay na kayang gawin na hindi n’yo pa nagawa. Marami akong karangalang naidala sa pamilya ko na hindi n’yo pa naibigay sa mga pamilya ninyo. Kaya kesehodang bakla ako, at hindi pa ako graduate, wala kayong ibang masasabi sa akin dahil alam ninyo na ako ang pinaka-talented at pianakamatalino sa ating magpipinsan, at marahil, ang pinakamatapang at may bayag para kausapin kayo sa ganitong pamamaraan.”</div><div><br /></div><div> Mahinahon at maingat kong tinapos ang aking mga pangungusap. Lahat sila nakatingin sa akin. Lahat sila tila ninanamnam ang katotohanan na hindi nila ako mahihila pababa; ang katotohanan na kahit ano pang gawin nila, sa edad ko na iyon, naungusan ko na sila ng milya-milya.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Oo nga, ‘no?” biglang saad ng isa kong pinsan. “Si Kaka ang kauna-unahang nakapasok sa UP.”</div><div><br /></div><div> Ngumiti lang ako at sinenyasan silang tagayin na ang alak.</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Ano bang ibig sabihin n’yang Alibata sa tattoo mo?” muling pagtatanong ng aking pinsan.</div><div><br /></div><div> Tagay at kaunting katahimikan; ingay lang ng bentilador na walang tigil sa pag-ikot upang magbigay ginhawa sa aming katawan na nabahagian na ng init ng alak.</div><div><br /></div><div> Kinuha ko ang tagay ko at nilunok ang alak sa baso, ninamnam ang mainit na hagod na dala nito sa aking lalamunan, humitit ng sigarilyo at binuga ang mga usok at iwinika ang sagot na kanina pa nila gustong malaman:</div><div><br /></div><div> ”Mandirigma.”</div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-7353569684795795352011-07-18T20:14:00.000+08:002011-07-18T20:15:13.816+08:00<div>I find it impossible to intentionally forget people and incidents. It’s that one plausible human flaw that makes us all grow and at the same time nostalgic.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are these wonderful detrimental images that pop out every now and then, and suddenly, you’ll be in gag and in pain. One of the best things I have learned in life is that I have learned how to forgive. It is not a pie at first but it is what’s necessary. Without forgiveness, you allow yourself to forever linger to the pain someone had caused you. And that multiplies the burden you are going through.</div><div><br /></div><div>To accept and understand pain is another thing I have acquired from experiences which I know I will never forget no matter how much I want to. I have already abandoned the idea of forgetting memories I don’t like. Nonetheless, it will take time for everything to sink in, but once you have gathered the strength and enough wisdom to understand pain, everything will be okay. It will give you the fresh start you deserve.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pain is inevitable. You can not forget the things that caused you pain; incidents that harmed you a lot you almost half-drugged yourself to death. However, with forgiveness and acceptance, you will get over it, and you’ll realize that it is through pain that we feel exactly alive— that with pain, everything just feels real.</div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-81210945081760285072011-07-18T12:16:00.002+08:002011-07-18T12:29:19.163+08:00<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aMiZZb_6E1k/TiO0B_SZWrI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Zw7V5AvGFsE/s1600/_DSC0512.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 223px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aMiZZb_6E1k/TiO0B_SZWrI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Zw7V5AvGFsE/s320/_DSC0512.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630541905404713650" /></a><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HJpQ1YJoAPQ/TiO0Bj_SaDI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wuKYkxim-9c/s1600/_DSC0505.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 231px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HJpQ1YJoAPQ/TiO0Bj_SaDI/AAAAAAAAAFI/wuKYkxim-9c/s320/_DSC0505.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630541898076809266" /></a><div>I've been pursuing photography for quite some time now as a hobby. And just this morning, I felt so bored and noticed that there was a good lighting dawning upon the plants my mom had been taking care of.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I found these flies that lingered on the leaves so constantly -- I was really astonished they did not fly away even when I got so close I almost touched them -- I immediately went upstairs and took <i>Aninag</i> (A Nikon D5000), and started clicking away. After some 15 minutes, I'm done. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, I'm not really a superb hobbyist but I'm really trying. Also, I only have a kit lens (18mm-55mm) so my macro shots aren't really <i>that</i> macro. I wish I have a better lens for that matter.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you wanna see more og my shots, you might want to visit one of my albums on Facebook called <a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.111108902239244.18172.100000204033311">For My Eyes Only: Tilting the lenses.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm really open to any suggestions and any commentaries, so feel free to do so. </div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-44766926045106780722011-07-13T10:08:00.012+08:002011-07-13T11:20:37.718+08:00<i>Have you ever had the feeling that the whole Universe is against you?</i><div><br /></div><div>You wanted to amok, cause havoc -- but you just remained seated there, right in the very corner where it all happened as tears cascaded down to your cheeks, keeping you gasping and panting, not for fresher air, but for silver linings.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Hush.</i></div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I was there. I was there when you were wearing that same, old ensemble: ragged, torn and ripped apart. I was there. I was there when you almost half-drugged yourself to death. I was there. I was there beside you, hugging the walls where you regained balance from. I was there. Stuck with you until your last, dying breath.</div><div><br /></div><div> </div><div>I am your shadow; intertwined to your feeble body. I am your tears; endlessly tracking your pallid face. I am your solitude, your melancholy, your sorrow; I am yourself.</div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>You are not alone.</i></div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7985741851939469399.post-16698164443365183882011-07-13T08:25:00.002+08:002011-07-13T13:27:26.902+08:00NouveauIt has always been a pleasant feeling to have a good start. To start on something where you don't really have an audience to please, or something that will put you under great pressure, for that matter. As for this blog, I aim to own a brand new slate.<div><div><br /></div><div>I have been on Tumblr for a year now, and it is quite a good and catchy experience. Not only that I was able to share my insights, unpopular opinions--I was able to meet great and talented people. People who have, somewhat, created a great impact in my life, and I hope I was able to impart something in return. People I have learned to understand, care for; people I now call 'friends'.</div><div><br /></div><div>However, over the months that I have lurked on Tumblr, it has suddenly turned into a seemingly predictable feat. Admittedly, I have grown tired of it. But like what I have said before, I will never deactivate that account which had served me, undeniably, quite well for a year. </div><div><br /></div><div>But inevitably, I am seeking for a new outlet. I am seeking for a grandiose riposte. I am seeking for a fresher air to breathe. And I hope, that this new chosen space will be there to cater me up until I-do-not-know-when.</div><div><br /></div><div>To make things sure, like my other account, this will remain constant and I will try my utmost to keep this, somehow, alive. I hope to make this a long written narrative of my daily exhibition and existence.</div></div>carloalmightyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17631418825514254467noreply@blogger.com0