Why?

Let me tell you a story.

This story may be about a demon or me or you, but that doesn’t matter really.

Why?

***

He walked the earth but his heart was not there. It was engaged in the place where your thoughts often wander, especially if your heart is not keeping up with what you do.

Yes, like all demons, Michal does have a heart.

Though to say it is a good or pure heart would be to go too far. It still is fact that Demon hearts do not fill with blood but with the agony inflicted upon mortals – the more agony produced, the stronger the heart becomes.

And Michal, our demon, has indeed a very strong heart. But as you already know, now it is not with him but in the nameless-place-where-hearts-often-wander.

There, his heart met The Question.

“Why?”

And now as he prowls the earth looking for willing puppets, them of the agony-inflicting type, The Question continuously takes root in his heart.

“Why do I exist? Am I really meant to be here? To be doing what I’m doing? And if I am, if I am no accident, then who or what intended for it? What…who is my creator? Why?”

The Question – it mutually seeks out all hearts and meet them all in due time. It captures yours in unexpected moments, and from then on, never really leaves.

Appeased, ignored, suppressed, but still there.

Still is.

And it leaves no body, no being out – Living, Dead, In-betweens, Angels, Demons, Guardians – all of their hearts The Question will meet.

For all of them will take part in the event.

The Event.

That which everything that was, is, and about to happen are mere necessities, preparation perhaps, all leading to the one reason why anything at all exists.

The Demon already knows this but cannot recall it. Like everyone else, it is vital for his being that The Knowledge should not interfere with the present, hence the overshadowing by present trivialities.

But one always needs to be reminded, thus the constant seeking of the answer to the purpose of one’s existence.

And in that nameless place where all hearts eventually wander, we all find our reminder – consciously or otherwise.

The Question.

***

So that’s the story.

It is as much about me as it is about Michal or you or the queen of the damned or the president of the Jews.

Why?

Why, I think you know.

Fun! Fun! Great Fun!

What is?

Well, very amateur RECORDING, that is!

You see, it’s been a real treat to record these nonsensical flippertwits I made up for my stories.

1.Nika’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

2.Nika’s Mum’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

3.Devil’s Child Chant (TotWK: Devil’s Child)***

4.Song of a Gypsy Woman (TotWK: ______)

The third one‘s got to be my favorite!

HAHAHAHAHA!

Heed this warning, loves: one has a COCK crowing in the background, one is a SPOILER, and my favorite is a REAL PAIN in the ears. But it fits, seeing as it’s dedicated to one blogger who happened to call me a witch. You know who you are (clue: initials= T.B. and a charming idiot, but at least a real genius in the field – not of being charming, but idiocy). This idiot also likes all things M – like Moose and Miley cyrus – and Me, as well.

Now seriously.

I just wanted to ask you if you know how to pronounce this: “Cthulhu“? You don’t? Me too. Now I really have to agree – Neil Gaiman‘s probably got the world’s largest octopus head.

You take care, you.

‘Til then, J

Collaborations and Introductions

I know it’s a little late for the latter, but then again…

Three things.

Let me start by sharing to you the works of my, err, good friend, Landix.

“The Deal” created for the story Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Devil’s Child

Click to view full image.

“Le Pedofile“, this time for Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Music Box

Click to view full image.

Now tell me you think they’re horrifyingly beautiful.

I know, I know.

It’s vital you understand here that Landix is a lunatic. I asked for his permission to place a link here to his website but the doofus declined. Yes. Crazy, just crazy I’m telling you.

But he’s also really good, so it’s not much of a question why I collaborated with him. At least to me.

Really now, Landix is not all that bad. A little crazy, but an artist and more importantly, a friend. You’ll be seeing more of him soon. Well, I hope.

Now second, my niche.

I started this blog without much of a niche – more of decided to make an outlet for my random thoughts, rants, and music I’m too chicken to share to my mainstream outlet – the magnificent FB. I was just putting random brain droppings time and again. But very recently, it just dropped on me one late night staring-at -the-ceiling-with-headphones-at full-blast session.

My niche would be to tell stories.

I know it’s another kind of brain droppings, but at least brain droppings you can categorize. Blame it on my control freak streak. But yeah, I have decided to communicate with the world in a new way. This time I’ll use an old friend, “fiction”.

I’ve always loved stories. I learned to read because I was told those boring-looking things called books hold so much of them. I look forward to my father’s bedtime stories as a kid. As a teen, with great reluctance, I wore glasses because I won’t give up this love for stories. The glasses grew thicker with time. Yes, until now.

Maybe it’s the little truths stories always have, even though we call them “fiction“. Many men, women, and children could attest to the great power some of these little truths hold. Still, some of them are also just as what they seem, little.

And yet, it doesn’t make them any less.

I guess I will always love stories. It’s really not something you can stop. It’s part of what makes you you. Or me. Yeah, you get it.

So, logically, I created stories simply because. Like water flows because it is meant to. Like the wind dances and, yes sometimes, destroys. Destiny. Fate. Or simply choice. A choice made with ultimate love.

And like how some people treat their dogs, their dolls, or those things I think come from another planet (they say it’s called cars), I treat these stories as my babies.

There’s only one thing I ask of you. Love them or hate them, but treat these stories with respect. At core, they really meant good. For no story is evil by itself. They are what we, people, make of them. Respect them, and they will pay you back for it.

They always do – or else.

Now for the third and most important part.

Readers, Likers, Commenters, Haters, Followers, Spammers, and my dear Friends, human or not…

I thank you.

For what? Many, many things. Perhaps for licking mooses, for fighting for kids, for sharing less noticed beautiful works of art, for adding beauty to the world, for being a shcmuck of a clown, and a gazillion other as important reasons.

But most of all, for acknowledging that THIS exists.Of course, you know what I mean.

Until then,

J

I Therefore Conclude…

That I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who loves to learn, tries to learn, and actually learns a lot. I got 2 out of 3. I just never seem to learn a LOT – if not any less than I do 15 years ago.

15 years ago I learned…

*To do unto others only what I want others do unto me.

(Now I do, did, probably will still do unto others what I’d offer my savings account, mini library, and promise to make a twitter account for them not to ever do the same to me. And vice versa.)

*To listen when a person speaks in front.

(So when a blabbering buffoon is on your side and trying to get as close without resorting to sticking a pole inside any orifice, um, you are excused, right?)

*To eat only nutritious foods. And only when you’re hungry.

(A lesson I have happily un-learned! Unless you don’t count eating a large chunk of chocolate when you’ve just had dinner against it.)

*To respect the elderly.

(With all due honesty, I have tried to uphold this for as long as I can remember. But there are tempting times Satan prepared himself  by hiding in the guise of a septuagenarian lady, making me want to grab her cane and use it to whack Satan out of that innocent body.)

Aww…that face!

*To say sorry when you hurt someone.

(But after a decade and a half, I have de-evolved from a human into a chicken for I find myself too much of a coward to utter even this two-syllabic word without the aid of dagger looks and a terribly messy situation.)

*To not speak nor go with strangers.

(I blame the one who said “strangers are merely friends you have yet to meet”. I wonder if that person ever had the reward of meeting and having a little chat with Mr. H. Lecter.)

Tell me you’re not tempted to run when you look behind and see this face 2 inches from yours.

*To mean what you say and say what you mean.

(This time I blame the books written in the style of beautiful, subtle sarcasm. And politics, of course.)

*To never tell lies.

(Ha! Now who would I blame? You? You? Or you?)

Fifteen years is quite enough time to have forgotten all these lessons. I am certain I learned a whole lot more back then. But due to lack of practice/application of these lessons poor memory, I only have these eight to share.

Let me make it clear that I am not saying the older you get, the dumber you’ll become. Fact is that there’s a turning point somewhere in the age line (they say it’s different for everyone…I do wonder who “they” is/are) when Fate itself drives you toward the long lost fountain of wisdom.

But until you reach that point, you have no right to say you are wiser than a 5 year old.

This kid knows it all. He does. Oh come on, he really does!

Any lessons to share?

Images courtesy of Google Images

Outpouring of a Troubled Soul: First Attempt

“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”

I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.

It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea  that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.

No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.

It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.

But life is a trickster.

Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?

I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that  every human being was bestowed with from birth.

But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.

And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.

But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.

Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php

The Difficulty of Being Good

Last night, I was so hungry I hit the bakery and ordered a dozen of cheap, delicious bread. While the irritable bakery lady was getting my order, a dirty child approached two of the customers dining in and begged for bread repeatedly. The two ladies just kept on talking as though they were deaf to the world. I couldn’t hate or curse that they may rot in the depths of hell because if I should be honest, I behaved just like them more times than I can remember.

How often have you turned a blind eye to the misfortunes of others when it was supposed to be in your power to help easing the burden they carry? 20 times? 100 times? A million times?

No, I am not about to preach that we should all take care of one another because every person in this earth is our brother or sister. Nor would I help you to become a better person. I have enough shame on my pants not to do that. Rather, I would like to discuss why it is so hard for us to SHARE – our time, money, food, skills, boyfriends, services, among others – without getting anything in return

But why is it, really?

Theory no. 1: We have been raised to become selfish.

I love my parents and all the adults who helped in molding me to become the ridiculously self – righteous person I have become. They have all done their best to produce an individual the whole world could be proud of (read: a RARITY). But could you remember those times they told you to keep your toys to yourself and to your brothers/sisters because that (insert neighbor’s name here) child breaks anything he ever puts his hands on? Or those moments when they told you finishing education is a must (which it is) because only then could you be a successful person? At a young age, they have already unconsciously wired us up with the-world-is-selfish/there’s-no-such-thing-as-free-lunch anthem. Not that we could blame them.

Theory no. 2:  We are scared.

Scared of what? Scared of being taken advantage of, perhaps? Maybe we are thinking that there are so many con artists and syndicates today behind homeless beggars that the thought of helping them and picturing those goons enjoying your loot is just too much to handle. Maybe we are so scared that if we do something to help people, they might milk us out until we cannot even help our own sorry selves. Maybe we are so concerned of what the noble, jealous, and insecure citizens of the world might think of our every actions that for the dread of being labeled as good people phony philanthropists (a.k.a. someone feigning higher, humanistic, ENDANGERED principles), we prefer not to make any action at all. Maybe you have your own list of secret fears that keep you from lending a helping hand to the oppressed, lonely, hungry, hopeless people in this sad, dreary, miserable world. Yeah, probably that…or maybe

 

Theory no. 3:  …we have simply become numb.

I should have made this my theory number one. I write according to what my head dictates at the spur of the moment and this didn’t come first. However, I have a very strong gut feeling this must be the reason we have ceased to pursue the carrying out of deeds for the greater good. The access to cosmic amounts of information (no, I am not condemning the Internet to eternal damnation) leads us to be knowledgeable about the bad news happening everywhere and anywhere that we have unavoidably become cynics – unfeeling cyborgs of the information age. The world is suffering from too much lack of money, food, savings, genuine friendships, toiletries, waterproof roofs, respect, originality, compassion, and tolerance that the act of GIVING out more of one’s self already seems to be a herculean task.

It seems that as I write, I have discovered that being good really means being generous with the things you can give that will be useful to the feat of the receiver becoming a better person. Becoming a person worthy of a space in this overpopulated planet is difficult when you have a gnawing stomach. Think about it, even forgiveness is something one gives to another which in its own could very useful for the other’s achievement of inner peace.

Ahhh…Inner Peace. Wouldn’t that be bliss?

• “I’ve made shoes for everyone, even you, while I still go barefoot.” – Bob Dylan

Image courtesy of Google Images

The Fib About The Old Woman Who Woke Up On Her 20th Birthday

There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.

She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of  the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.

And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.

Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…

It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.

It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.

It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her  door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.

It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.

It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.

It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.

But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.

Image courtesy of Google Search

**P.S.

(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)

A Rant About Prejudice And Stereotyping Filipino Women

We find ourselves more comfortable when we’re alone but deep inside we yearn for someone out there, just a single stranger to understand.

Do you find yourself in a situation where you just want to avoid all the people you know and have an honest talk with just about anything you could ever think of with a total stranger? I do. Lots of times.

What’s so enviable about it is that you can talk with someone who doesn’t have previous knowledge about you that he can use as tools for prejudice. It so often happens that we can’t help but hope for an outsider’s opinion once in a while. Your future is often predicted by the way you have screwed up in the past that there’s no point at all in saying what you have to say. And it just isn’t right nor is it fair. But it seems that trusting that people could turn out to be much better than how they have been is a lost skill.

*****

It is very tempting to write in all caps now. Really it is.

Breathe… breathe…

It’s just so infuriating how some dumb, horny males NOT of the Filipino race could stereotype all Filipinas as cheap, horny women who constantly look for dying, foreign, and rich male to juice up for all their dollars.

I MEAN, COME ON REVOLTINGLY SMELLY AND UN – LAYable HORNY MEN!!! Do I even have to explain myself here?!

Image Courtesy of Google

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Prologue

I learned one new fact of life today.

Happiness Patient J.D. Unresponsive to ECT, Depressant Serum

It seems that as you age you continuously experience new stages of self – discovery. What you think of yourself when you were 18, however certain you were about it at that point in your life, will almost never be the same when you turn 25.

Boo-yah.

Some people say they have been self – assured early in life, but I don’t believe it. Because life changes you, it is a factory where we are all products that need to be  upgraded and enhanced regularly. And those that cannot be changed turn out to be inappropriate and are sure to belong in the bin labeled rejects.

So it’s surprising to me how, say, a piece of literature with a theme concerning self – discovery could be limited only to a category of teen/young adult literature. Ironic, since you can see middle – aged individuals certainly still uncertain about their own identities.

But why do I concern myself with these things?

You see, I plan to experience different things from what I have always been doing – it simply fails to give me a sense of happiness. I am not so proud as to want happiness per se, I merely want a sense of it. There was just no passion (yes, that’s the right word) in what I am used to do.

And lack of passion (or excess of it)  is in fact deadly. It has ended the lives of many notable men, and women of course.

That is why I am about to make this blog  a sort portfolio of the things I would love to AND would do – pictures, stories, social commentaries, rants, random idiocy – and it doesn’t mean it would be in a chronological order. I’m so bored with chronological.

Who isn’t?

*An image I particularly like one googling session. Courtesy of thingsweforget.blogspot.com (obviously :p).