Tuesday, November 30, 2004

Life Continues With 40

I pledge my allegiance. I give my support. I stand with pride.

For the organization that stood not only for me but for many others.

I am proud to be a patriotic youth.

Sex and Paper: Feeding the Passion

I don't know why I had this for a title.

Not because I watched Jim Caviezel in The Passion of the Christ and I have vowed to become a full-fledged heretic. Not because I watched Ricky Reyes several times in the 1980s TV hit Beauty School Plus and I decided to have my lithf* checked.

It came after my last encounter.

He was either of three: 20 years old and tall, 35+ and taller, 32 something and just right. We both did well in our own craft. His tools for writing were as deft as that he uses for his language. I was almost desperate when I met him. It has been an hour and I have not written anything. And I needed inspiration, I needed fire for my writing. And there he was in the dark corner. The rest, as the cliche goes, was history written in our memory/diary/blog.

Unlike the walls in Crazeeeee's entry, the walls there were quiet but welcoming. They were like geishas in wait. Waiting to serve, receive and succumb. And like them, I sat and waited.

And through the long journey/experience/ordeal, I thought I should write about it. Not because I liked it.

But because I have become it.

And I don't want it.

Wednesday, November 17, 2004

What makes a chatter boring?

When he has nothing else to do but chat.

reading blogs

there isn't really sense in this new blog entry.

i am reading new blog entries, even old ones. i guess i was never really fond of reading other people's diaries as i am listening to them being read out loud, as what bridget jones does to her diary. of course, it was on film and people would die reading the entries on one big flat surface...

if only these letter can dance around like ants marching in the microsoft word... why do they have them anyway?

Sunday, November 14, 2004

Me, My Face and I

This morning, I went to the bathroom window and guess what I saw - me.

One would feel bored and irked at one time to hear people talk about how they look, how others look, how they should look and how others should look.

I saw my face in the mirror and it has seen and been through weathered times. At my age of 30, I look older than I should be. My skin, unsmoothened by time and youthful impulse to prick pimples, has remained what it is today - a glimpse of the moon on earth. My nose has been through winds and now looks more like a stonehenge nose. And my....

Being an activist, I should not be preoccupying myself with these things. Because it is usually that your work is valued more than your look. And looks are just skin deep as I always tell my comrades, friends and others (hoping that I can possibly convince myself in the end.) But no, I buy tea tree oil facial washes, ointment to dry acnes, chinese herbal teas for detoxification, very expensive lotion. I have strutted in and out of body shops, sasas, mannings and watsons simply because they are the closest to my place, most convenient and with a wide array of cheaper products and hence for the least can-affords. But then no matter how I am knowledgeable of the fact that this will not work, I still buy. I have become a consuming freak in unquenchable search for the fountain of beauty (that money can buy.)

Capitalism has individualized me. Separated my work from my face.

These advertisements, these companies, this system convince me to need the things I usually won't find necessary. But I am at one point, unfortunately, convinced.

I wonder if there is one gay more who is not (or maybe who is AS) badlooking as I am. Maybe we can go out together and talk more about what lies on the face of the earth than what can be seen on my face. Or his face. Ot those products in the display window which we can use on our faces.