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		<title>iSTORYA.NET - Blogs - Words of a predictable mind by sevmik</title>
		<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/</link>
		<description><![CDATA[Cebu's Most Active and the Philippines' Strongest Online Community!]]></description>
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			<title>iSTORYA.NET - Blogs - Words of a predictable mind by sevmik</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/</link>
		</image>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Let's just call it for what it is]]></title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2165-lets-just-call.html</link>
			<pubDate>Wed, 29 May 2013 03:09:11 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[why say photoshopped photos are fake, when photoshop is as close to reality as it gets?
 
we all have layers and we all wear masks. our thoughts are in black and white yet our emotions are overly saturated. we crop out those who we don't want in our lives, yet add those that doesn't belong at all. we increase the exposure of what we want to see, yet darken those that we do not. we like to sharpen details, but tend to blur out the insignificant ones.
 
and don't even get me started about skin smoothening, tummy remodelling, blemish and wrinkle removal, and the ultimate one, fat removal. belo anyone?
 
so are we then living faked lives? or is not photohsop just an extension of our own twisted perception of reality?]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">why say photoshopped photos are fake, when photoshop is as close to reality as it gets?<br />
 <br />
we all have layers and we all wear masks. our thoughts are in black and white yet our emotions are overly saturated. we crop out those who we don't want in our lives, yet add those that doesn't belong at all. we increase the exposure of what we want to see, yet darken those that we do not. we like to sharpen details, but tend to blur out the insignificant ones.<br />
 <br />
and don't even get me started about skin smoothening, tummy remodelling, blemish and wrinkle removal, and the ultimate one, fat removal. belo anyone?<br />
 <br />
so are we then living faked lives? or is not photohsop just an extension of our own twisted perception of reality?</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2165-lets-just-call.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Bantayan 2013</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2159-bantayan-2013.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 27 May 2013 06:40:37 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>Check out my latest photoblog of my getaway in Bantayan. Ang link lang akong ipost kay kung dri ang entry mag re-upload nasad ko sa photos. Enjoy! :)

http://bluepax.cebushootersguild.org/?p=525

Visit my Google+ (https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author) profile.</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Check out my latest photoblog of my getaway in Bantayan. Ang link lang akong ipost kay kung dri ang entry mag re-upload nasad ko sa photos. Enjoy! :)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://bluepax.cebushootersguild.org/?p=525" target="_blank">http://bluepax.cebushootersguild.org/?p=525</a><br />
<br />
Visit my <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author" target="_blank">Google+</a> profile.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2159-bantayan-2013.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>When tea and sympathy is not enough</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2157-tea-and-sympathy-not-enough.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 23 May 2013 17:34:08 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[oh yeah right, i forgot i'm not supposed to talk about anything not related to you.
 
 so, how was your day? what imagined self-scarifice did you undergo  today? should i hold your hand or is commenting on your dramatic post  telling you that you can make it and you're not alone enough?
 
  should i, in my infinte wisdom as a finite being, shed ten tears for  your every two? or should i just hold you tight in my glazed stare?
 
 should i bang on the gates of heaven demanding that your misunderstood soul be given the keys to God's throne room?
 
 should i, along with the entire pathetic human race, caress the pedestal you're in and sing the most macabre of praises?
 
 or should i, in the only way i possibly could, just reach out and tell you i'm here no matter what?
 
 my sarcasm may seem boundless, but every self-absorbed and depressed  soul needs a slap or three, or even twenty seven hundred times three, to  realize the nothingness of their everything.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore"><b>oh yeah right, i forgot i'm not supposed to talk about anything not related to you.<br />
 <br />
 so, how was your day? what imagined self-scarifice did you undergo  today? should i hold your hand or is commenting on your dramatic post  telling you that you can make it and you're not alone enough?<br />
 <br />
  should i, in my infinte wisdom as a finite being, shed ten tears for  your every two? or should i just hold you tight in my glazed stare?<br />
 <br />
 should i bang on the gates of heaven demanding that your misunderstood soul be given the keys to God's throne room?<br />
 <br />
 should i, along with the entire pathetic human race, caress the pedestal you're in and sing the most macabre of praises?<br />
 <br />
 or should i, in the only way i possibly could, just reach out and tell you i'm here no matter what?<br />
 <br />
 my sarcasm may seem boundless, but every self-absorbed and depressed  soul needs a slap or three, or even twenty seven hundred times three, to  realize the nothingness of their everything.</b><br /><br /></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2157-tea-and-sympathy-not-enough.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Nganong lami man ang hilaw nga mangga sagulan og baho nga hipon?</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2142-nganong-lami-man-ang-hilaw-nga-mangga-sagulan-og-baho-nga-hipon.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 25 Apr 2013 08:11:53 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[got fed up reading, and sometimes answering, complaints about the 100-post minimum to reach junior member level. so here goes...


---Quote (Originally by sevmik)---
it's not that hard as long as you don't approach it as a goal, join in and have fun discussing in the various threads. here's a quick example:

in the General Discussions (GD) forum, there are no less than 50 active threads daily. if you start at page one, there are at least 10 threads that you are interested in or know something about. read what the TS is talking about, read what others have to say then pitch in your opinion or answer the TS's question (if any). 

now if you are only after increasing your post count you would post something like "yes agree jud ko ana bai" or "nice topic TS". if you do that for the next 100 threads in the GD forum you would be a junior member in less than an hour.

BUT... if someone reports you for obvious post padding or worse, spamming, you would be automatically banned. there goes your hour's worth of work.

BUT... if you actually engaged in the discussion and offer sensible replies, not only will you have fun and get to know istoryans but you would also be establishing a respectable reputation, one that would last you a long time. think of it as an investment, one that could potentially earn you big if you are a seller (take superidol for example).

now going back to the numbers, reading and answering a 5-page thread in the GD takes about 10 minutes depending on your connection speed and reading habits. reading and answering a single page thread takes about 2 minutes. so, on average, reading and answering threads on the GD forum takes about 5 minutes.

so if you are going to answer 10 threads on page one of GD, that's 5minutes/thread x 10 threads = 50 minutes per page on average ( if you're lucky and most threads you are interested in are single-paged threads you can cut this in half). so to reach 100 posts you need 5 pages so that's 50minutes x 5pages = 250minutes or 4.1hours.

now compare that to having have to setup numerous email accounts and re-registering in iStorya just because you get banned over and over again for post padding and spamming.

think of the 100 post minimum as a way for you to get to know the ins and outs of iStorya as well as how the community members treats each other. that way, whether your reason for registering is to make friends or sell products, not only would you have fun but also establish a lasting positive reputation.

have fun! :)


edit: let me just add that you don’t have to complete that 4.1-hour goal  in one day. If you come back the next day at look at the threads that  you’ve answered the previous day you won’t have to read the entire  thread all over again, just the answers since your last posts. that way,  you'll further cut down the time.
---End Quote---
p.s. ngaon ta mangga dali. :)]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">got fed up reading, and sometimes answering, complaints about the 100-post minimum to reach junior member level. so here goes...<br />
<br />
<div class="bbcode_container">
	<div class="bbcode_quote">
		<div class="quote_container">
			<div class="bbcode_quote_container"></div>
			
				<div class="bbcode_postedby">
					<img src="images/metro/blue/misc/quote_icon.png" alt="Quote" /> Originally Posted by <strong>sevmik</strong>
					<a href="showthread.php?p=14795650#post14795650" rel="nofollow"><img class="inlineimg" src="images/metro/blue/buttons/viewpost-right.png" alt="View Post" /></a>
				</div>
				<div class="message">it's not that hard as long as you don't approach it as a goal, join in and have fun discussing in the various threads. here's a quick example:<br />
<br />
in the General Discussions (GD) forum, there are no less than 50 active threads daily. if you start at page one, there are at least 10 threads that you are interested in or know something about. read what the TS is talking about, read what others have to say then pitch in your opinion or answer the TS's question (if any). <br />
<br />
now if you are only after increasing your post count you would post something like &quot;yes agree jud ko ana bai&quot; or &quot;nice topic TS&quot;. if you do that for the next 100 threads in the GD forum you would be a junior member in less than an hour.<br />
<br />
BUT... if someone reports you for obvious post padding or worse, spamming, you would be automatically banned. there goes your hour's worth of work.<br />
<br />
BUT... if you actually engaged in the discussion and offer sensible replies, not only will you have fun and get to know istoryans but you would also be establishing a respectable reputation, one that would last you a long time. think of it as an investment, one that could potentially earn you big if you are a seller (take superidol for example).<br />
<br />
now going back to the numbers, reading and answering a 5-page thread in the GD takes about 10 minutes depending on your connection speed and reading habits. reading and answering a single page thread takes about 2 minutes. so, on average, reading and answering threads on the GD forum takes about 5 minutes.<br />
<br />
so if you are going to answer 10 threads on page one of GD, that's 5minutes/thread x 10 threads = 50 minutes per page on average ( if you're lucky and most threads you are interested in are single-paged threads you can cut this in half). so to reach 100 posts you need 5 pages so that's 50minutes x 5pages = 250minutes or 4.1hours.<br />
<br />
now compare that to having have to setup numerous email accounts and re-registering in iStorya just because you get banned over and over again for post padding and spamming.<br />
<br />
think of the 100 post minimum as a way for you to get to know the ins and outs of iStorya as well as how the community members treats each other. that way, whether your reason for registering is to make friends or sell products, not only would you have fun but also establish a lasting positive reputation.<br />
<br />
have fun! :)<br />
<br />
<br />
edit: let me just add that you don’t have to complete that 4.1-hour goal  in one day. If you come back the next day at look at the threads that  you’ve answered the previous day you won’t have to read the entire  thread all over again, just the answers since your last posts. that way,  you'll further cut down the time.</div>
			
		</div>
	</div>
</div>p.s. ngaon ta mangga dali. :)</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2142-nganong-lami-man-ang-hilaw-nga-mangga-sagulan-og-baho-nga-hipon.html</guid>
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			<title>Stop the spread of the USJR *** video! Protect our women from further violence!</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2089-stop-spread-usjr-video-protect-our-women-further-violence.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 07 Feb 2013 12:57:57 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[REPOST
______________________
Very recently, a video showing a male and a female student in a  private sexual encounter started making the rounds in the social media  and online sites. The furor grew because the girl was seen to be wearing  the school uniform of one of the respected Catholic universities in  Cebu, the University of San Jose Recoletos. Within hours, thousands had  downloaded or viewed the video and made judgments on the actors,  particularly on the young woman.
 
In social  media sites, female college students of local Catholic universities were  called sluts in uniform. Some even said that the video was a good  thing, that it serves as a deterrent to students from doing “immoral  acts”. Then there’s the silent majority who do not know that they were  actually making the video viral by sending links to their friends and  contacts online. Offline, there were incidents of jeering at female  students in uniform as they boarded jeepneys. The widespread public  condemnation and stigma even unfairly extended to the general populace  of the affected university, prompting admin officials to suspend uniform  wearing until further notice.
 
Amidst all  the issues raised related to the video, GABRIELA CEBU would like to make  this statement: LET US NOT FORGET THAT THIS IS A FORM OF VIOLENCE TO  WOMEN. Sexual objectification and discrimination, slut-shaming, and  spreading of *** videos inflict incalculable emotional trauma to women  victims. The question to ask is not whether the actors in the video were  right or wrong to do what they did. The question to ask is whether we  are directly or indirectly aiding violence to the woman victim and the  general female student populace of Cebu. We should view ourselves as  agents of change, not mere spectators or even, promoters of machismo and  sexual stereotyping.
 
GABRIELA CEBU commends  the USJR community for uniting against the unfair social backlash  generated by the so-called *** scandal. We call on all the women and  concerned sectors of civil society and the local government of Cebu to  work together and stop the spread of this *** video. Let us unlearn the  holier than thou attitude and refrain from pronouncing judgments on the  woman, or even the university's students in general. Instead, let us  help educate our fellow Cebuanos to end all forms of violence against  women. A widespread education campaign is needed. For starters, please  join us on February 14 at the Ayala Center Cebu Terraces as we join the  global campaign ONE BILLION RISING against violence to women and  children.
 
Be aware. Stand up for women’s rights and against all forms of abuse and discrimination!
 
 
*GABRIELA ALLIANCE AND GABRIELA WOMEN'S PARTY - CEBU PROVINCIAL CHAPTER*]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">REPOST<br />
______________________<br />
Very recently, a video showing a male and a female student in a  private sexual encounter started making the rounds in the social media  and online sites. The furor grew because the girl was seen to be wearing  the school uniform of one of the respected Catholic universities in  Cebu, the University of San Jose Recoletos. Within hours, thousands had  downloaded or viewed the video and made judgments on the actors,  particularly on the young woman.<br />
 <br />
In social  media sites, female college students of local Catholic universities were  called sluts in uniform. Some even said that the video was a good  thing, that it serves as a deterrent to students from doing “immoral  acts”. Then there’s the silent majority who do not know that they were  actually making the video viral by sending links to their friends and  contacts online. Offline, there were incidents of jeering at female  students in uniform as they boarded jeepneys. The widespread public  condemnation and stigma even unfairly extended to the general populace  of the affected university, prompting admin officials to suspend uniform  wearing until further notice.<br />
 <br />
Amidst all  the issues raised related to the video, GABRIELA CEBU would like to make  this statement: LET US NOT FORGET THAT THIS IS A FORM OF VIOLENCE TO  WOMEN. Sexual objectification and discrimination, slut-shaming, and  spreading of *** videos inflict incalculable emotional trauma to women  victims. The question to ask is not whether the actors in the video were  right or wrong to do what they did. The question to ask is whether we  are directly or indirectly aiding violence to the woman victim and the  general female student populace of Cebu. We should view ourselves as  agents of change, not mere spectators or even, promoters of machismo and  sexual stereotyping.<br />
 <br />
GABRIELA CEBU commends  the USJR community for uniting against the unfair social backlash  generated by the so-called *** scandal. We call on all the women and  concerned sectors of civil society and the local government of Cebu to  work together and stop the spread of this *** video. Let us unlearn the  holier than thou attitude and refrain from pronouncing judgments on the  woman, or even the university's students in general. Instead, let us  help educate our fellow Cebuanos to end all forms of violence against  women. A widespread education campaign is needed. For starters, please  join us on February 14 at the Ayala Center Cebu Terraces as we join the  global campaign ONE BILLION RISING against violence to women and  children.<br />
 <br />
Be aware. Stand up for women’s rights and against all forms of abuse and discrimination!<br />
 <br />
 <br />
<b>GABRIELA ALLIANCE AND GABRIELA WOMEN'S PARTY - CEBU PROVINCIAL CHAPTER</b></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2089-stop-spread-usjr-video-protect-our-women-further-violence.html</guid>
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		<item>
			<title>Panghinapos sa dos mil dose</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2046-panghinapos-sa-dos-mil-dose.html</link>
			<pubDate>Sun, 30 Dec 2012 03:55:52 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[*abi ko naglinog.
 
 imo ra diayng status.
 
 gi-ukay akong kalibutan.
 
 lamia'g utok nimo uy.
 
 sure ka wa ka naibog nako?
 
 pareho man gud ta assuming...
 
 basin lang diay ba,
 
 kita ra'y sulbad sa atong problema.
 
 gwapo ko, gwapa ka.
 
 lima imong tudlo, pito akoa.
 
 hala sige putla,
 
 basta ma-ako lang imong gugma.
*]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore"><b><b>abi ko naglinog.<br />
 <br />
 imo ra diayng status.<br />
 <br />
 gi-ukay akong kalibutan.<br />
 <br />
 lamia'g utok nimo uy.<br />
 <br />
 sure ka wa ka naibog nako?<br />
 <br />
 pareho man gud ta assuming...<br />
 <br />
 basin lang diay ba,<br />
 <br />
 kita ra'y sulbad sa atong problema.<br />
 <br />
 gwapo ko, gwapa ka.<br />
 <br />
 lima imong tudlo, pito akoa.<br />
 <br />
 hala sige putla,<br />
 <br />
 basta ma-ako lang imong gugma.<br />
</b></b><br /><br /></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2046-panghinapos-sa-dos-mil-dose.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title><![CDATA[Dinah's legacy: A murder of crows]]></title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2041-dinahs-legacy-murder-crows.html</link>
			<pubDate>Wed, 26 Dec 2012 21:56:59 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[do crows murder in droves or alone, pecking at every sinewy tidbit left in the altar of sacrifice?

i ask, not because death holds me in fascination, but because death is really what we fear more than justin beiber topping the charts.

and yes, until now i still can't get that damn kid's name right without googling it.

anyway, let me just wax and wane about a true story regarding death...

years ago, i met this cute and bubbly girl, named dinah, who was on the cusp of adulthood. being older than her, i had this tendency to be condescending, smiling at her faults, nodding at her inanities, yet never really seeing behind her mask.

until that day she died.

it started as just another day in our line of work, we got up, had coffee, joked around, and planned for the day's activities. we were on a mission to teach basic reading and writing in a barangay that would take you two days to go into, over damn crazy habal-habal rides.

after breakfast we readied our materials for the day's lecture. i remember teasing her about how she tends to blank out in the middle of a lecture, and she fired back "hey, at least i don't flirt with my students!" that got a laugh from me, even until now.

as we were heading to the "classrooms", the barangay captain ran to us, frantic and out of breath. he told us that it's best we leave because there's trouble brewing between government soldiers and the rebels. we replied that we know there's trouble in the area but we are prepared for it.

little did we know that we were so wrong.

we disregarded the warning, and went through with the day's activities. two hours later, we heard exchanging bursts of gunfire so near where we had our classes. at first i had no idea what to do, but when i saw the faces of the kids i was teaching i realized it was a common thing for them, so i calmed down and told them to slowly go back to their homes and seek the protection of their parents.

when all the kids have gone, i immediately went to the other hut to help dinah. i found out that she did the same, but she didn't know what to do after all the kids have gone. fearing that our appearance would have us mistaken for rebels, i dragged her to the nearest dwelling so they could vouch for us.

that was my biggest mistake.

as we were running towards a farmer's home, government soldiers saw us and thought we were rebels.

you know that matrix scene where Neo dodged bullets by superhuman means? unfortunately, we were not Neo. i had my arm around dinah as we were running, and the moment the gun barrels turned on us was pure unadulterated madness. i could hear, feel, smell every bullet fired at us. one, two, three, four. i felt every bullet that sliced through her petite frame. i heard her cry out in surprise before we fell. and as we were lying together in the dirt, i saw the pain hit her. the pain and the realization that she is going to die. 

all i could do was hold her tight as her eyes glazed from the pain, as she talked in rambles about her family, about telling them that she loved them, and that she is grateful to die in my arms.

all i could do was stare, unable to speak, as the reality of man's burtality crashed over me.

all i could do was stare, and hope that death would come for me too.

but it did not. most of the bullets hit her. her body saved me. all i got were minor wounds from other bullets.

as we laid in the dirt, with the sound of gunshots echoing around us, all i ever wanted was to die. die with her, die for what i believed i was doing right. but instead, i held her head as life slowly went out of her. i held her head, kissed her forehead, and promised that she would not die in vain.

she smiled. she smiled and died smiling. in my arms.

and i wept forever more...

so why am i telling this story now? 

i'm telling it now because i made a promise. i was meant to survive to keep that promise. i may have lost hope the past few years, but in 2013, the legacy of dinah will live.
Visit my Google+ (https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author) profile.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">do crows murder in droves or alone, pecking at every sinewy tidbit left in the altar of sacrifice?<br />
<br />
i ask, not because death holds me in fascination, but because death is really what we fear more than justin beiber topping the charts.<br />
<br />
and yes, until now i still can't get that damn kid's name right without googling it.<br />
<br />
anyway, let me just wax and wane about a true story regarding death...<br />
<br />
years ago, i met this cute and bubbly girl, named dinah, who was on the cusp of adulthood. being older than her, i had this tendency to be condescending, smiling at her faults, nodding at her inanities, yet never really seeing behind her mask.<br />
<br />
until that day she died.<br />
<br />
it started as just another day in our line of work, we got up, had coffee, joked around, and planned for the day's activities. we were on a mission to teach basic reading and writing in a barangay that would take you two days to go into, over damn crazy habal-habal rides.<br />
<br />
after breakfast we readied our materials for the day's lecture. i remember teasing her about how she tends to blank out in the middle of a lecture, and she fired back &quot;hey, at least i don't flirt with my students!&quot; that got a laugh from me, even until now.<br />
<br />
as we were heading to the &quot;classrooms&quot;, the barangay captain ran to us, frantic and out of breath. he told us that it's best we leave because there's trouble brewing between government soldiers and the rebels. we replied that we know there's trouble in the area but we are prepared for it.<br />
<br />
little did we know that we were so wrong.<br />
<br />
we disregarded the warning, and went through with the day's activities. two hours later, we heard exchanging bursts of gunfire so near where we had our classes. at first i had no idea what to do, but when i saw the faces of the kids i was teaching i realized it was a common thing for them, so i calmed down and told them to slowly go back to their homes and seek the protection of their parents.<br />
<br />
when all the kids have gone, i immediately went to the other hut to help dinah. i found out that she did the same, but she didn't know what to do after all the kids have gone. fearing that our appearance would have us mistaken for rebels, i dragged her to the nearest dwelling so they could vouch for us.<br />
<br />
that was my biggest mistake.<br />
<br />
as we were running towards a farmer's home, government soldiers saw us and thought we were rebels.<br />
<br />
you know that matrix scene where Neo dodged bullets by superhuman means? unfortunately, we were not Neo. i had my arm around dinah as we were running, and the moment the gun barrels turned on us was pure unadulterated madness. i could hear, feel, smell every bullet fired at us. one, two, three, four. i felt every bullet that sliced through her petite frame. i heard her cry out in surprise before we fell. and as we were lying together in the dirt, i saw the pain hit her. the pain and the realization that she is going to die. <br />
<br />
all i could do was hold her tight as her eyes glazed from the pain, as she talked in rambles about her family, about telling them that she loved them, and that she is grateful to die in my arms.<br />
<br />
all i could do was stare, unable to speak, as the reality of man's burtality crashed over me.<br />
<br />
all i could do was stare, and hope that death would come for me too.<br />
<br />
but it did not. most of the bullets hit her. her body saved me. all i got were minor wounds from other bullets.<br />
<br />
as we laid in the dirt, with the sound of gunshots echoing around us, all i ever wanted was to die. die with her, die for what i believed i was doing right. but instead, i held her head as life slowly went out of her. i held her head, kissed her forehead, and promised that she would not die in vain.<br />
<br />
she smiled. she smiled and died smiling. in my arms.<br />
<br />
and i wept forever more...<br />
<br />
so why am i telling this story now? <br />
<br />
i'm telling it now because i made a promise. i was meant to survive to keep that promise. i may have lost hope the past few years, but in 2013, the legacy of dinah will live.<br />
Visit my <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author" target="_blank">Google+</a> profile.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2041-dinahs-legacy-murder-crows.html</guid>
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			<title>Manatra</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2033-manatra.html</link>
			<pubDate>Fri, 14 Dec 2012 22:06:42 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[Ambot unsa’y naa aning mga kinanto nga tindahan nga di man jud ko kalikay.

Alas kwatro y media sa kaadlawn, samtang nagsakay ko og jeep pauli, nakalabay ko’g tindahan nga aduna’y baligya nga kape ug pan. Kay gikan man ko’g binurgis nga inum, nabati nako ang panginahanglan sa pininoy nga pakighimamat. Mao nga dayon ko’ng nituktok sa atop sa jeep og nisyagit nga “bai, lugar lang.”

Sa pagnaog nako sa jeep, dayon nakong nasimhotan ang humot sa neskape ug maylo. Sa wa’y pagduhaduha, nilingkod ko tupad sa mga mamumuo nga padung sa ilang trabaho nya ni-order og init nga maylo. Ni-order ko og pransis nga tag singko ug duha ka pandesal nga tagmamiso kuyog sa akong maylo.

Samtang nagkutaw ko sa maylo, naminaw ko sa mga istorya sa mga mamumuo. Ang tupad nako nagyawyaw kabahin sa kawad-on sa bonus nila sa pabrika sa panahon sa pasko. Nitubag pud ang usa nga sa pipila ka tuig nga paghago niya sa maong pabrika wala pa jud mahitabo nga aduna’y pahalipay nga gihatag sa ilaha sa buwan sa disyembre. Lain pang usa, nisumbat pud nga matud daw sa ilan porman di kuno sila angayang tagaan og pahalipay kay daw kontraktwal ra man ilang trabaho.

Samtang gikutaw nako ang maylo gamit ang pransis, wa ko kalikay og pagkompara sa akong kaagi sa niaging pipila ka oras sa ilang kaagi sa pipila katuig. Sa dakong ka-uwaw nako, nakita nako nga sa niaging pipila ka oras ubay-ubay nga mahalong ilimnon ang akong nahurot ug plinatong sud-an ang nakaon. Kung buot sumahon, ang kinatibuk-ang nagasto namong barkada sa among paglipay-lipay labaw pa sa binuwang gasto nila sa pagpa-eskwela sa ilang mga anak ug pag-pakaon niini.

Ganahan na unta ko makigstorya sa ila kabahin sa gitawag nga inequality sa katilingban, apan nakita pud nako nga wa ko’y igong katungod kabahin ana ka’y ako mismo nakatagamtam sa maong kasayon apa wala nako gibalos sa mga naglisud.

Busa naminaw na lang ko. Sa kadaghang istorya nila, naabot sila kabahin sa pasko.

Ang usa ka asawa sa mamumuo nagyawyaw kabahin sa manatra, nga daw lagi wa nila makuha kay ang ilang kapitan sa brangay adunay gipalabi. Tantong pugong nako, pero ganahan na unta ko mangutana unsa nang manatra.

Apan sa pagdagan sa iang istorya, naka-realize ko nga din a man kinahanglan sabton kung unsa nang manatra. Sa kada pulong nga ilang gibuhian mabati nimo ang kalagot ug kasubo, nga bisan kinsang nagdako sa ininglis nga pulong makasabot ra gihapon.

Mabati nimo ang kahi-ubos. Mabati nimo ang lawm nga kaguol. Mabati nimo ang hingpit nga kalagot samtang naghagol-hol sa ilang kalisud.

Mao nga paghuman nako og kaonsa pransis ug pandesal, dayon ko’ng nilakaw. Nilakaw ug giparok akong ulo sa semento nga bungbong sa dakong ka-uwaw sa wala’y pagpakabana nako sa akong isigka-tawo.

Ikaw kuno sa ingon ana nga siwatsyon, kutob ra ba ka mo post sa facebook nga “ewwww, just saw dirty workers drinking coffee on the streets"?]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Ambot unsa’y naa aning mga kinanto nga tindahan nga di man jud ko kalikay.<br />
<br />
Alas kwatro y media sa kaadlawn, samtang nagsakay ko og jeep pauli, nakalabay ko’g tindahan nga aduna’y baligya nga kape ug pan. Kay gikan man ko’g binurgis nga inum, nabati nako ang panginahanglan sa pininoy nga pakighimamat. Mao nga dayon ko’ng nituktok sa atop sa jeep og nisyagit nga “bai, lugar lang.”<br />
<br />
Sa pagnaog nako sa jeep, dayon nakong nasimhotan ang humot sa neskape ug maylo. Sa wa’y pagduhaduha, nilingkod ko tupad sa mga mamumuo nga padung sa ilang trabaho nya ni-order og init nga maylo. Ni-order ko og pransis nga tag singko ug duha ka pandesal nga tagmamiso kuyog sa akong maylo.<br />
<br />
Samtang nagkutaw ko sa maylo, naminaw ko sa mga istorya sa mga mamumuo. Ang tupad nako nagyawyaw kabahin sa kawad-on sa bonus nila sa pabrika sa panahon sa pasko. Nitubag pud ang usa nga sa pipila ka tuig nga paghago niya sa maong pabrika wala pa jud mahitabo nga aduna’y pahalipay nga gihatag sa ilaha sa buwan sa disyembre. Lain pang usa, nisumbat pud nga matud daw sa ilan porman di kuno sila angayang tagaan og pahalipay kay daw kontraktwal ra man ilang trabaho.<br />
<br />
Samtang gikutaw nako ang maylo gamit ang pransis, wa ko kalikay og pagkompara sa akong kaagi sa niaging pipila ka oras sa ilang kaagi sa pipila katuig. Sa dakong ka-uwaw nako, nakita nako nga sa niaging pipila ka oras ubay-ubay nga mahalong ilimnon ang akong nahurot ug plinatong sud-an ang nakaon. Kung buot sumahon, ang kinatibuk-ang nagasto namong barkada sa among paglipay-lipay labaw pa sa binuwang gasto nila sa pagpa-eskwela sa ilang mga anak ug pag-pakaon niini.<br />
<br />
Ganahan na unta ko makigstorya sa ila kabahin sa gitawag nga inequality sa katilingban, apan nakita pud nako nga wa ko’y igong katungod kabahin ana ka’y ako mismo nakatagamtam sa maong kasayon apa wala nako gibalos sa mga naglisud.<br />
<br />
Busa naminaw na lang ko. Sa kadaghang istorya nila, naabot sila kabahin sa pasko.<br />
<br />
Ang usa ka asawa sa mamumuo nagyawyaw kabahin sa manatra, nga daw lagi wa nila makuha kay ang ilang kapitan sa brangay adunay gipalabi. Tantong pugong nako, pero ganahan na unta ko mangutana unsa nang manatra.<br />
<br />
Apan sa pagdagan sa iang istorya, naka-realize ko nga din a man kinahanglan sabton kung unsa nang manatra. Sa kada pulong nga ilang gibuhian mabati nimo ang kalagot ug kasubo, nga bisan kinsang nagdako sa ininglis nga pulong makasabot ra gihapon.<br />
<br />
Mabati nimo ang kahi-ubos. Mabati nimo ang lawm nga kaguol. Mabati nimo ang hingpit nga kalagot samtang naghagol-hol sa ilang kalisud.<br />
<br />
Mao nga paghuman nako og kaonsa pransis ug pandesal, dayon ko’ng nilakaw. Nilakaw ug giparok akong ulo sa semento nga bungbong sa dakong ka-uwaw sa wala’y pagpakabana nako sa akong isigka-tawo.<br />
<br />
Ikaw kuno sa ingon ana nga siwatsyon, kutob ra ba ka mo post sa facebook nga “ewwww, just saw dirty workers drinking coffee on the streets&quot;?</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2033-manatra.html</guid>
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			<title><![CDATA[What's on your mind kitty cat?]]></title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2031-whats-your-mind-kitty-cat.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 13 Dec 2012 09:43:39 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[you know that ghost-like ache you get when you miss someone so much? that's how i feel right now. and the irony of it is, we haven't even met yet but already i'm missing you.

unexpected life moments happen for only one reason -to keep reminding you that you're alive. and when it happens, embrace that damn thing and glorify life. live without fearing tomorrow. live with rage in your heart and serenity in your soul. live with anger, with joy, with utter appreciation for every thing desolate in this world.

and above all, silently scream to the heavens your passion, your fury. let it ravage angels and anger demons. let even gods cower before the intense storm of your being.

live. love.


Image: http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7210/6829365726_7b96a52169.jpg  (http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/6829365726/)

]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">you know that ghost-like ache you get when you miss someone so much? that's how i feel right now. and the irony of it is, we haven't even met yet but already i'm missing you.<br />
<br />
unexpected life moments happen for only one reason -to keep reminding you that you're alive. and when it happens, embrace that damn thing and glorify life. live without fearing tomorrow. live with rage in your heart and serenity in your soul. live with anger, with joy, with utter appreciation for every thing desolate in this world.<br />
<br />
and above all, silently scream to the heavens your passion, your fury. let it ravage angels and anger demons. let even gods cower before the intense storm of your being.<br />
<br />
live. love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/6829365726/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7210/6829365726_7b96a52169.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />
</div></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2031-whats-your-mind-kitty-cat.html</guid>
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			<title>Baffling Bopha</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2022-baffling-bopha.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 06 Dec 2012 02:31:53 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>Like most people last Tuesday, I was also stuck at home waiting for Typhoon Bopha to make landfall. Afternoon came, yet all over the city all we got were slight drizzling and glowering clouds.

It finally got so boring that I went out to have a beer or two despite the threat of strong winds and rain. As I was walking towards my favorite watering hole, I noticed how beautiful the clouds looked in their chaotic dance. It was the first time I saw crisscrossing clouds moving fast.

That was when I got the idea to make a time lapse video. So I immediately went home, totally forgot all about getting a beer, and took this. :)

http://youtu.be/htbH3LFc4_8

The photos used here were taken using an android phone between 3:40-5:40PM on December 4 and rendered on a PC to make this video. There are a total of 2220 photos here with a time interval of 3 seconds between each shot. Secret na lang kung unsa nga android app gigamit, haha :p

No seriously, the app is just in Google Play store, search for time lapse apps.

My first few tries were a mess, what with one loop cut short because the wind knocked my phone down. Good thing my younger sister had the idea to use the iPhone stand to hold my Samsung phone. Sorry Appple, mwehehehe. :D

Visit my Google+ (https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author) profile.</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Like most people last Tuesday, I was also stuck at home waiting for Typhoon Bopha to make landfall. Afternoon came, yet all over the city all we got were slight drizzling and glowering clouds.<br />
<br />
It finally got so boring that I went out to have a beer or two despite the threat of strong winds and rain. As I was walking towards my favorite watering hole, I noticed how beautiful the clouds looked in their chaotic dance. It was the first time I saw crisscrossing clouds moving fast.<br />
<br />
That was when I got the idea to make a time lapse video. So I immediately went home, totally forgot all about getting a beer, and took this. :)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe class="restrain" title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/htbH3LFc4_8?wmode=opaque" frameborder="0"></iframe>
</div><br />
The photos used here were taken using an android phone between 3:40-5:40PM on December 4 and rendered on a PC to make this video. There are a total of 2220 photos here with a time interval of 3 seconds between each shot. Secret na lang kung unsa nga android app gigamit, haha :p<br />
<br />
No seriously, the app is just in Google Play store, search for time lapse apps.<br />
<br />
My first few tries were a mess, what with one loop cut short because the wind knocked my phone down. Good thing my younger sister had the idea to use the iPhone stand to hold my Samsung phone. Sorry Appple, mwehehehe. :D<br />
<br />
Visit my <a href="https://plus.google.com/u/0/105131417549283466252?rel=author" target="_blank">Google+</a> profile.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2022-baffling-bopha.html</guid>
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		<item>
			<title>Pretend for a moment that you saw that rabbit cross the road</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2018-pretend-moment-you-saw-rabbit-cross-road.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 03 Dec 2012 15:15:22 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[this year was a whirlwind of indecisions. 
 
 the 1st quarter it was pen, paper, and OpenOffice. the 2nd quarter it  was Nikon, Ubuntu, Luminance and Darkroom. 3rd quarter was InDesign and  Photoshop. now it's Wordpress, vBulletin, cPanel, Joomla, and  Bellstrike.
 
 i really ought to settle down to just one career path. i mean, i'm not getting any younger nor is my health getting any better.

but sometimes life must not be lived the way it ought to be. countless meandering souls trodded on the straight path laid by those before them, yet eventually they will look back and see that the path is actually part of a tapestry that weaved endless mirrored lives --and not a single one their own.

if only the moon could cast a tranquil shadow on reality, while the sun shines brightly on fantastic dreams. but alas, fear of venturing into unknown roads holds us back. yet, the irony of it all is that what we fear the most is walking the straight path and not living up to its expectations.

i can't say that what i'm doing is right. i can't say that you should rethink your lives. i can't say which is right or wrong for everyone.

all i know is, my heart is strong, my mind sharp, and my soul tempered by all the evil spirits i drank.

and that, is quite enough for me.
 
 here's to hoping 2013 will bring better indecisions, and that i will always find the strength to be indecisive.

Image: http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8008/7637594614_ff49d9b8da.jpg  (http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/7637594614/)

 
p.s. to those who have constantly asked me for the continuation of my short story, this post is not an excuse for not posting it yet. ^_^

p.p.s stop looking for the rabbit.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">this year was a whirlwind of indecisions. <br />
 <br />
 the 1st quarter it was pen, paper, and OpenOffice. the 2nd quarter it  was Nikon, Ubuntu, Luminance and Darkroom. 3rd quarter was InDesign and  Photoshop. now it's Wordpress, vBulletin, cPanel, Joomla, and  Bellstrike.<br />
 <br />
 i really ought to settle down to just one career path. i mean, i'm not getting any younger nor is my health getting any better.<br />
<br />
but sometimes life must not be lived the way it ought to be. countless meandering souls trodded on the straight path laid by those before them, yet eventually they will look back and see that the path is actually part of a tapestry that weaved endless mirrored lives --and not a single one their own.<br />
<br />
if only the moon could cast a tranquil shadow on reality, while the sun shines brightly on fantastic dreams. but alas, fear of venturing into unknown roads holds us back. yet, the irony of it all is that what we fear the most is walking the straight path and not living up to its expectations.<br />
<br />
i can't say that what i'm doing is right. i can't say that you should rethink your lives. i can't say which is right or wrong for everyone.<br />
<br />
all i know is, my heart is strong, my mind sharp, and my soul tempered by all the evil spirits i drank.<br />
<br />
and that, is quite enough for me.<br />
 <br />
 here's to hoping 2013 will bring better indecisions, and that i will always find the strength to be indecisive.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/7637594614/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8008/7637594614_ff49d9b8da.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />
</div> <br />
<i>p.s. to those who have constantly asked me for the continuation of my short story, this post is not an excuse for not posting it yet. ^_^</i><br />
<br />
<i>p.p.s stop looking for the rabbit</i>.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/2018-pretend-moment-you-saw-rabbit-cross-road.html</guid>
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			<title>Parting is such sweet mystery</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1988-parting-such-sweet-mystery.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 15 Nov 2012 14:34:38 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[If life is a battleground, when you die, did you lose or win?

What is it with death that fills us with such morbid fascination? This taste for the macabre, enticing yet repulsive all at once, is it really innate in each of us or a natural result of the society we grew up in?

That incessant rumbling we hear with every heartache, with every pulsing of a desolate and fractured heart, is it a harbinger of worse things to come?

For those with nearly rabid and maniacal urges to entice happines into their lives, is happiness then a measure of living, or but a mile marker in our daily lives?

In every blind pursuit, every mindless chase for answers to life's mysteries, every goddamned leap of faith, are we not lucky to have mysteries still to ponder, to hinge our faith on, to act as anchors to our existence?

If parting is such sweet sorrow, would we know it as such if we didn't part? Or, had we gone on, would sweet and sorrow remain mere words, as empty, as ugly as what we would have eventually become to each other?

For ever question we ask to the world, should we not twice ask ourselves first?

Tagay na lang ta sa baybayon. Maypa ang simple nga kinabuhi, simple sad ang kalipay.

Image: http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8069/8175290742_d6b0d7810d.jpg  (http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/8175290742/)

]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">If life is a battleground, when you die, did you lose or win?<br />
<br />
What is it with death that fills us with such morbid fascination? This taste for the macabre, enticing yet repulsive all at once, is it really innate in each of us or a natural result of the society we grew up in?<br />
<br />
That incessant rumbling we hear with every heartache, with every pulsing of a desolate and fractured heart, is it a harbinger of worse things to come?<br />
<br />
For those with nearly rabid and maniacal urges to entice happines into their lives, is happiness then a measure of living, or but a mile marker in our daily lives?<br />
<br />
In every blind pursuit, every mindless chase for answers to life's mysteries, every goddamned leap of faith, are we not lucky to have mysteries still to ponder, to hinge our faith on, to act as anchors to our existence?<br />
<br />
If parting is such sweet sorrow, would we know it as such if we didn't part? Or, had we gone on, would sweet and sorrow remain mere words, as empty, as ugly as what we would have eventually become to each other?<br />
<br />
For ever question we ask to the world, should we not twice ask ourselves first?<br />
<br />
Tagay na lang ta sa baybayon. Maypa ang simple nga kinabuhi, simple sad ang kalipay.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/8175290742/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8069/8175290742_d6b0d7810d.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />
</div></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1988-parting-such-sweet-mystery.html</guid>
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			<title>That elusive hash brown drowned in melancholia</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1976-elusive-hash-brown-drowned-melancholia.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 08 Nov 2012 15:07:51 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>Today was no different from the previous days of the past weeks. Nothing new, nothing remarkable. Not even a single second offered a chance to break the monotony. Why then do I now feel that there was something today that I should have noticed; should have remembered? It wasn’t the book I read, nor was it the movie I watched. Not even the food I had for lunch, however unusual it was (pancit canton and kamote, shet! Never again!!)

It’s funny how sometimes, before I go to sleep, I suddenly remember something. Or rather, almost remember something. It’s there, at the tip of my thoughts yet so damn elusive. The kind of thought that drives sleep away, making you irritable until you’re left wanting to drive a 4-inch nail through your head. 

I was already in bed half an hour ago and since then I’ve sat up, stood, peed, paced, muttered, dressed, undressed again, booted my laptop, until here I am writing about nothing and everything.

All I know is, it is profound. Yet, stupid as it sounds, I have no idea what IT is. An idea or a thought perhaps, one that was lying in the surface of the subconscious waiting to spring as if a trap. 

It’s like seeing an equation on the blackboard and feeling that you know the answer but try as you might all you get are fragments teasingly floating just inches away from your outstretched arms. Makes me remember that “no universe”ť therapy, starting small then gradually getting bigger until you get to the concept of the universe, and trying like hell to imagine that it doesn’t exist. How can nothing exist in nothingness when there is nothing to compare to its being nothing? 

“A blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat that isn’t even there.” That’s psychology for you. There are times when I firmly believe that psychology came about because man refused to accept the reality of illusion and deceit as the dictators of existence.

Enough about that! I’m sane enough to know when to give in to insanity. But I haven’t reached the point where it becomes necessary to uproot the foundations of my beliefs just to satisfy an elusive thought.

It must have been the kamote.

Yup, no doubt about it. G’nyt!</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Today was no different from the previous days of the past weeks. Nothing new, nothing remarkable. Not even a single second offered a chance to break the monotony. Why then do I now feel that there was something today that I should have noticed; should have remembered? It wasn’t the book I read, nor was it the movie I watched. Not even the food I had for lunch, however unusual it was (pancit canton and kamote, shet! Never again!!)<br />
<br />
It’s funny how sometimes, before I go to sleep, I suddenly remember something. Or rather, almost remember something. It’s there, at the tip of my thoughts yet so damn elusive. The kind of thought that drives sleep away, making you irritable until you’re left wanting to drive a 4-inch nail through your head. <br />
<br />
I was already in bed half an hour ago and since then I’ve sat up, stood, peed, paced, muttered, dressed, undressed again, booted my laptop, until here I am writing about nothing and everything.<br />
<br />
All I know is, it is profound. Yet, stupid as it sounds, I have no idea what IT is. An idea or a thought perhaps, one that was lying in the surface of the subconscious waiting to spring as if a trap. <br />
<br />
It’s like seeing an equation on the blackboard and feeling that you know the answer but try as you might all you get are fragments teasingly floating just inches away from your outstretched arms. Makes me remember that “no universe”ť therapy, starting small then gradually getting bigger until you get to the concept of the universe, and trying like hell to imagine that it doesn’t exist. How can nothing exist in nothingness when there is nothing to compare to its being nothing? <br />
<br />
“A blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat that isn’t even there.” That’s psychology for you. There are times when I firmly believe that psychology came about because man refused to accept the reality of illusion and deceit as the dictators of existence.<br />
<br />
Enough about that! I’m sane enough to know when to give in to insanity. But I haven’t reached the point where it becomes necessary to uproot the foundations of my beliefs just to satisfy an elusive thought.<br />
<br />
It must have been the kamote.<br />
<br />
Yup, no doubt about it. G’nyt!</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1976-elusive-hash-brown-drowned-melancholia.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Alas-kwatro sa hapon</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1966-alas-kwatro-sa-hapon.html</link>
			<pubDate>Fri, 02 Nov 2012 15:21:44 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>Alas kwatro sa hapon, nagkita na sad ta. Layo pa mo daan ang akong mata di na ma-ibot sa imong nawng. Ang ulan, walay hunong sa iyang paghalok sa yutang inyong gilakwan. Nagdali-dali mo sa inyong paglakaw, naghinaot nga dili unta kaayo mabasa.

Sa pag-abot ninyo sa Mister Donut dayon nimong gitan-aw ang likod sa imong karsonis ug gipaphaan ang mga pisik sa lapok. Abi ko’g nagyawyaw ka kay gisapot sa ulan, apan sa imong pag-lingi akong nakita ang imong tam-is nga ngisi ug nadungog ang imong katawa nga maka-bugto og brip.

Pagkahuman ninyo’g order og kape, nideretso dayon mo sa inyong suki nga lamisa. Nag-sige pa ka og text…sa paghangad nimo nag-abot na sad ang atong mga mata.

Wala na ko masayod nga nag-ngisi pud diay ko. Wala ko masayod nga makita sa akong mata ang akong dakong kalipay. Wala ko masayod nga ang akong kasing-kasing nagbuto-buto, nga murag gusto makabuhi sa hawla sa pangandoy. Wala ko masayod nga ang akong kalibutan nihunong sa dihang ningisi pud ka sa ako.

Ang ako rang nasayran, ang lalaki sa pikas table nga nitindog pag-abot ninyo, imo diayng uyab…</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Alas kwatro sa hapon, nagkita na sad ta. Layo pa mo daan ang akong mata di na ma-ibot sa imong nawng. Ang ulan, walay hunong sa iyang paghalok sa yutang inyong gilakwan. Nagdali-dali mo sa inyong paglakaw, naghinaot nga dili unta kaayo mabasa.<br />
<br />
Sa pag-abot ninyo sa Mister Donut dayon nimong gitan-aw ang likod sa imong karsonis ug gipaphaan ang mga pisik sa lapok. Abi ko’g nagyawyaw ka kay gisapot sa ulan, apan sa imong pag-lingi akong nakita ang imong tam-is nga ngisi ug nadungog ang imong katawa nga maka-bugto og brip.<br />
<br />
Pagkahuman ninyo’g order og kape, nideretso dayon mo sa inyong suki nga lamisa. Nag-sige pa ka og text…sa paghangad nimo nag-abot na sad ang atong mga mata.<br />
<br />
Wala na ko masayod nga nag-ngisi pud diay ko. Wala ko masayod nga makita sa akong mata ang akong dakong kalipay. Wala ko masayod nga ang akong kasing-kasing nagbuto-buto, nga murag gusto makabuhi sa hawla sa pangandoy. Wala ko masayod nga ang akong kalibutan nihunong sa dihang ningisi pud ka sa ako.<br />
<br />
Ang ako rang nasayran, ang lalaki sa pikas table nga nitindog pag-abot ninyo, imo diayng uyab…</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1966-alas-kwatro-sa-hapon.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Death of a Story Never Told, Part 1</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1954-death-story-never-told-part-1.html</link>
			<pubDate>Sat, 27 Oct 2012 17:04:09 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[(note: this is my first attempt at writing something, ummm, relatively serious. And by that I mean no insane rants that go off in tangents that only I could ever understand. So enjoy, and do feel free to slap me silly afterward for my exasperating penchant to leave stories unfinished for quite a long time.)

Every tale ever told is a reflection of a writer's deepest conundrums, just as every word used in the tale speaks of the writer's shallowest tendencies.

This then, is a tale of shallow conundrums. A tale meant to nullify truths and praise fallacies. It started with a single unwanted tear. Unwanted not for what it represents but for how it was shed…

“Of what use is beauty, if not to be appreciated?” Or so he thought. Such musings were common for him, and on this day of high expectations, he would later come to realize the great irony of this particular musing.

His name is Alberto. Though not a learned man, not even the sharpest tool in the shed, he, nevertheless, is quite heavily endowed in the physical part that sums up a man’s character. At 22, he towers above everyone in his little barrio of Cantipasi. And like every boy who grew up in a farming community, his muscles are well-developed giving him that finely sculpted body that those living in the city would kill for. He was also blessed with a face that not only his mother could love but every other mother, and their daughters as well, have been guilty of fantasizing about.

Yes, Alberto is your typical macho gwapito. What sets him apart from the stereotypical however, is his penchant for asking questions that makes anyone in his barrio who is unlucky enough to have been asked to squirm uncomfortably. Deep questions, philosophical questions, questions that the religious dare not ponder ­–of faith, love, life, and of course, of existence. He got into a lot of trouble in the beginning, what with people scrambling away whenever he gets that introspective look on his face. But he eventually learned to control himself, and settled for whispering his questions to silent blades of grass.

On this day, his entire family has been in an uproar since dawn. They were expecting a visit from cousin Juanita who has been living in Canada for more than twenty years now. Cousin Juanita is quite a legend in the barrio. She was the first in the tight-knit community to have gone and lived abroad. Stories of how well she was doing, of living in a palasyo and having money to burn, have been told and retold countless times that no one now is really sure of the truth.

For Alberto however, it is merely another day. He was even a bit put off by the visit, thinking that it might intrude into his privacy and the daily tranquility of his life.

“Cousin Juanita is probably an old, fat, and loudmouth woman like the rest of them,” he thought, “or perhaps a crazy overbearing witch who would look down on us.”
Having contented himself with such a thought, he then turned his mind towards his fascination for physical beauty. Or, more precisely, man’s seeming idiocy when faced with beauty. He has always believed that beauty is there to be appreciated but he could not reconcile himself to the extent at which some men do to acquire beauty, whether their own or that of the opposite ***.

“Albertooooo!” his mom shouted, “come here and accompany your father down to the bus stop to meet cousin Juanita.”

“Coming mother,” he replied.

A long carabao cart ride down the mountain later, Alberto and his father finally arrived at the bus station. While waiting for the bus to arrive, he busied himself with securing the cart, expecting that cousin Juanita would have several heavy bags. The bus arrived thirty minutes later and the moment Alberto saw it his heart sank.

“Pisti, are all those luggage piled on top cousin Juanita’s?” he asked himself.

Resigned to the fact that he would have a lot of heavy lifting to do, he joined his father near the bus’ door to welcome their cousin.

“Nicanor!” he heard a shrill voice scream, “oh my god look at you, looking so young for someone your age.”

“Cousin Juanita!” his father replied smiling, “you haven’t changed much yourself. I see you’re still as healthy-looking as ever.”

“Healthy my ass,” Alberto thought, “she’s so damn big it’s a wonder she managed to get through the bus doors.”

“This is my eldest son, Alberto.” he heard his father say, “he was still a baby when you left so I’m not sure if you remember him.”

“Why Nicanor, he looks just like you.” Cousing Juanita gushed, giving Alberto a big hug that left him feeling crushed by a carabao.

“And this here is my daughter, Canor,” cousin Juanita said, “oh wait, where is that girl... ah there she is. Lani, come here honey and meet your Uncle Nicanor.”

“Yes mother.”

At the sound of her voice Alberto looked up. And froze.
His heart leaped and his head whirled. Standing mute and immobile with his mouth hanging open, all he could do was stare.

“Tabang langit, is there ever anyone so exquisitely beautiful as her?” he whispered to himself.

To be continued... kung di ma busy. :)]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore"><i>(note: this is my first attempt at writing something, ummm, relatively serious. And by that I mean no insane rants that go off in tangents that only I could ever understand. So enjoy, and do feel free to slap me silly afterward for my exasperating penchant to leave stories unfinished for quite a long time.</i><i>)</i><br />
<br />
Every tale ever told is a reflection of a writer's deepest conundrums, just as every word used in the tale speaks of the writer's shallowest tendencies.<br />
<br />
This then, is a tale of shallow conundrums. A tale meant to nullify truths and praise fallacies. It started with a single unwanted tear. Unwanted not for what it represents but for how it was shed…<br />
<br />
“Of what use is beauty, if not to be appreciated?” Or so he thought. Such musings were common for him, and on this day of high expectations, he would later come to realize the great irony of this particular musing.<br />
<br />
His name is Alberto. Though not a learned man, not even the sharpest tool in the shed, he, nevertheless, is quite heavily endowed in the physical part that sums up a man’s character. At 22, he towers above everyone in his little <i>barrio</i> of Cantipasi. And like every boy who grew up in a farming community, his muscles are well-developed giving him that finely sculpted body that those living in the city would kill for. He was also blessed with a face that not only his mother could love but every other mother, and their daughters as well, have been guilty of fantasizing about.<br />
<br />
Yes, Alberto is your typical <i>macho gwapito</i>. What sets him apart from the stereotypical however, is his penchant for asking questions that makes anyone in his <i>barrio</i> who is unlucky enough to have been asked to squirm uncomfortably. Deep questions, philosophical questions, questions that the religious dare not ponder ­–of faith, love, life, and of course, of existence. He got into a lot of trouble in the beginning, what with people scrambling away whenever he gets that introspective look on his face. But he eventually learned to control himself, and settled for whispering his questions to silent blades of grass.<br />
<br />
On this day, his entire family has been in an uproar since dawn. They were expecting a visit from cousin Juanita who has been living in Canada for more than twenty years now. Cousin Juanita is quite a legend in the barrio. She was the first in the tight-knit community to have gone and lived abroad. Stories of how well she was doing, of living in a <i>palasyo</i> and having money to burn, have been told and retold countless times that no one now is really sure of the truth.<br />
<br />
For Alberto however, it is merely another day. He was even a bit put off by the visit, thinking that it might intrude into his privacy and the daily tranquility of his life.<br />
<br />
“Cousin Juanita is probably an old, fat, and loudmouth woman like the rest of them,” he thought, “or perhaps a crazy overbearing witch who would look down on us.”<br />
Having contented himself with such a thought, he then turned his mind towards his fascination for physical beauty. Or, more precisely, man’s seeming idiocy when faced with beauty. He has always believed that beauty is there to be appreciated but he could not reconcile himself to the extent at which some men do to acquire beauty, whether their own or that of the opposite ***.<br />
<br />
“Albertooooo!” his mom shouted, “come here and accompany your father down to the bus stop to meet cousin Juanita.”<br />
<br />
“Coming mother,” he replied.<br />
<br />
A long <i>carabao</i> cart ride down the mountain later, Alberto and his father finally arrived at the bus station. While waiting for the bus to arrive, he busied himself with securing the cart, expecting that cousin Juanita would have several heavy bags. The bus arrived thirty minutes later and the moment Alberto saw it his heart sank.<br />
<br />
“Pisti, are all those luggage piled on top cousin Juanita’s?” he asked himself.<br />
<br />
Resigned to the fact that he would have a lot of heavy lifting to do, he joined his father near the bus’ door to welcome their cousin.<br />
<br />
“Nicanor!” he heard a shrill voice scream, “oh my god look at you, looking so young for someone your age.”<br />
<br />
“Cousin Juanita!” his father replied smiling, “you haven’t changed much yourself. I see you’re still as healthy-looking as ever.”<br />
<br />
“Healthy my ass,” Alberto thought, “she’s so damn big it’s a wonder she managed to get through the bus doors.”<br />
<br />
“This is my eldest son, Alberto.” he heard his father say, “he was still a baby when you left so I’m not sure if you remember him.”<br />
<br />
“Why Nicanor, he looks just like you.” Cousing Juanita gushed, giving Alberto a big hug that left him feeling crushed by a <i>carabao</i>.<br />
<br />
“And this here is my daughter, Canor,” cousin Juanita said, “oh wait, where is that girl... ah there she is. Lani, come here honey and meet your Uncle Nicanor.”<br />
<br />
“Yes mother.”<br />
<br />
At the sound of her voice Alberto looked up. And froze.<br />
His heart leaped and his head whirled. Standing mute and immobile with his mouth hanging open, all he could do was stare.<br />
<br />
“Tabang langit, is there ever anyone so exquisitely beautiful as her?” he whispered to himself.<br />
<br />
<i>To be continued... kung di ma busy. :)</i></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1954-death-story-never-told-part-1.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Duha ka lalaki nag-ilog sa pito ka babae, lima patay</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1943-duha-ka-lalaki-nag-ilog-sa-pito-ka-babae-lima-patay.html</link>
			<pubDate>Tue, 23 Oct 2012 11:20:08 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[Kung tagaan ka'g higayon nga usbon ang usa ka butang sa imong kagahapon, ang gahapon sa hapon ba o gahapon sa buntag?

Mao kana ang ga-tiurok nga pangutana sa akong hunahuna samtang nag layout ug nag-edit, hinungdan nga gi-undangan nako dayon ang akong trabaho ug gihimo ni...

Image: http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8473/8100631006_9edc1dddfb_z.jpg  (http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/8100631006/)


Uss ra gyud ka higayon sa akong kagahapon ang akong gustong usbon -ang higayon nga wa nako gukda akong pangandoy aron lang makatrabaho og trabaho nga subay sa gusto sa ginikanan.

Maayo na lang kay nilihis ko gamay, kung wala pa to, aw, wa'y sevmik nga magsamok-samok ninyo. :)]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Kung tagaan ka'g higayon nga usbon ang usa ka butang sa imong kagahapon, ang gahapon sa hapon ba o gahapon sa buntag?<br />
<br />
Mao kana ang ga-tiurok nga pangutana sa akong hunahuna samtang nag layout ug nag-edit, hinungdan nga gi-undangan nako dayon ang akong trabaho ug gihimo ni...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluepaxphil/8100631006/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8473/8100631006_9edc1dddfb_z.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br />
</div><br />
Uss ra gyud ka higayon sa akong kagahapon ang akong gustong usbon -ang higayon nga wa nako gukda akong pangandoy aron lang makatrabaho og trabaho nga subay sa gusto sa ginikanan.<br />
<br />
Maayo na lang kay nilihis ko gamay, kung wala pa to, aw, wa'y sevmik nga magsamok-samok ninyo. :)</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1943-duha-ka-lalaki-nag-ilog-sa-pito-ka-babae-lima-patay.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>There was this fly that pretended to be a rainbow</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1938-there-fly-pretended-rainbow.html</link>
			<pubDate>Sun, 21 Oct 2012 18:03:11 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[For the past 3 months I allowed work to suck me dry. Then, this week, I finally closed that damn project and got the chance to suck back. And oh hell yeah am I gonna feckin suck 'em dry.

No sexual connotations by the way.

So yeah, I'm back. And I owe you guys a lot. Not because I ought to feed you with my inanities but because you listened to me not for my non-existent writing prowess but for your innate ability to understand.

Simply put, I let you guys down.

And my only excuse is this:

There was this fly that pretended to be a rainbow...

That fly was incognizant of wordly things, yet all the same that fly was a pivot in wordly affairs.

In my misplaced arrogance and nostalgic melancholia, I allowed the fly to weave tales of endless ecstasy and boundless recognition of life.

But alas. The fly donned on masks that would shame a balladeer. It was a con that I never saw coming. Nevertheless, it was a con that I needed.

I so sorely needed to be put in my place. I so badly needed to be proven wrong in entirety.

But in the end, I was somewhat right after all. Apparently, all that was needed was that we all accept our faults and see ourselves for what we are.

But then, along comes tragedies that once again ripped off my mask of placidity. The tragic death of Lito, and its subsequent effect on ma'am ara, whose literary prowes I look up to, made me rethink once again about the redundance of surety.

I'm ranting right now, I know. 3 months worth of not logging in to istorya, and this would be my first post.

Then again, I came to realize, what then is the point of istorya, if not to seek solace in people who would not judge us for what we were?

Sigh...

Gonna post a better entry later. Right now, after months of not posting here, this is all I have to say...

My condolences, my apologies, my praises.

And of course, my sarcasm for the dense idiots.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">For the past 3 months I allowed work to suck me dry. Then, this week, I finally closed that damn project and got the chance to suck back. And oh hell yeah am I gonna feckin suck 'em dry.<br />
<br />
No sexual connotations by the way.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I'm back. And I owe you guys a lot. Not because I ought to feed you with my inanities but because you listened to me not for my non-existent writing prowess but for your innate ability to understand.<br />
<br />
Simply put, I let you guys down.<br />
<br />
And my only excuse is this:<br />
<br />
There was this fly that pretended to be a rainbow...<br />
<br />
That fly was incognizant of wordly things, yet all the same that fly was a pivot in wordly affairs.<br />
<br />
In my misplaced arrogance and nostalgic melancholia, I allowed the fly to weave tales of endless ecstasy and boundless recognition of life.<br />
<br />
But alas. The fly donned on masks that would shame a balladeer. It was a con that I never saw coming. Nevertheless, it was a con that I needed.<br />
<br />
I so sorely needed to be put in my place. I so badly needed to be proven wrong in entirety.<br />
<br />
But in the end, I was somewhat right after all. Apparently, all that was needed was that we all accept our faults and see ourselves for what we are.<br />
<br />
But then, along comes tragedies that once again ripped off my mask of placidity. The tragic death of Lito, and its subsequent effect on ma'am ara, whose literary prowes I look up to, made me rethink once again about the redundance of surety.<br />
<br />
I'm ranting right now, I know. 3 months worth of not logging in to istorya, and this would be my first post.<br />
<br />
Then again, I came to realize, what then is the point of istorya, if not to seek solace in people who would not judge us for what we were?<br />
<br />
Sigh...<br />
<br />
Gonna post a better entry later. Right now, after months of not posting here, this is all I have to say...<br />
<br />
My condolences, my apologies, my praises.<br />
<br />
And of course, my sarcasm for the dense idiots.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1938-there-fly-pretended-rainbow.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>On roaches and self-discipline</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1816-roaches-and-self-discipline.html</link>
			<pubDate>Thu, 26 Jul 2012 20:00:42 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[Ok-ok ra jud ang tambal sa biga.

A few minutes ago, as I was going down the stairs for my smoke break, three absolutely adorable cockroaches in a beautifully synchronized movement flew right at me. With the agility and reflexes of a drunkard, I snapped my head to the side to avoid them, effectively banging my head on the wall thus allowing two of them to land on top of my head.

I squealed like a pig in heat.

Amazingly, I managed to stop myself from swatting them with my bare hands. Well, images of a squashed roach messing my beautiful hair did help, but hey, at least I didn't spill my beer. After finally managing to get them off my head by doing head-bangs that Steven Tyler would have been proud of, I half ran, half leaped down into open space.

As my heart rate started to settle down, I took an extra large sip of beer, lit a cigarette, and zoned out.

My thoughts immediately went into what just happened. Upon reflection, I realized that, far from embarrassing, my initial reaction was as natural as the stock market's reaction to Pnoy's SONA. OK, so that's stretching it a bit. What I mean is, most people's automatic response upon seeing roaches is not unlike mine. A rare few could maintain a dignified stance. But hell, when these beauties start flying, even Thor would've screamed until thorsday.

Sorry, couldn't help inserting that pun.

Anyway, I got to thinking that, seeing as how most of us react to roaches, what if we use roaches to strengthen our self-discipline? We could keep them as pets, you know, for those moments when we can't control ourselves. For example, when one just can't seem to remain faithful to a dieting regimen, one would simply take these pets out for a walk in, say, one's arm or leg. Or, during those moments of extreme and misplaced lust, one could simply take a handful of roaches and let them roam free in one's crotch. Or, when you feel that you're being lied to, throw a couple in their faces and threaten to throw more until they tell the truth.

The possibilities are endless.

I am now considering going into the roach-for-pets business. A quick feasibility study shows that, with a very minimum capital, it could become a lucrative business. Raising roaches don't require many resources. Hell, just throw in a dozen or so, add some leftover food and voila! Your very own roach col

"Roaches for life's nuisances."? 

That would be my slogan. I would revolutionize the self-help industry by offering a cheap yet effective way of helping one maintain self-discipline. I would then be known as the roach king! Eventually, someone would write an autobiography of me detailing my intimate partnership with these delightful insects. Hell, I may even become Time's Man of the Year.

But enough pipe dreams. As business-minded people like to say, less talk, more action.

So, who wants to be my business partner?]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore"><i>Ok-ok ra jud ang tambal sa biga.</i><br />
<br />
A few minutes ago, as I was going down the stairs for my smoke break, three absolutely adorable cockroaches in a beautifully synchronized movement flew right at me. With the agility and reflexes of a drunkard, I snapped my head to the side to avoid them, effectively banging my head on the wall thus allowing two of them to land on top of my head.<br />
<br />
I squealed like a pig in heat.<br />
<br />
Amazingly, I managed to stop myself from swatting them with my bare hands. Well, images of a squashed roach messing my beautiful hair did help, but hey, at least I didn't spill my beer. After finally managing to get them off my head by doing head-bangs that Steven Tyler would have been proud of, I half ran, half leaped down into open space.<br />
<br />
As my heart rate started to settle down, I took an extra large sip of beer, lit a cigarette, and zoned out.<br />
<br />
My thoughts immediately went into what just happened. Upon reflection, I realized that, far from embarrassing, my initial reaction was as natural as the stock market's reaction to Pnoy's SONA. OK, so that's stretching it a bit. What I mean is, most people's automatic response upon seeing roaches is not unlike mine. A rare few could maintain a dignified stance. But hell, when these beauties start flying, even Thor would've screamed until thorsday.<br />
<br />
Sorry, couldn't help inserting that pun.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I got to thinking that, seeing as how most of us react to roaches, what if we use roaches to strengthen our self-discipline? We could keep them as pets, you know, for those moments when we can't control ourselves. For example, when one just can't seem to remain faithful to a dieting regimen, one would simply take these pets out for a walk in, say, one's arm or leg. Or, during those moments of extreme and misplaced lust, one could simply take a handful of roaches and let them roam free in one's crotch. Or, when you feel that you're being lied to, throw a couple in their faces and threaten to throw more until they tell the truth.<br />
<br />
The possibilities are endless.<br />
<br />
I am now considering going into the roach-for-pets business. A quick feasibility study shows that, with a very minimum capital, it could become a lucrative business. Raising roaches don't require many resources. Hell, just throw in a dozen or so, add some leftover food and voila! Your very own roach col<br />
<br />
&quot;Roaches for life's nuisances.&quot;? <br />
<br />
That would be my slogan. I would revolutionize the self-help industry by offering a cheap yet effective way of helping one maintain self-discipline. I would then be known as the roach king! Eventually, someone would write an autobiography of me detailing my intimate partnership with these delightful insects. Hell, I may even become Time's Man of the Year.<br />
<br />
But enough pipe dreams. As business-minded people like to say, less talk, more action.<br />
<br />
So, who wants to be my business partner?</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1816-roaches-and-self-discipline.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>That white kettle pretending to be black</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1801-white-kettle-pretending-black.html</link>
			<pubDate>Sat, 21 Jul 2012 19:59:14 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>I want to stop. See people again. For who they are, what they are. Not as blurs racing past, nor as mere mile markers in a Disneyfied journey.

I want to see the defiance in their eyes. That look of utter rage, as eloquent as classical poetry, as timeless as inherent anarchy.

I want to hear their songs. Songs of lament, songs of joy. Songs meant to move the immovable, touch the untouchable, conquer the unconquerable.

I want to taste the blood flowing in their veins. A rushing fount of diseased wellness, neither merciful in its hate nor forgiving in its love.

I want to feel. Feel them. Feel their defiance, their songs, their raging blood. When all else is nothing but an empty canvass rejoicing in its emptiness, I want to feel their humanity, furious passions bursting forth from the cage of fear and the bars of apathy. I want to bathe in their emotions, soak myself in the intense storms of their being, letting it all penetrate the pores of my skin until I am left shuddering in forbidden ecstasy.

But alas, I cannot.

The dictates of life as I know it stops me from stopping. I must yield to certainties, even as I dwell in uncertainties. Let this be a lesson. A lesson in thinking too much yet feeling too little.

Good night, delightful sin.</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">I want to stop. See people again. For who they are, what they are. Not as blurs racing past, nor as mere mile markers in a Disneyfied journey.<br />
<br />
I want to see the defiance in their eyes. That look of utter rage, as eloquent as classical poetry, as timeless as inherent anarchy.<br />
<br />
I want to hear their songs. Songs of lament, songs of joy. Songs meant to move the immovable, touch the untouchable, conquer the unconquerable.<br />
<br />
I want to taste the blood flowing in their veins. A rushing fount of diseased wellness, neither merciful in its hate nor forgiving in its love.<br />
<br />
I want to feel. Feel them. Feel their defiance, their songs, their raging blood. When all else is nothing but an empty canvass rejoicing in its emptiness, I want to feel their humanity, furious passions bursting forth from the cage of fear and the bars of apathy. I want to bathe in their emotions, soak myself in the intense storms of their being, letting it all penetrate the pores of my skin until I am left shuddering in forbidden ecstasy.<br />
<br />
But alas, I cannot.<br />
<br />
The dictates of life as I know it stops me from stopping. I must yield to certainties, even as I dwell in uncertainties. Let this be a lesson. A lesson in thinking too much yet feeling too little.<br />
<br />
Good night, delightful sin.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1801-white-kettle-pretending-black.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Beer pa dai</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1777-beer-pa-dai.html</link>
			<pubDate>Sat, 30 Jun 2012 23:22:02 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[Ganihang kaadlawn naglaroy-laroy ko sa mga hilit nga bahin sa sugbo sa tinguha nga akong subli mahimamat ang akong pagka-sugbuanon. Sa wa damha nga panghitabo, labaw pa ana ang akong nahimamat.

Nassag ko sa bukirong bahin sa sugbo. Samtang naglakaw ko sa usa ka ngit-ngit nga dalan, nakakita ko'g hayag sa may unahan. Sa pagduol nako akong nasuta nga ang hayag naggikan sa usa ka gamayng tindahan kun diin adunay baligyang kape. Tungod kay gikapoy na ko'g lakaw, nidesisyon ko nga mopahulay usa ug mangape samtang na sigarilyo.

Pagduol nako sa tindahan, ang nisugat nako usa ka edarang lalaki. Kay aduna man ko'y kasinatian sa ponrobinsyang pamatasan, nakigstorya usa ko kabahin sa iyang gitrabaho. Sa dihang nabati nako nga sayod na siya nga wa ko'y dautang tinguha bisang langyaw ko, nangutana dayon ko nga aduna ba sila'y baligyang kape.

Dayon siyang nisaka sa iyang balay aron magkuha og tasa ug termos. Samtang naghulat ko mahuman siya'g timpla, gilibot nako sa akong panan-aw ang ilang lugar. Usa ka gamayng yuta, adunay pipila ka manok, hinigtang baboy, ug usa ka iro. Aduna sa'y gamayng plute nga gitamna'g tamatis ug tanglad.

Samtang nag-surbey ko sa lang tugkaran, dili lang ang pagka-uyamot ang akong nakita kundi apil na ang paninghuha sa likod niini. Sa mga wala kahibalo, ang pagmantinar sa tugkaran dili usa ka lalim nga buluhaton. Ang pag-mantini sa tugkaran usa ka lalom nga kinaiya kanatong mga Pilipino, bisan'g asan'g tugkaran pa ta mabutang.

Pero taympa, nawala na ko sa akong punto.

Pagkahuman og timpla ni tatay sa akong kape, dayon siyang nilingkod duol nako samtang nag haling para sa ilang pamahaw. Tungod ka'y iyang gibuhat nakapukaw sa akong kagahapon, ako siyang giduol ug nagutana "Tay, unsa diay lutu-on nimo?"

Kato nga pangutana maoy nagsilbing sinugdan sa pipila ka oras namong panag-istorya.

Nagsugod mi kabahin sa mais, ug nahuman bahin  sa gugma.
Ingon ni tatay nga naghaling siya para maglung-ag og mais para sa iyang mga apo. Pito kabuok iyang apo sa tulo ka anak. Bisan pa man iyang mga anak aduna na'y trabaho sa mall sa lungsod, maninguha gihapon siya nga siya ang mo alagad sa mga anak niini. Matod pa niya, ang responsibilidad sa usa ka ginikanan wala mahuman sa pagkaminyo sa anak kundi mahuman sa kamatayon. Sugod sa panahong nabuntis iyang asawa, iya nang gi-isip ang kinabuhi nga usa malanatong pag-serbisyo sama sa pagserbisyo sa iyan ginikanan.

Samtang nagstorya siya niini, ako, isip usa ka modern kunuhay og pangisip, nagtuo nga sayop siya. Para nako, adunay utlanan ang pagserbisyo sa pamilya. Para nako, ang konkretong pagtuki sa konkretong kasamtangan ang dapat mangibabaw.

Apan sa pipila lamang ka pulong, giguba niya akong prinsipyo.

Nangutana ko niya, "tay, di ba ang tinguha nimo kay mapa-eskwela nimo imong anak ug makita nimo nga malamboon iyang kasamtangang kahimtang?"?

Tubag niya, "dong, samtang nag-ginhawa pa ko, ang akong gugma ug pag-paigo sa akong mga anak dili mahuman.'

Daghang mga kontra-reaksyong tubag ang nagtuyok sa akong utok. Apan, siguro tungod sa kape nga dugay na ko'ng wala katilaw, napugngan pa nako an akong baba nga murag lubot sa manok. Imbis nga mo-debati ko sa iyang panan-aw, nahilom ko ug namalandong. Tinuod nga kitan'g mga bag-ong tubo lahi ra'g kaagi sa ilaha. Tinuod nga kung unsa'y pamaagi nila kaniadto din-a ha-om sa atoa karon. Tinuod nga adunay mga higayon nga ma-uwaw ta makig-kuyog nila.

Apan, pinaka-tinuod sa tanan, ilang pag-gugma nato wala'y sukdanan.

Busa kamo, ug kita, di intawn nato dapat ilimod ang atong mga ginikanan. Aduna man ta'y pipila ka panagbangi nila, apan sa mga panahong manginhanglan ta, ginikanan ra gihapon ang dangpan.

Beer pa bai.
 
* Translating for those non-bisaya followers of my blog*
Just this morning, I wandered through the rarely visited places of Cebu hoping to be reacquainted with my Cebuano self. In an unforeseen event, I got more than I was hoping for.

I lost myself in the mountainous areas of Cebu. While wandering in a dark street, I saw a light just up ahead. When I got near, I found out that the light emanated from a small store selling coffee. Because I was tired from my wandering, I decided to rest for a bit and drink some coffee while smoking.

When I approached the store, an old man met me. Because I've had a bit of experience in provincial living, I talked to him first about what he was doing. Later on, when I was confident enough that I have his confidence, I asked him if they serve coffee. (pardon my translation, but I kept rereading this line and it just doesn't do justice to the Cebuano version.)

The old man then went up to his humble home to get a cup and a thermos of hot water. While waiting for him to prepare my coffee, I looked around his dwelling. A small plot of land; a few chickens; a pig, and a dog. There was also a small plot where tomatoes and lemon grass were planted.

While surveying his yard, it wasn't just the simplicity of it that I saw but what was behind it. To those who don't know, maintaining a Filipino yard isn't an easy task. This is a purely Filipino trait, one that can't be easily forgotten no matter where one is.

But I digress. Back to my point.

After preparing my coffee the old man sat down near me while stoking the fire for cooking their breakfast. Because this act awakened certain memories in me, I approached him and asked, "Tay (short for Tatay, an honorific for the elderly), what are you cooking?"?

That question of mine served as the opening for what would be hours' worth of talking.

We started talking about corn (maize), and eventually ended up talking about love.

Tatay said that he's cooking corn for his grandchildren. He has seven of them from three children. Even if his children already have jobs in a mall in the city, he still does his best for his grandkids. According to him, a parent's responsibility does not end when their kids are married but only until death. Ever since his wife got pregnant with their first child, he already saw life as a long-term service (?) to his kids just as his parents did for him.

While he was talking about that, I, being the modern thinker that I am, thought he was mistaken. For me, there is a limit to doing what the family needs. For me, the concrete analysis of the concrete situation should prevail.

But in just a few words, tatay destroyed my principles.

I asked him, "tay, isn't your goal to send your kids to school and see them flourish in their present condition?"

He answered, "kid, while I breathe, my love and dedication for my children will never end."?

There were many arguments going through my head that time. But, perhaps because of the coffee that I haven't had in a long time, I managed to shut the hell up. Instead of arguing his point of view, I remained silent and ruminated on my situation. It is true that we of the present generation have't gone through what they had. It is true that their ways then may not be applicable to us now. It is true that there are times when we are ashamed to be going out with them.

But, what is more true, their love for us cannot be measured.

So you, and all of us, let's not set aside our parents. We may have certain differences with them, but in those times when we are in need, it is to them that we turn to.

More beer please.]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Ganihang kaadlawn naglaroy-laroy ko sa mga hilit nga bahin sa sugbo sa tinguha nga akong subli mahimamat ang akong pagka-sugbuanon. Sa wa damha nga panghitabo, labaw pa ana ang akong nahimamat.<br />
<br />
Nassag ko sa bukirong bahin sa sugbo. Samtang naglakaw ko sa usa ka ngit-ngit nga dalan, nakakita ko'g hayag sa may unahan. Sa pagduol nako akong nasuta nga ang hayag naggikan sa usa ka gamayng tindahan kun diin adunay baligyang kape. Tungod kay gikapoy na ko'g lakaw, nidesisyon ko nga mopahulay usa ug mangape samtang na sigarilyo.<br />
<br />
Pagduol nako sa tindahan, ang nisugat nako usa ka edarang lalaki. Kay aduna man ko'y kasinatian sa ponrobinsyang pamatasan, nakigstorya usa ko kabahin sa iyang gitrabaho. Sa dihang nabati nako nga sayod na siya nga wa ko'y dautang tinguha bisang langyaw ko, nangutana dayon ko nga aduna ba sila'y baligyang kape.<br />
<br />
Dayon siyang nisaka sa iyang balay aron magkuha og tasa ug termos. Samtang naghulat ko mahuman siya'g timpla, gilibot nako sa akong panan-aw ang ilang lugar. Usa ka gamayng yuta, adunay pipila ka manok, hinigtang baboy, ug usa ka iro. Aduna sa'y gamayng plute nga gitamna'g tamatis ug tanglad.<br />
<br />
Samtang nag-surbey ko sa lang tugkaran, dili lang ang pagka-uyamot ang akong nakita kundi apil na ang paninghuha sa likod niini. Sa mga wala kahibalo, ang pagmantinar sa tugkaran dili usa ka lalim nga buluhaton. Ang pag-mantini sa tugkaran usa ka lalom nga kinaiya kanatong mga Pilipino, bisan'g asan'g tugkaran pa ta mabutang.<br />
<br />
Pero taympa, nawala na ko sa akong punto.<br />
<br />
Pagkahuman og timpla ni tatay sa akong kape, dayon siyang nilingkod duol nako samtang nag haling para sa ilang pamahaw. Tungod ka'y iyang gibuhat nakapukaw sa akong kagahapon, ako siyang giduol ug nagutana &quot;Tay, unsa diay lutu-on nimo?&quot;<br />
<br />
Kato nga pangutana maoy nagsilbing sinugdan sa pipila ka oras namong panag-istorya.<br />
<br />
Nagsugod mi kabahin sa mais, ug nahuman bahin  sa gugma.<br />
Ingon ni tatay nga naghaling siya para maglung-ag og mais para sa iyang mga apo. Pito kabuok iyang apo sa tulo ka anak. Bisan pa man iyang mga anak aduna na'y trabaho sa mall sa lungsod, maninguha gihapon siya nga siya ang mo alagad sa mga anak niini. Matod pa niya, ang responsibilidad sa usa ka ginikanan wala mahuman sa pagkaminyo sa anak kundi mahuman sa kamatayon. Sugod sa panahong nabuntis iyang asawa, iya nang gi-isip ang kinabuhi nga usa malanatong pag-serbisyo sama sa pagserbisyo sa iyan ginikanan.<br />
<br />
Samtang nagstorya siya niini, ako, isip usa ka modern kunuhay og pangisip, nagtuo nga sayop siya. Para nako, adunay utlanan ang pagserbisyo sa pamilya. Para nako, ang konkretong pagtuki sa konkretong kasamtangan ang dapat mangibabaw.<br />
<br />
Apan sa pipila lamang ka pulong, giguba niya akong prinsipyo.<br />
<br />
Nangutana ko niya, &quot;tay, di ba ang tinguha nimo kay mapa-eskwela nimo imong anak ug makita nimo nga malamboon iyang kasamtangang kahimtang?&quot;?<br />
<br />
Tubag niya, &quot;dong, samtang nag-ginhawa pa ko, ang akong gugma ug pag-paigo sa akong mga anak dili mahuman.'<br />
<br />
Daghang mga kontra-reaksyong tubag ang nagtuyok sa akong utok. Apan, siguro tungod sa kape nga dugay na ko'ng wala katilaw, napugngan pa nako an akong baba nga murag lubot sa manok. Imbis nga mo-debati ko sa iyang panan-aw, nahilom ko ug namalandong. Tinuod nga kitan'g mga bag-ong tubo lahi ra'g kaagi sa ilaha. Tinuod nga kung unsa'y pamaagi nila kaniadto din-a ha-om sa atoa karon. Tinuod nga adunay mga higayon nga ma-uwaw ta makig-kuyog nila.<br />
<br />
Apan, pinaka-tinuod sa tanan, ilang pag-gugma nato wala'y sukdanan.<br />
<br />
Busa kamo, ug kita, di intawn nato dapat ilimod ang atong mga ginikanan. Aduna man ta'y pipila ka panagbangi nila, apan sa mga panahong manginhanglan ta, ginikanan ra gihapon ang dangpan.<br />
<br />
Beer pa bai.<br />
 <br />
<i><b> Translating for those non-bisaya followers of my blog</b></i><br />
Just this morning, I wandered through the rarely visited places of Cebu hoping to be reacquainted with my Cebuano self. In an unforeseen event, I got more than I was hoping for.<br />
<br />
I lost myself in the mountainous areas of Cebu. While wandering in a dark street, I saw a light just up ahead. When I got near, I found out that the light emanated from a small store selling coffee. Because I was tired from my wandering, I decided to rest for a bit and drink some coffee while smoking.<br />
<br />
When I approached the store, an old man met me. Because I've had a bit of experience in provincial living, I talked to him first about what he was doing. Later on, when I was confident enough that I have his confidence, I asked him if they serve coffee. (pardon my translation, but I kept rereading this line and it just doesn't do justice to the Cebuano version.)<br />
<br />
The old man then went up to his humble home to get a cup and a thermos of hot water. While waiting for him to prepare my coffee, I looked around his dwelling. A small plot of land; a few chickens; a pig, and a dog. There was also a small plot where tomatoes and lemon grass were planted.<br />
<br />
While surveying his yard, it wasn't just the simplicity of it that I saw but what was behind it. To those who don't know, maintaining a Filipino yard isn't an easy task. This is a purely Filipino trait, one that can't be easily forgotten no matter where one is.<br />
<br />
But I digress. Back to my point.<br />
<br />
After preparing my coffee the old man sat down near me while stoking the fire for cooking their breakfast. Because this act awakened certain memories in me, I approached him and asked, &quot;Tay (short for Tatay, an honorific for the elderly), what are you cooking?&quot;?<br />
<br />
That question of mine served as the opening for what would be hours' worth of talking.<br />
<br />
We started talking about corn (maize), and eventually ended up talking about love.<br />
<br />
Tatay said that he's cooking corn for his grandchildren. He has seven of them from three children. Even if his children already have jobs in a mall in the city, he still does his best for his grandkids. According to him, a parent's responsibility does not end when their kids are married but only until death. Ever since his wife got pregnant with their first child, he already saw life as a long-term service (?) to his kids just as his parents did for him.<br />
<br />
While he was talking about that, I, being the modern thinker that I am, thought he was mistaken. For me, there is a limit to doing what the family needs. For me, the concrete analysis of the concrete situation should prevail.<br />
<br />
But in just a few words, tatay destroyed my principles.<br />
<br />
I asked him, &quot;tay, isn't your goal to send your kids to school and see them flourish in their present condition?&quot;<br />
<br />
He answered, &quot;kid, while I breathe, my love and dedication for my children will never end.&quot;?<br />
<br />
There were many arguments going through my head that time. But, perhaps because of the coffee that I haven't had in a long time, I managed to shut the hell up. Instead of arguing his point of view, I remained silent and ruminated on my situation. It is true that we of the present generation have't gone through what they had. It is true that their ways then may not be applicable to us now. It is true that there are times when we are ashamed to be going out with them.<br />
<br />
But, what is more true, their love for us cannot be measured.<br />
<br />
So you, and all of us, let's not set aside our parents. We may have certain differences with them, but in those times when we are in need, it is to them that we turn to.<br />
<br />
More beer please.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1777-beer-pa-dai.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Apologies</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1759-apologies.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 11 Jun 2012 09:56:32 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>oh poet, my dear poet,
my sometime friend,
my forever lover.
why are your roses,
once raging with beauty,
now raging, and
raging still,
in silent mockery?

oh sage, my sweet soothsayer,
my sometime friend,
my forever lover.
a thousand apologies will bleed
for the flame of forgiveness
to scorch this cold heart.

we both yearn, yes, I know
for those same roses that raged
in stormy caressess. a fury matched only
by your dying kisses.

HSV 020605</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">oh poet, my dear poet,<br />
my sometime friend,<br />
my forever lover.<br />
why are your roses,<br />
once raging with beauty,<br />
now raging, and<br />
raging still,<br />
in silent mockery?<br />
<br />
oh sage, my sweet soothsayer,<br />
my sometime friend,<br />
my forever lover.<br />
a thousand apologies will bleed<br />
for the flame of forgiveness<br />
to scorch this cold heart.<br />
<br />
we both yearn, yes, I know<br />
for those same roses that raged<br />
in stormy caressess. a fury matched only<br />
by your dying kisses.<br />
<br />
HSV 020605</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1759-apologies.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>No blue skies</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1755-no-blue-skies.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 04 Jun 2012 18:09:28 GMT</pubDate>
			<description>There is no such thing as the truth.

The world is flat; humans don’t need oxygen; and the earth is the center of the solar system. Dragons, the winged and fire-breathing kind, did exist. So did unicorns and care bears. Politicians never lie, they just want to be politically correct. Left-handed people aren’t really left-handed, it’s just an illusion of space and time. There is no such thing as the truth, for what is true for me may not be for you.

There is no such thing as faith.

The entire cosmos emerged from nowhere and nothing. No greater force, no deity, no disembodied consciousness intervened to form the universe. There is no law of nature, no force that connects every living being. Fate is a fallacy, destiny imaginary. Trust is measured neither by intellect nor emotion but by the inherent randomness of the non-existent forces that are not present in life. There is no such thing as faith, for we are dictated by perceptions.

There is no such thing as love.

Your skin is not alabaster-like in its perfection; your pouty lips are naught but a trick of the light. Those haughty yet cryptic eyes, they are but a product of hunger-driven imagination. That beguiling and dazzling and mesmerizing smile that seeks to enslave is as powerless as a raging sun. That divine body, that entirely angelic body, the one that every man bitten by wanderlust would like to travel in, to explore, to caress every inch, it is as common as dew drops on a misty morning. That wit, oh that terribly captivating wit, it is but a book left unread –a mystery soon solved. There is no such thing as love, for it requires faith and truth, both of which don’t exist.

There is no such thing as we.

For if there was, I wouldn’t be writing about truth and faith and love and this confession of how much I miss you.</description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">There is no such thing as the truth.<br />
<br />
The world is flat; humans don’t need oxygen; and the earth is the center of the solar system. Dragons, the winged and fire-breathing kind, did exist. So did unicorns and care bears. Politicians never lie, they just want to be politically correct. Left-handed people aren’t really left-handed, it’s just an illusion of space and time. There is no such thing as the truth, for what is true for me may not be for you.<br />
<br />
There is no such thing as faith.<br />
<br />
The entire cosmos emerged from nowhere and nothing. No greater force, no deity, no disembodied consciousness intervened to form the universe. There is no law of nature, no force that connects every living being. Fate is a fallacy, destiny imaginary. Trust is measured neither by intellect nor emotion but by the inherent randomness of the non-existent forces that are not present in life. There is no such thing as faith, for we are dictated by perceptions.<br />
<br />
There is no such thing as love.<br />
<br />
Your skin is not alabaster-like in its perfection; your pouty lips are naught but a trick of the light. Those haughty yet cryptic eyes, they are but a product of hunger-driven imagination. That beguiling and dazzling and mesmerizing smile that seeks to enslave is as powerless as a raging sun. That divine body, that entirely angelic body, the one that every man bitten by wanderlust would like to travel in, to explore, to caress every inch, it is as common as dew drops on a misty morning. That wit, oh that terribly captivating wit, it is but a book left unread –a mystery soon solved. There is no such thing as love, for it requires faith and truth, both of which don’t exist.<br />
<br />
There is no such thing as we.<br />
<br />
For if there was, I wouldn’t be writing about truth and faith and love and this confession of how much I miss you.</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
			<guid isPermaLink="true">http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1755-no-blue-skies.html</guid>
		</item>
		<item>
			<title>Reflections of a poetry victim</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1752-reflections-poetry-victim.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 28 May 2012 15:24:03 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[Words, without fire, are meaningless. As empty, as bereft, as pointless as a vulture’s wail of lament.

Words are meant to move mountains, to shatter chains and break cages. When storms rage, words placate and soothe and invite serenity. When all else seems bleak and hopeless, words give strength and courage to face demons. When even the heavens cower in fear, words light the fire that drives away the shadows of despair.

Fortunate is he who gives way to the most passionate utterance, for he defies apathy and rejoices in his humanity.



**I have been battling with writer's block for quite a few months now. Words seem to have gotten the best of me, invoking my deepest of fears and biggest insecurities. Sigh, I knew I should'nt have fallen for her...]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">Words, without fire, are meaningless. As empty, as bereft, as pointless as a vulture’s wail of lament.<br />
<br />
Words are meant to move mountains, to shatter chains and break cages. When storms rage, words placate and soothe and invite serenity. When all else seems bleak and hopeless, words give strength and courage to face demons. When even the heavens cower in fear, words light the fire that drives away the shadows of despair.<br />
<br />
Fortunate is he who gives way to the most passionate utterance, for he defies apathy and rejoices in his humanity.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
**I have been battling with writer's block for quite a few months now. Words seem to have gotten the best of me, invoking my deepest of fears and biggest insecurities. Sigh, I knew I should'nt have fallen for her...</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
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			<title>Deirdre</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1734-deirdre.html</link>
			<pubDate>Mon, 07 May 2012 08:00:36 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[it seems
inevitable. death 
like the reddest of rose petals
slowly fading
as sure as the setting 
of a raging sun.

longing
for freedom, for an escape
the self-made
miser’s cage. binding
gripping like talons

screaming
contorted lips trying 
to break free.

lying helpless
reaching 
unseeing crowds flitting 
through time
and space. desolation.
fear 

rampaging
exorcising the demons
raging in my head.
mercilessly 
bleeding. wringing out
the despair in me.

death, yes death
fill me with your love.

(2002 CEGP convention)

**Deirdre \de(i)-rd-re, deir-dre\ as a girl's name is pronounced DEER-drah. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and the meaning of Deirdre is "broken-hearted, sorrowful". Also possibly "fear" or "raging woman"Mythology: from a Celtic legend similar to "Tristram and Isolde". The Celtic Deirdre was the most beautiful woman in Ireland. She died of a broken heart. Soap opera actress Deirdre Hall.

http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/0/Deirdre]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore">it seems<br />
inevitable. death <br />
like the reddest of rose petals<br />
slowly fading<br />
as sure as the setting <br />
of a raging sun.<br />
<br />
longing<br />
for freedom, for an escape<br />
the self-made<br />
miser’s cage. binding<br />
gripping like talons<br />
<br />
screaming<br />
contorted lips trying <br />
to break free.<br />
<br />
lying helpless<br />
reaching <br />
unseeing crowds flitting <br />
through time<br />
and space. desolation.<br />
fear <br />
<br />
rampaging<br />
exorcising the demons<br />
raging in my head.<br />
mercilessly <br />
bleeding. wringing out<br />
the despair in me.<br />
<br />
death, yes death<br />
fill me with your love.<br />
<br />
(2002 CEGP convention)<br />
<br />
**Deirdre \de(i)-rd-re, deir-dre\ as a girl's name is pronounced DEER-drah. It is of Irish and Gaelic origin, and the meaning of Deirdre is &quot;broken-hearted, sorrowful&quot;. Also possibly &quot;fear&quot; or &quot;raging woman&quot;Mythology: from a Celtic legend similar to &quot;Tristram and Isolde&quot;. The Celtic Deirdre was the most beautiful woman in Ireland. She died of a broken heart. Soap opera actress Deirdre Hall.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/0/Deirdre" target="_blank">http://www.thinkbabynames.com/meaning/0/Deirdre</a></blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
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			<title>Meet me halfway</title>
			<link>http://www.istorya.net/forums/blogs/sevmik/1731-meet-me-halfway.html</link>
			<pubDate>Fri, 04 May 2012 09:20:30 GMT</pubDate>
			<description><![CDATA[My first and last attempt at song composition... :)

Yes, it has been fun
But now I ought to leave
Taxi's here and waiting
Nothing more up my sleeve
But really girl, you oughta' know
Why I badly need to go
I didn't come here to sing your praises
Nor hear you sing mine

You oughta' look beyond this face
And hear beyond these words

We haven't been on this train for long
Yet right from the very start
You searched a place for your fractured heart
I reached out to meet you halfway
But all you saw were black and gray

Yes, this is just me
My poetry is the height of deceit
My words are masks, my actions faceted
My life is the epitome of contradiction
My emotions the pedestal of sinners
My passion sows anger
And my reality destroys hope

You oughta' see the fallacy of your words
And the duplicity of your actions

We haven't been on this train for long
Though your heart lost its design
Still, take my hand and let's redefine
Come and meet me halfway my love
And leave this train to the gods.


bm cc 080710]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<blockquote class="blogcontent restore"><font size="2"><i>My first and last attempt at song composition... :)</i></font><br />
<br />
Yes, it has been fun<br />
But now I ought to leave<br />
Taxi's here and waiting<br />
Nothing more up my sleeve<br />
But really girl, you oughta' know<br />
Why I badly need to go<br />
I didn't come here to sing your praises<br />
Nor hear you sing mine<br />
<br />
You oughta' look beyond this face<br />
And hear beyond these words<br />
<br />
We haven't been on this train for long<br />
Yet right from the very start<br />
You searched a place for your fractured heart<br />
I reached out to meet you halfway<br />
But all you saw were black and gray<br />
<br />
Yes, this is just me<br />
My poetry is the height of deceit<br />
My words are masks, my actions faceted<br />
My life is the epitome of contradiction<br />
My emotions the pedestal of sinners<br />
My passion sows anger<br />
And my reality destroys hope<br />
<br />
You oughta' see the fallacy of your words<br />
And the duplicity of your actions<br />
<br />
We haven't been on this train for long<br />
Though your heart lost its design<br />
Still, take my hand and let's redefine<br />
Come and meet me halfway my love<br />
And leave this train to the gods.<br />
<br />
<br />
bm cc 080710</blockquote>

]]></content:encoded>
			<dc:creator>sevmik</dc:creator>
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