The Christmas Post that Was

The problem, and I daresay it’s a major problem, is that this year’s Christmas is perhaps the most un-Christmas-y one we’ve had in recent years. And I’m sure I am not alone in this opinion, so hold your /wrist retorts for a moment.

It could be that recent tragedies have something to do with the gloomy Yuletide. What with a the wrath of nature still haunting us, or the images of one man’s greed and corruption leading to a massacre of such disturbing fashion. But that’s the beat of the Nation we’re talking about. It may have a say in how we perceive the holidays, but really, in such times it is the personal things that, in my own experience, dictate our orientation. Of course, if you ask me, this year, as in the whole of 2009, can go ahead and FUCK ITSELF.

IN THE BUTT.

TWICE.

Ahem... moving along...

The decrease in purchasing power could also be a factor, but if you think about it, it always is. Ergo, it is a given anyways. So it is not something we should actively look into, or Ted Mosby about too much. ((Oh hoho, he just used a HIMYM joke, comedy gold Jerry!) Wait, did I just use a Seinfeld joke to point out my HIMYM joke? Bricks are shiat as we speak!)).

Most people would say maybe they’re just getting old. Now, while that may seem like a valid point, I have to ask, if the person telling me that is 3 years or so younger, does that mean I grew up too late? Seriously, saying we’re just getting old is like, a cool way of trying to look worldly and all that shit. But I doubt it really is age because 3 years ago, I wasn’t feeling the same thing you’re feeling right now.

Perhaps it’s the over commercialization of it all, the traffic and need to wade through a sea of humanity just to certain individuals gift that, despite the effort you put into, is still subject to their petty judgment and criticism on how well you know them. Of course, that in itself is satisfying when one sees their faces light up with (feigned) appreciation, thus making all that retail royal rumble worthwhile.

Or perhaps, and I’d hate to think that this would be true, the paradigm has shifted to the point that Christmas isn’t something magical or special anymore. It’s still has cultural significance, but not as deep, or not as heartfelt as before. We are simply going through the motions of the season and act all normal when it’s over. In short, the spirit really is dead, like a horse, and we’re simply beating it, hoping that it would eventually come back to life.

I’d hate to think that we’ve become that jaded.

Chapter End, Chapter Start.

While I've always said I'm more of a hack writer than anything, I do take a certain pride in the craft. I'm not the best, but I make it a point that whatever is written serves the purpose intended in its creation. But 3 months ago, writing (mainly) for money was no longer the norm for me as I've decided to take a different path in my career as an Internet marketer.

As to what I do now for a living, I'm not entirely sure. I have a clear grasp of the basics, but that level of expertise to be able to describe it with certainty if not feigned credibility still eludes me. Granted, on whatever profession or craft, expertise and affinity come with time and learning. That never really ends, those who say they've done everything that needs to be done are kidding themselves.

I arrived at that decision both for financial and personal reasons. Not that I have a problem with money, but who doesn't like MORE money? The challenge is also nice, and makes whatever skill I've learned in the past all the more useful. Personally, I felt I needed a change of pace, which is always welcome first step when faced with what is more popularly known as "the funk".

Ending a chapter in one's story to start a new one is of course, not the ultimate solution to "the funk". In fact, one risks the danger of simply running away from a problem rather than making amends. The repercussions may not be evident, but it never hurts to think about the long run or the big picture or the grand scheme of things or whatever phrase better encapsulates that concept.

Still, starting fresh is so invigorating that it may exactly be what I needed. Also, I'd like to think that in my case, I didn't run from a problem, I just tightened up some loose ends and went on a different path. The knowledge, or lack thereof, of the outcome is something else. It keeps you on your toes, and it makes you curious and eager. I'd say having that kind of attitude and situation is ideal when starting from scratch.

But then again, chapters aren't independent of each other. A story is separated in chapters to add a semblance of organization, but in the end they all tie in to form the entirety of the story. Some people take advantage of this and plan out the chapters of their lives. But at best, they're making a rough outline. Let's face it, no one is certain what the future brings. I'm not a fan of that approach, as a story with unexpected twist or turns is always compelling. At the same time you can't blame people who want to stick to a tried and tested structure with little to no surprises. Chances are if it was a good story that is worth of the title classic, an iteration of it with slight variations are bound to be good. Me? I'll stick to the uncertainty thankyouverymuch.

It's Been A While

Most blogs have a limited life cycle that doesn't necessarily mean there is an end to all this (unsolicited) sharing of the author's thoughts. During this cycle there is that time that majority of the blog posts that would follow include a bevy of apologetic posts on how busy one has been, thus disabling them from clacking their keyboards, putting on their (ugly) writer's hat and composing a post. This goes on and perhaps the author just loses interest, abandoning the project altogether.

Now, I could've gone down that path, but then again, I doubt my readership is large enough to be disappointed in the knowledge that this blog is on its death throes (do I even have a readership? what the hell is a readership anyway?). So I will belay that part of the cycle for the time being. So I guess that's somewhat good news for the few poor souls who, for whatever reason beyond my limited ken, still read this damnable collection of hackneyed drivel.

Self-depreciation aside, reality has a way of simply draining away whatever passion or zest a person once had on any particular venture. In this case, having endured several changes in my own arduous boondogling that I call a job and a disappointment brought about by a hard slap to the face care of the Universe (with hugs and kisses mind you, too bad I hate hugs), I find myself simply exhausted and frustrated to come up with the (doubtful) creativity that once fueled this medium and waste several minutes/hours and bandwidth. It's not writers block per se, simply fatigue with a pinch of depression (dramatic writer is dramatic, and lame with lame memes). Ok fine, most of it was laziness, but let's not have solid facts mar my nigh-believable excuse here.

So does this post mean there will be more updates in the horizon? Perhaps. Maybe if I feel like it. Truth is, there have been many things that I would've love to put into writing, but I felt that it was unecessary because frankly, they're mean, like, really mean, much like this girl. That and most of the emotion behind such words are juvenile and born of rage with a (un)healthy dose of bitterness. I'd like to think I'm better than that or stronger at least. And whoever they are supposed to be addressed to don't deserve such a thing. So Cest la vie, Ob-la-Di Ob-la-Da, and whatnot.

So where do we go from here? How many times have I said that really? The answer to that query is rather fortune-cookie-ish if not true to my spontaneous and whimsical nature: we'll see. See, its a lot like what Claire Colburn (played by Kristen Dunst in the severly underrated and little known flick Elizabethtown) said: "You have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Discard it. And proceed." I'm not so sure about the five minute, but proceed we shall.

In-fighting

Why is it that, when we're hurting, we prefer to try and fool our mind into piling mundane concerns in order to bury that unpleasant memory in the deep recesses of our mind? Take workaholics for example, while some are legitimately passionate about what they do, a lot are probably just trying to keep themselves busy, fabricating a barrier of responsibility, burden and duty to keep the pain, the longing and the realization of failure at bay.

Why do people who are "happily single" insist that they are happy? It's like they're not talking to you, but a mirror instead. A lie said over and over again will eventually be accepted as the truth, but in this case, the audience seems unconvinced majority of the time.

Is it denial or hope that fuels these self-contradicting behaviors?

Doubt surrounds us, a large majority of famous people had many doubters, and they would proceed to prove these people wrong. But I'm willing to bet that it didn't matter how many detractors these people had, because the bottom line is, even if the whole world is against you, even if the people you trust the most begin to question you, at the end of the day, it's just one person that really needs convincing, that really needs to be proven wrong:

YOU.

Damn You Subconscious

My subconscious and I are constantly at war. Okay maybe it's more of silent disagreement, a Cold War if you will. Two factions not really in direct conflict with each other, but both wait in baited breath on which of us will make the first move. In the meantime, all that is left is preparation, and everyone is screwed over by propaganda and paranoia. It's a nice little dynamic, if you don't mind living confused and afraid.

Consciously, I know what I want more or less. Get through the day, try to forward a few plans here and there, have fun. I know who and what I long for. No problem. Everything is clear cut, and deliberate attempts are made to reach out for those things. Regardless of the outcome, I'm sure this is what I'm going for.

But that all goes to shit when I actually hit the hay. You see, I've always hated my dreams, not only do they involve nonsensical scenarios that I barely remember when I wake up (other than the fact that those were really messed up situations that not even Uwe Boll would dare touch) but they often include individuals who I know in the waking world. It's, for the lack of a better or more accurate term, creepy. And I'd hate for that person to know that I dream of them because its awkward and disturbing. I'd hate to think I'm that disturbed. I hope I'm not.

You might say, that's not strange at all. We always dream about the people who we connect to , impact us or we have a certain interest in. See, here's the problem, when I'm awake, I know who this person is. When I sleep, it's a totally different person, and not a metaphorical sense. This leads me to two conclusions, either I'm lying to my waking self, and my subconscious is calling me out on my bullshit via the subterfuge of a pointless dream... or it's telling me of a better option. In either case, I'm pretty sure I'm at a loss here.

So damn you subconscious, this little game we're playing? I'm tired of it. Is it too much to ask for some clarity? I don't have time to do some Zen stuff to find oneness with you. Well, I actually do, but lack the discipline and concentration to even pursue that. But cut me some slack, I'm decided, it a may be a lost cause, but its still my choice. Stop trying to ruin/fix it for me. Because all you've done is give me vague and unrealistically hypothetical outcomes. I mean, come on, we're the same person after all. Would it kill you to try and meet me eye to eye here?

Moments part 2

What makes a moment great?

Just how do we dissect that one special instant? When it would seem that the world just fades away. When time stops and it's just you, that place, that person/those people are all that matters. The heart skips a beat, the scenario engraved in the mind, something that we will most assuredly cherish forever. When the past is truly behind us, and tomorrow can damn well wait. Because it's your time and on one else's. And you pray to the gods that it lasts just a little bit longer, just a little bit longer...

In that respect, just how much does it take to have it all come crashing down?

When does a wrong turn or a single mistake ruin days, weeks, months if not years of preparation and build-up? Could it be a small nick or a slight crack, creeping up slowly and surely. Shattering the dreams that you've paid so dearly for? Or perhaps it's swift and decisive, like a house of cards collapsing to a strong breeze or and excess in vibration. Is it a combination of various sins and faults, unchecked insensitivity and miscalculations born of stubborn arrogance or inculpable ignorance? Maybe it was doomed from the start, blinded by false hopes and delusive expectations?

For whatever the reasons, the factors or the correlations we see, for whatever questions and inquiries we ask, one thing is certain. These moments will come whether we like them or not. They will come as we stumble along or deliberately set a course for them. The people involved in these times are just as important, as they now share something with you. Whether that bond or the association is through love, hate, friendship, or whatever, they will cling to you, and you to them. After all is said and done, all that is left is memories.... memories that eventually fade.

But we can now choose to fight and retain those bonds those memories. Because in the end, when all is said and done, you need these experiences. Not as a crutch to bitterness. Or an excuse to reminisce of the good old days, but rather simply, to reminds us who we are.

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3:16

A man gives up his life so that millions' sins would be forgiven. What does that mean really?

Christianity has told the story countless times, focusing how the sacrifice of this man, who was the son of a god and, bizarrely the very god himself, saved us from our trespasses. John 3:16 goes with the ever memorable "For God so loved the world, He gave us his only son." It seems most of my fellow Christians memorize this scene by heart and yet fail to see how significant this alleged deicide, if one could even call it that, he did take up a mortal coil after all, and miss the underlying message (at least to me) of it all.

Whether or not you believe in the Christian Doctrine, or the Catholic Church or it's many variations, the crucifixion story lends wisdom, albeit an ideal one. Even the godless heathens, the agnostic and those of atheistic tendencies could learn from such melodrama. It's not a story of sacrifice personally, but a culmination of what the man, Jesus Christ stands for. That he was just that, a man (be it true that he was the spawn of a divine being or not) and very much like us. He was subject to the frailty of humanity, the faults and the glory that goes with our very existence. A man who inspired by spreading belief/lies to people who desperately need to hold on to something–faith, hope, illusions. He proved that one man can make a difference, for whatever those reasons and what the difference is is subject to our own personal interpretations.

More importantly, the entirety of his life wasn't just performing miracles or preaching life lessons to the people, but showing us that a man can be good. That with faith, and love, any man or woman can strive to be better than what is expected of him or her. That, to me, was what Jesus Christ represented. Either as a true-to-life inspiration or a lovable character of a story of fiction, he was for all intents and purposes, good, but human, meaning we too, can follow his example.

Yes one could say it's easier to put in a story, but if the idea exists, then perhaps the possibility does as well. After all, what else can change the very nature of a man (or woman) but ideas?

When Wrong Is Right

There are moments wherein we are forced to make a decision, the popular one and the right one. These situations may or may not be a matter of life or death, but the impact towards our lives are just as crucial. In these moments, something has to give, and mostly the true altruist is given the short end of the stick.

I was never an altruist, and I have yet to meet a sincere one, or at least a person who picks the right decision rather than the popular one, no matter the cost. I have always thought that I would be that person, the one who wouldn't care about personal happiness or progress and sacrifice even the dearest of relationships just to do what is right and what is just. The one who, despite the hopelessness, despite the neglect, would still care.

When it comes right down to it, if you truly care, unselfishly and sincerely, you would go with the right decision. People may question your intent, your agenda, but can you really live with yourself if you allow this tomfoolery and injustice to continue? Can you truly sleep at night that these very people who will question you know just as well as you do and do nothing? Will you truly sacrifice what you hold dear to protect/save/enlighten this person?

When Wrong is Right, nobody wins. And the pain caused, the tears shed, and at times, the blood spilt, are on your hands as well, just as everybody's.

Let It All Out (I'm An Idiot)

Idiots will be idiots. You can try and show them the light but ultimately, that's all you can do. Show. Their decision to become part of the ignorant, the clueless and borderline stupid is their choice and their's alone. Don't beat yourself up about it, you tried but really, is it even any of your business? You've been shut out because you thought there was more to this idiot, too late, you say to yourself, and you find yourself in the exact place you were before you met, utterly helpless, angry at the how others who have more right to intervene than you sit by and let the idiot make a fool of herself all over again. Yet the guilt still binds you, and you can do nothing but keep it inside and observe, a painful reminder of your failure as someone who was once favored and trusted.

But what of hubris? What if you totally got it wrong? You were never shunned, simply inadvertedly ignored. But isn't that more painful, to be treated as an afterthought? And do you truly know the entire story? Perhaps you missed something, your senses have been wrong before and your estimations have currently been suspect. Maybe just maybe, you're lying to yourself, fabricating this notion that somehow this person needs you, when in truth and reality you are the last thing she needs. You ponder on a final confrontation, but you feel that it will never lead to anything, just like every other endeavor you've been through this year. Either way, one path is clear... walk away, yet you keep looking back.

A closed door or window means another one has opened or will open eventually. Exploration of new horizons are on the way, yet fear clings to you. You're afraid that once again you will screw it up. You seek something meaningful but find yourself reluctant to take the jump, because you know very simply that idiots will always be idiots, and you're one.

Assumptions

The Bad News Bears is a film about a cellar-dwelling baseball team that played in some Little League in some non-descript town in Texas. It was your typical underdog story meant to inspire it's audience via the premise that despite their inherent mediocrity, they can still conquer the odds if they pool in their talents. It's also about second (and third, and fourth, maybe fifth) chances, as represented by the team's alcoholic coach, Morris Buttermaker (played by the late great, Walter Matthau).

Having watched the abhorrent sequels that do the original little to justice, that theme seems iron clad. But perhaps the most distinct lesson I picked up from this dated film comes from the first scene of the original. Surprisingly enough, a mere extra is the source of this nugget of wisdom: "Never Assume, because if you do, you make an Ass of You, and Me".

Let's break that down: Ass / U / Me.

Clever eh?

Of course this sets a deadly precedent, if one were to follow this philosophy to the letter, one risks not ever taking risks.... wait.. what?

Anyways, lame jokes of wordplay aside, never assuming is just saying never take risks. Behaviors are predictable to some extent, that cannot be denied, but to not act upon them for fear of the consequences (Ass - U - Me) will lead to no progress. While such ideals are supported by the 2nd Law of Sexual Dynamics, there are times when laws are meant to be bent or broken. That's probably why it is called a risk in the first place. There is never certainty involved and most likely the consequences will most undoubtedly suck. At least that what's most optimist would like us to think.

Perhaps the middle part of the word's dissection is easily missed. Assumptions are fine if, and only if, the risk-ee (the one chancing it) will suffer all the negative results. We hardly stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, somebody else will also partake in the disaster that you so vehemently initiated. Nevermind the possibility that our ability to assess the behaviours that we've observed are way off and tarnished by our own dellusional egos. Assuming is like the Tango, it takes two, and the parties involved reap the benefits as well share the despair.

So what would be the ideal way of handling such things? There is no ideal manner in going about assumptions. At best what we can do is to always see it to the end, whether we succeed or ultimately fail.

Et Tu Heart

The human ability to comprehend the metaphysical has been somewhat of a curse and a blessing all at the same time. We can see through the cold and calculating objectivity of things and see the spirit or heart of people and things before us, granting ineffable results. A cancer patient surviving with only the love of the people around him or her to feed of off is just one such example. The medicine may not be a craft of perfection, yet the science behind it seems sound. Given that, it still does not compute.

On the other hand, the curse begins when, despite having a solid rationale present, we stubbornly cling to habits, beliefs and misconceptions. Denial and self-deception are ready-made weapons and infallible points, so take that you damnable brainiacs with your objectivity and fancy logic. Try asking a battered wife/girlfriend and you'll just end up thinking them beyond stupid. "That's what you get when you let your heart win," says Paramore lead vocalist Hayley Williams.

Our hubris is that we know better. And we have knowledge enough to circumvent what is plain as day. We hide behind words such as relativity, perspective and opinion to shield us from the frigid and uncaring reality that we deny on a daily basis. Even those of us who claim to live in this reality, these realist, are susceptible. We're all victims, and we're all willing to subject ourselves to such dementia and emotional turmoil.

Scrutiny of such behaviors are fun as well. We love to pass on our issues or opine on other's problems because it hardly affects us, or provides us gain.

But really, what really bothers all of us is because deep down we also know that we know better. But the ability to have contradictions in what we say, think, do or feel is what complicates things. We are betrayed by our very subconscious and instinct. You'd think that as evolved primates we could see past such bestial notions easily. Alas, that isn't really the case.

Escape

There is nothing more therapeutic than finding a place of escape, whether physical or mental. Such places allow for a temporary exodus from the pains and ills of existence. The solace found in these places is what keeps us going. Some use external stimuli to achieve such ecstasy, often proving to be detrimental to one's health. On the other hand, those who find such outlets and turn in them productive activities are the lucky ones, it's not everyday one uses something as an escape and at the same time profit from it.

Escape is always temporary. Sooner or later, one must face reality and all its trials and tribulations. Escape can sometimes be the solution, but only indirectly. It conditions us to go on about the machinations of the eventual solution. For whatever reasons, everyone looks for an escape from time to time. We need it, we're addicted to it, we can't have enough of it. Yet we know that there is too little time for such, as the calls of reality are too strong to block out, unless we finally chose the path of madness.

The worst case scenario is when this escape is the problem. It's so much easier to cling on to something than to let it go. The notion of losing something, no matter how harmful, futile or idiotic, hurts. Healing from such wounds are slow, and often leave their lasting mark. They pile up, rending us broken and lost. It is painfully difficult. It rears its ugly head to haunt and plague the still-recovering mind. Yet, there is no true repose, one is just replacing it with another outlet, another form of escape. Hopefully, the new one proves to be of a more positive nature than its predecessor. Until then, all we can do is to keep looking.

Secrets

Everyone has secrets. No exceptions.

Some secrets exist because of hope. Hope that things in the end will work out, or will simply come to be. Despite the logical flaws, the improbability of the situation or the scenario presented, hope floats as a beacon of delusions that mar better judgment, the decision to simply walk away or act upon it. So the secret remains hidden, shared to few if at all. The truth being the most effective lock to the proverbial Pandora's Box of failed aspirations, pain and regret.

Other secrets exist as a byproduct of goals, ambitions and agendas. Kept only to forward these clandestine goals. Such trump cards are used for devious and noble means. They can harm as well as they can protect, all dependent on the wielder's discretion. Knowledge is power after all, and even the most nonsensical fact and fleeting tidbits can prove vital given the right situation.

However, secrets are not predicated on those two alone. Shame, hate, pride and a bevy of human emotions are reasons enough to keep things hidden from others. Whatever secrets lay behind the minds of a man or woman, they are tucked neatly away because of fear, fear that the truth, the harsh and brutal truth will be known and the facade will be ultimately washed away.

Truth is not only the lock, but it is the key as well. As it is, secrets are truths, for good or ill. The deepest and darkest secrets are the truest and purest. Whether malicious or not, the honesty and the sincerity of such cannot be questioned.

Secrets when revealed are often amusing, shocking, if not downright sad. They explain many things, one's hopes, one's agendas and one's true intent (obviously). In the end however, the best secrets are those that can be said without Hope or Agenda, but simply said in all of it's honesty.

So to someone very special, this I say unto you, hoping and aspiring for nothing but for you to know, that I love you.

Sadly and perhaps fortunately, you'll never really know.

Auspicious Day

August 8, 2008 (08-08-08) is considered by many as an auspicious day. Merely because of the numerical coincidence and not much else. Others may attribute a negative connotation to such days depending on one's religion or superstitious orientation.

But really, is there such a thing as an auspicious day? Can the Lady of Fortune's (or Misfortune) smile truly shine the brightest on days of numerical significance? Luck, as it is, seems to be on everyone's mind on such days, an epidemic that may simply condition impressionable minds to do things they would otherwise not normally do.

Perhaps it's all in the mind. We consider it to be our lucky day because we've fooled ourselves to thinking that it is. A man may suddenly get the courage and confidence to reveal certain secrets under the influence of believing illogical flights of fancy. If things don't go his way what then? The blame has to be placed somewhere and it is somewhat convenient to once again to place on unforeseen circumstances outside of the mortal ken.

Of course, there are times that such things do turn out for the best. Indeed a dash of confidence can do wonders, no matter the source. If it works, it's probably adequate. A mindset can do so much to change outcomes and situations. Scenarios are run perfectly given the right mindset, or so wrongly if the contrary is true.

Still, it's a lot like saying that thinking positively allows us a modicum of control over the situation. As if the, by sheer force of will, we manipulate the forces around us to a favorable outcome. That would be such an enticing idea, if we can just forget the fact that other people actually have their own scenarios, agendas, mindsets and that little thing called free will. No big deal right?

Auspicious day or no, it is the mindset, the belief that drives us to do amazing feats or fail miserably. But if that mindset is brought about by a paper thin belief of luck on certain moon cycles or geometric position who really cares? In the end, all that matters are the results.

Two Sides of A Coin

After finally getting the chance to watch Nolan's much-anticipated chef-d'oeuvre, Batman: The Dark Knight, there was only one word that can sum up my feelings for the latest iteration of the Caped Crusader: AWESOME.

Say what you want about taking comic book movies seriously, but as it stands, The Dark Knight wasn't treated as just some comic book flick produced to appease nerds or a family movie cash-in. Rather, Nolan et al decided to tell this story with the same amount of attention any self-respecting director would approach literary classics like the Count of Monte Cristo. At the end of the day, making a film is about telling a story, and The Dark Knight did exactly that, tell the story of Batman/Bruce Wayne in awe-inspiring and meticulous detail.

But making a review was never this author's intention. As the tag suggests, this post was made to ponder and ramble on the themes and abstract concepts tackled by the film's script. So onwards to the inaneity.

The inclusion of the main protagonist's arch-rival the Joker was probably what catapulted this movie from great to simply epic. The late Heath Ledger did well in portraying the most engaging rogue of Batman's gallery. The Clown Prince of Crime, in his mad and deranged glory may seem like a simple criminal in clown make-up. Going beyond the image however, the Joker becomes a caricature of order. Society has a set of rules, based upon fear of consequence and what many consider is sane. Take away those rules and the world seems bereft, pointless and all at the same time amusing. Self-preservation becomes the only rule and even then the vacuity of it all makes that meaningless to a point. Some men only want to see the world burn. After all, isn't it all a big joke, imaginary rules, order and whatnot. In the end all that does not matter. Or does it?

In an interesting twist of the age old Prisoner's Dilemma, the movie delivers probably its greatest scene. Two boats, rigged with explosives, one filled with civilian's, the other filled with the inhabitants of the city's correctional facility. Each boat is given a detonator (that activates the other boat's bombs) and an ultimatum. The logical and pragmatic solution would be to save the civilians and let the convicts die. This twisted irony is perhaps the script's crowning glory and people may not even realize it. Never mind that Batman saved the day and stopped the boats from being pink mist, this just shows that even sinners, rapists and murderers, can have a hint of decency, and the decent law-abiding citizen, can be just as cold and heartless as they are. While Batman claims that not everyone is like the Joker and the experiment failed, the notion that the big dog amongst Gotham's scum doing an act of sacrifice actually proves the Joker's theory, post-humously.

Perhaps as an ode to one of the greatest Batman novels ever written, a sort of Killing Joke-ish angle is explored throughout the movie. As the novel suggests, sometimes all it takes is one bad day that even the best of us can just snap. In the film, the proverbial White Knight is the incomparable Gotham district attorney Harvey Dent. Despite being the celebrated high moral compass of the city Dent succumbs to the madness of betrayal, formulating his own concept of justice dictated by chance, represented entirely by two side of coin. Fortune was on his side as Batman takes on the polar opposite of Dent's moniker. As the Dark Knight, Batman remains the guardian of the near-dystopian Gotham minus all the glory and acclaim.

A parallelism between the two arch-rival eventually emerges. Both obviously have serious mental disorders (tell me jumping around rooftops dressed as a bat isn't crazy, nevermind being dressed as a clown and committing crimes). However they operate on conflicting spectrums. As always, Batman's crusade is one that is frowned upon by many, the brutality and destruction to property notwithstanding. Still, the detective in Batman is evident, still following the methods of law enforcers only circumventing the rules that hogtie them into doing anything worthwhile against criminals.

The Joker on the other hand does away with the traditional mien of criminality. The motivation is simply for amusement and disturbing pleasure, a crusade to prove that anyone, given the right circumstances, can go bat-shit insane (pardon the pun). It's not money, vengeance or what not that drives him, but simple down to the basics anarchy.

In conclusion, the author would highly recommend a second (and third, and fourth) viewing, if only to rediscover the many themes of the human psyche explored by the Dark Knight. It is somewhat fitting that the 2nd villain, Harvey "Two-Face" Dent is caught in the crossfire, his signature coin and two-face represent the opposing natures of both Batman and Joker. As well as the duality of their respective crusades, which has the two fighting it out in see-saw battle of intelligence backed up by relative insanity. An epic battle that only Nolan can truly capture in film.

Changes

They say that the only thing permanent in life is change.

Now before one goes on and claims the apparent contradiction, keep in mind that the more things change, the more things stay the same. Bravo Snake Plissken, despite being the stereotypical chauvinistic and gritty anti-hero, you surely showed a bit of depth with that nugget of wisdom.

People change, times change, the paradigm shifts and everything goes to hell, and back again. Whether it's the End of History as the old grand narratives of the Cold War, the two World Wars or the many wars of antiquity have come and gone, or a Clash of Civilization wherein the Age of Information has us in constant conflict due to our diverse belief systems, the natural progression, it would seem, is that of conflict.

There can really be no change if there is no conflict, on the personal or socio-political level. Lovers won't break up if there is no conflict, direct or indirect. It may be due to infidelity or simply the two moving in opposing directions. Nations and countries are mostly built around conflicts, war, protest or the people having an opposing view of the incumbent regime. It is not a question of violence, but rather the presence of an anti-thesis to challenge the existing model.

This of course begs the question, can change actually be proactive? Considering the idea of being proactive was born due to the ineffectivity of reactive behavior, that kind of makes the question null and void. Change for the sake of change maybe considered a proactive stance but then again, considering how such policies are merely for show then I guess that puts that idea in the crapper as well.

Is change then aligned to conflict and to a point, entropy? Perhaps there is truth to the saying that one does not need to fix what was never broken. Following that logic and applying that to people, can we truly change without being broken at first?

The Joke's On You

Jokes are a devices meant to generate mirth, humor, laughter and general amusement. In the hands of the talented and eloquent, jokes can make light of weighty situations, obscuring the seriousness and presenting a more casual perspective. In the hands of the dubious, jokes can hurt, belittle and cause even the most meek of lambs into raving lunatics or the stoic to whimper. The more intelligent of us can make into art, often reflecting the current paradigm, or proving insight hidden between the lines of witty delivery.

The punchline can be so right on the money that it can even be more cruel than any crude and blatant insult. It hits right at home, cutting deep and proves to be more sad than funny, and yet we can't help but laugh in the sheer honesty of it all.

The funniest persons I know are usually the saddest persons I know. Humor is but a way to cope with the world's brutal ass-kicking we receive on a daily basis. With their insecurities and hang ups, the funny man, the comedian amongst us finds solace in making others laugh as a way to veil their own sadness. A joke that best describes this is taken from Alan Moore's Watchmen:

Heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor. Says he's depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says he feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says "Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up." Man bursts into tears. Says "But Doctor... I am Pagliacci."

Context plays a critical role in the telling of jokes. One cannot illicit humor if the intended audience "isn't in on it". The relationship between a comedian and his/her audience by itself, serve as the very basis of the joke. Accepting that would mean that sometimes witty one-liners and zingers tells us more about the relationship, the dynamics behind it and why it exists.

Jokes are cultural, meaning what may be funny to a Frenchman may go way above the head of Somalian, obviously. Again, it reflects the popular paradigm that exists in that culture. Is it any wonder that majority of comics are also the smartest people around? Yet again, while the hahas and guffaws are plenty, taking a long look at the punchline usually results into a different perspective to a seemingly hopeless situation. So much so that the best we can do to cope with it is to make it sound cynically humorous.

One is led to ask why? Why is it that the comic in us would consider grave circumstances as material for our latest jape? Is it perhaps, that for us, life in itself is one big joke? Paraphrasing a quote taken from Alan Moore's Batman: The Killing Joke, is everything some monstrous, demented gag and we have no choice but to see the funny side? What if we refuse to see it? or worse... what if we don't get it?

See the Unseen

Mama San once asked me what ever did happen to my supposed post on our trip to Baguio. I had grand ideas for that post too, even coming up with a rough outline like what most organized writers do instead of my usual "type until a make some sort of sense" technique of writing. I'd talk about the climate, the people, the food - ah such illusions of grandeur that perpetuate the mind of a hack.

Instead I'd prefer to keep Baguio ingrained in my mind and refuse to share it with the world because I don't think my words can ever do justice to the awesomeness of that road trip. I will however, touch on something... shall we say... unnatural?

Recently my interest in the occult and the paranormal have been piqued the past couple of days, perhaps because I recall being traumatized by certain movies in my childhood, one of which was the original Omen. Hence, my hatred towards small children who just stare at you and keep quiet. Seriously, tell me that's not creepy?

Speaking of out-of-town trips, one of the hazards of partaking in the great outdoors in a country which has a rich folklore like the Philippines usually means that paranormal stories and legends add to the flavor of the trip. That made absolutely no sense, but I don't really care, it sounded like it was profound and it meant something... whatever.

Mama San is gifted, or cursed, with what we call the Sixth Sense. "I see dead people" is just the tip of the iceberg, so M. Night Shamaladingdong only touched on very little on the aspect of ESP or the Third Eye. These people can also see beings that are not visible to the naked eye. You know, the underpants gnomes, them hobbits and fairies. Now you would think I would scoff at such things, but it is my firm belief that one should never discount the presence of beings beyond our understanding... I mean, come on, Britney Spears?

That said, I am absolutely certain that I'm blessed not to have such "gifts". On the other hand, the paranormal has a degree of appeal that leads me to keep coming back for more. Be it unexplained elements of a picture, strange smells of local flowers like a sampaguita while walking in isolated and poorly lit environs or mysterious knocks on one's bedroom door despite having no one there every time you answer it.

What is it about the unseen that stimulates man's imagination? A world within ours not seen by the naked eye does sound intriguing... but at the same time, I personally think it's somewhat depressing. Imagine a culture secluded from ours, knowledge unknowable to us for we lack that extra ability to see the unseen. Oh the things we could learn from one another.

Of course, while I see the missed opportunities of learning and sharing with an alternative culture, one that is beyond our imagination, I'm not for stirring the hornet's nest. To paraphrase the bastardize Hollywood version of Alan Moore's Hellblazer's Constantine, "You see them, they see you." Truly, sociological pursuits are the least of my concerns when faced with something that scares me honestly. Perhaps further exposure and understaning would take that away, but really, I'm just human. After all, it is simply in our nature to be afraid of the unknown.

Influence

True to the stereotype that plagues anyone who graduated from my beloved alma mater, I found myself sipping coffee in a lobby of a five-star hotel last weekend listening to some lounge music. While I have certain reservations of perpetuating that tag roughly translated to female genitalia, good music and pistachio cake made it all worthwhile.

The topic was somewhat strange considering present company at that time. While Mama San is your typical workaholic honor-student, I never figured her to be one who would appreciate mor abstract topics of art and literature. On the other hand, Jay, while not without depth, rarely discusses anything of philosophical and artistic value outside of his shirt business and forays into the realm of romance. Yes, the relationship challenged people were at it again, overANALyzing silly details of our inability to find significant companionship other than our crazy little troupe.

I find it somewhat strange that just because we were situated in a place of supposed sophistication and "class" that our discourse would touch upon high brow subject matters. It's quite awkward discussing my influence admiration to the works of Alan Moore, Jim Lee, Chris Avellone or Neil Gaiman outside of an online forum. Pleasantly surprising was Jay's wonderment for Vincent Van Gogh and the late George Carlin, something that was a totally unknown to me, despite knowing the douche bag for nearly a decade. People can indeed, surprise you from time to time. We needn't ask Mama San's literary influences, for fear of having to remember some overbearing statistical business drivel of a certain multinational corporation. Either that or I simply didn't give much of a damn simply because the lovely Mama San prefers romance novels, something that I wouldn't even consider good bathroom reading. No offsene meant Mama San.

I've alwasy considered sharing one's artistic and philosphical influences good coversation material. It presents me the opportunity to try and outgeek everyone else while throwing obscure internet culture in a real world setting. It also allows one an in-depth analysis of other people's personality and psyche. While it doesn't necessarily paint the entire picture, a small teaser is more often than not a good launching point for further inquiries and discussion. While this may sound like a bunch of new age hipster talk associated to Mactards who sip coffee in Starbucks while updating their Friendster/MySpace/Facebook/Twitter in their overpriced plasticky gadgets, it does have merit.

Assuming that influence is anchored on admonisihing the rhetoric of that person or that body of work, certainly we can derive an idea of how to place this person in our personal lives. While perception and adoption of such concepts aren't fully accurate, the notion that such beliefs can embed themselves in our minds presents an interesting, and sometimes amusing, dynamic.

Of course, that doesn't mean that influence alone can tell you of a person's ideology or belief system. Obviously it is just one aspect, and as I've said, merely a launching point for further investigation. To do so would create a situation ripe with conflict.

But what about the self? Would reviewing the various influences, and the changes in one's own view of such influences offer an appropriate venue of self-assessment? I don't see why not. Growth is best measured by seeing change or the lack thereof. What compromises that have been made or whatever conviction remains can tell us a lot of what we've become.

Thinking about it now, it seems that sharing one's influence is a selfish act with the positive externatily of learning about those who we share with. Besides being able to show who's got the bigger intellectual penis, we can step back and ponder on what we've just shared just then and compare and contrast from what we would have said years before. It wouldn't be too weird to shit bricks after realizing how much has changed or has remained the same.

Kicking the Habit

I type this smoking probably (and hopefully) the last few sticks of cigs I will ever smoke in this lifetime.

Strange that the idea of quitting a habit as unhealthy of smoking hit me recently. Granted, most people would plan and pain themselves considering how and when to quit. I figured that in the spirit breaking such a habit, it would be best to do it abruptly, if not out on a whim. That's just my style I guess.

No matter what the motivation behind such an idea would be, the fact of the matter is doing kicking a habits is a means to an end. Habits are nice, sometimes they can identify us, differentiate us, and even endear us to certain people. I doubt however, that the habit of smoking falls under such a category.

Granted, the biggest obstacle is perhaps psychological. I've embedded it into my head that smoking stimulates my mind and imagination, perhaps as a switch of sorts to turn stimulate my writing.... but really, looking at it now, I seem to have used that only as an excuse to prolong my addiction to nicotine. No more.

There's something to be said about habits and how it affects us. We use habits as a means to put ourselves in a place of comfort, a zone of certainty wherein we are the masters and we know exactly how things will turn out. Habits can be good or bad, that much is true. However habits should never define us. People might remember us because of certain quirks and habits, but I daresay that such things are never truly part of our inherent nature. After all, to be human is to realize our flaws, our quirks, and to the ability to chose to keep them, encourage them, or to do away with them entirely.

Going cold turkey is never easy. In fact the odds of succeeding seem very minimal given the statistics of quitting smokers. But all things must come to an end. My only motivation is that this was a choice made selfishly. Not for anyone and not for anything but myself. Perhaps I will succeed, eventually, or fail, but will surely try again. Still, the idea of deciding on something easily without contemplation gives me a good feeling. In the grander scheme of things, this isn't just about preservation of health, but a challenge of the mind. An inner-struggle to prove that I am not bound by habits and that I have control over my self.

It all sounds oh so melodramatic, but it doesn't have to be. As I see it, inner-struggle is an everyday thing, we all act normal and go on about our usual days, but in reality, each and every person battles conflicts within themselves. The surface may seem all calm and serene, but underneath lies a maelstrom of reason, emotions and inklings. Sometimes we may not even be aware of our own battles with ourselves.

While this started out as narcissistic blabber on my decision to kick the habit of smoking, it eventually, and expectedly shifted to narcissistic psycho-babble about man's nature and the conflict within, all the while stubbing out a stick not even half-way through.... I suppose I'm off to a good start.

But it'll be a cold day in hell before I think about quitting coffee though.