A Crafty One that One

There are few people who get my respect. Ok, that's a bold-faced lie, I respect a lot of people. Still, there are few people who I respect who fall in the category of bloggers. One such person is Mikey "Fucking" Villar, who, in his twisted little blogging world, dubbed himself the Rising Internet Star. Normally, such claims to fame would elicit my "watch me give a damn" remark. However as Mikey is someone who I respect as a fellow scribe and wordsmith, I find his work profound and informative enough to pick him as my Bloggers' Choice Award for this year's Philippine Blog Awards. But don't take my word for it, simply look at his majestic and elegant visage and you'll realize that you're speaking to one of the Internet's wisest men:

Uh huh.... yes, he seems very... respectable...
yes... talk about a buffet of man... li... ness...


Ok fine, the truth is I rather find his work amusing due to his uncanny ability to make fun of himself in a most humorous manner. But beyond the comedy and the self-depreciation ala Chandler Bing, Mr. Villar captures that old school dark and offensive humor that has been lost thanks to the pussification of civilzation as we know it. Sensitivities and political correctness is thrown out the window and made as a comedy act that covertly reveals our truest notion of what is funny. Face it people, you may think what he said is so very wrong on so many levels, yet you find yourself silently giggling as you read each homosexual innuendo and internet-tough-guy Schadenfreude that few people like the Rising Internet Star can deliver.

Like the title says, his a crafty one, that one.

Spirit of the Holidays (A Talk Like A Pirate Day Post)

Holidays, be a mixed bag. Some be meant fer commemoratin' events in history, others be meant t' celebrate th' lives o' great (an' sometimes, nay-so-great) men an' lasses. Attachin' meanin' t' dates ben a common practice eresince civilization began. Then thar be some unofficial holidays that, fer unexplained reason, manifests from what once be isolated subcultures.

Talk Like A Sea dog Tide (TLAPD) be probably one o' th' most absurd holidays t' be conceived. While nay reckoned as an official event, 't perhaps captures th' very essence o' stickin' t' th' "spirit" o' holidays. Born from th' Internet, a dreary an' morally derived place, TLAPD stems from th' many subcultures that be jokingly formed through some dark an' twisted meetin' o' like minds. 't represent th' lighter side o' Internet humor in a way that one cannot help but be enticed t' 'tis motley invitation t' th' realm o' self-mockin' an' jack language.

While celebraitng petty thieves an' thugs o' th' seas, th' swashbucklin' truth be that, like many holidays, TLAPD be formulated by a collective, like some sort o' primitive civilization/tribe thin'. Really, I could go on an' talk more anthropology, but I scarely reckon such lessons. Still, th' idee or idee be under th' motivation nay dri'en by profit or swabbieal gain, rather as a way t' claim an' celebrate somethin' unique. Us Internet geeks got t' be havin' somethin' after all.

Wi' that in mind, TLAPD in all 'tis notion o' stupidity an' debauchery-inducin' existence be here t' stay. Whether or nay 'tis reckoned by th' powers t' be as legitimate be irrelevant. After all, we, th' free swabbiess o' th' Internet, will celebrate 't nay matter what.

Words Just Get In the Way

Actions speaks louder than words and a picture is worth a thousand of them. We can say very little but mean so much. We can say a lot and mean absolutely nothing at all. The meaning behind them is what gives them weight. The voice reciting them is what gives them character.

But words are just words.

Conveying ideas and expressing emotions — That's what words are for. They can deliver the sweetest of lines that make us fall or deliver the saddest of news that make us cry. They can hide the deepest of lies and reveal the sincerest of truths. They entertain, they bore, they make us think, they make us question.

But, words are just words.

We say them outright, we say them so smoothly and so eloquently. We stammer through them, our diction faltering as we go along. We play with them, we struggle. We reach out and form relationships with them. We use them to cut ties and burn bridges, and at the same time, we trust on them to rebuild and reform what was once lost.

We whisper, we shout. We write, we sing. So tell me again, are words just words?

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.