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.

Goodnight, Good Guy

Perhaps one of the most underrated bands in the 90s, Collective Soul will forever remain, as one of the author's favorite bands. Debuting in 1993, the Atlanta-based band's Hints, Allegations, and Things Left Unsaid album contained a little gem of a song entitled "Goodnight, Good Guy". While the intro of the song featured an upbeat chord progression, the solemnity of the song and the message behind (at least to me) is where it derives it's magic.

"Goodnight, Good Guy" describes a person close to the song's protagonist, a male figure who, according to the chorus, imparts wisdom, comfort and guidance. As the stanzas progress, it is implied that Mr. Good Guy here is seemingly gone with a clear indication of the protagonist's longing for the man's company. Toward the end, a resolution as made as the singer finally accepts the reality of this absence and lets go.

August 23 marks the 62nd birthday of a great man, who I have the privilege to call father. Conrado "Dodie" Casas de Leon may have passed away nearly 4 years ago, his legacy and memory remains with several people otherwise known as my family. In a sense, he was my "Good Guy" and much like the singer, I miss his guidance, his advice and more importantly, "be the one to tell me everything's all right."

While the last couple of years have me in stumbling through life feeling lost due to his absence, I am, thankfully, slowly getting back on my feet. A big part of that lies in the knowledge that somehow, someway, my Good Guy lives through me. The values, the memories and the love that he gave me will see me through to whatever path lies ahead of me.

So Dad, thank you for everything and happy birthday. I'm gonna let you sleep, Ill let you fade off in the night. I pray the lord to keep, I pray the lord to hold you tight. Goodnight, Good Guy.

Things Left Unsaid

In a somewhat expected act of pedantry, I found myself proverbially shitting bricks after watching a crude anime show called Detective Conan. While I don't understand how a high profile detective is drugged and has gone missing for several weeks does not raise any kind of clamor in the investigative community much less the protagonists social circle (nevermind he re-emerges as a child that is adopted by his girlfriend's family), the series does have its merits. While not in the realm of Sherlock Holmes/Dr. House M.D. investigative genius built upon meticulous observation of detail, the cases are mind boggling enough to keep one entertained for an hour or so.

This particular episode dealt with a rockstar (a royal douche that looks like the bastard child of Cloud Strife and Vash the Stampede, I don't even wanna know how that is plausible but that's the first thing that stuck to my mind) who is poisoned by his manager and ex-bandmate who is pissed off because the victim kept making her sing Rudolph the red nosed reindeer. Later it was explained it was due to that prior to being band manager the killer was not attractive and had undergone surgery due to being apparently madly in love with the victim. With me so far? It gets better.

Turns out the victim would've reciprocated that love but is upset because of the surgery, making him a bitter, bitter man who continously agitates the love of his life to the point the she sumarrily kills him. How tragic.

Of course the story is surprisingly deep for a Japanese animation with a 7-10 year-old manchild as a the lead. These two people, killer and victim, could've avoided all the pain and tragedy had they only had the heart to express their true feelings for each other. As cheesy as that sounds, how many do we know fall to this same trap and end up wallowing in several, cooked-up "what if" scenarios.

While the consequences of failing to express true intent may not be as dire as depicted in the show, such situations are still somewhat tragic. Of course, there is wisdom in having certain things best left unsaid. But more often than not, this situations are best put in the "ignorance is bliss" category.

For every action is an equal reaction. The principle is that keeping mum about such things are a way of playing it safe and avoiding to solicit a reaction. Of course, the problem with such a concept is there is no stimulae that would otherwise generate an outcome. And stories without outcomes can be quite annoying.

Whatever it is that left unsaid, may eventually come to light, or fade into obscurity. At the end however, being able to said what is needed to be said can grant a sense of release, whether the outcome is favorable or not.

Shame I can't seem to follow that logic sometimes.

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.

Don't Dream It's Over

Dreamers are often stereotyped as idiots who chase rainbows and fall flat on their faces. Meanwhile, most dreamers would like to be seen as people who make their own reality to achieve their dreams and goals. While it may sound ludicrous to claim at first, but truly, looking at it there isn't much difference between the two interpretations.

People who overextend their ambitions towards the ebb and flow of the sea of reality are shunned for the mere fact that well, what they wish is at best improbable. Now, dreaming is free but that's just the very problem. One must usually gain something at a cost. Being stuck with the notion of "dreams are free" is counter productive. Achieving dreams usually come at a great cost or at the very least, a compromise in the existing situation.

Until one finally understands that making dreams come true comes in exchange or sacrifice of something else, then perhaps the ability to manipulate factors and strive towards the goal will be sufficiently possible. Not a guarantee but perhaps failure in this case could lead to a new dream or the REAL dream that one was blind to in the first place.

This however begs the question, at what costs will one be willing to pay just to achieve their dreams?

Histories

Those who refuse to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it.... or some hogwash like that.

While everyday man and woman do not live in times of turmoil that are the makings of grand narratives like that of World Wars or epic hero ballads, it is our relationships that serve as our version of history.

While deceptively mundane, a person's history is an amusing read at what he or she was, has become and quite possibly, will be. In fact, looking back at all those long list of friends and significant others that have come and gone is an enlightening activity that should be done whenever the current situation permits.

Majority of people would prefer to keep such things hidden or forgotten. People preach the need for closure and sometimes the best way to achieve that is to retrace one's steps. Closure is nice and all but sometimes a lesson must be learned. A relationship that ended and thought you nothing is a waste of time and more than likely just as deep and meaningful as that last fling or one night stand.

Some may get it right the first time and not even have a chance to build a history. These people are either so ridiculously fortunate or are in for a severe and disappointing ending. Shit happens.

Still, having a history and being able to recount it with someone who's shared that history is an experience that bests describes progress. People change, perhaps retrospect will allow one to view the history in a new perspective, and coming into peace with that will assure that regret will be kept at bay.

Face it, the past is just as much as a part of life and viewing it as something irrelevant is folly and ignorance in its purest form. So pick up the phone, call someone from the past up, and maybe, just maybe, one will learn something that day.