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Lunes, Hunyo 1, 2015

Cheers to the Fools!

Cheers to the fools
the slaves of love-drunk Heart.
Cheers to the fools
who played with the flames of passion
and were burnt by it, wounded
by the shards of promises
they never intended to keep.

Cheers to the tragic story
of the clowns brought to ruin
by the flaws of youth.

Cheers to the fools who 
the venom of a promise,
their gullets choked
by their own perjuries.

Cheers to the fools who thought
that words are enough;
that distances can be bridged
by empty songs.

Cheers to the fools who believed
the happy ending at the tunnel-end.

Cheers to the fools who thought
that the world will lend an ear
if loud enough you shout.

Cheers to the fools, who, 
fumbling in the darkness of their mirth
thought they can make it out.

Huwebes, Pebrero 12, 2015

A Response

I figured that, since I finally got some time on my hands, I should try updating this deserted little blog. After all, I have a lot of thoughts, and many of them have passed me by during the time that I haven't put up any new content. Maybe a new post won't hurt.

Hello, you. This is a response to your letter. I'm pretty sure this post will rot in oblivion before you see it, so I guess I'll say quite a few things. Of course, about us. You're free to construe this as whatever you perceive. The important thing is that I've said things that matter. Maybe not to you, but to me.

Basically, this is just a small open letter to apologize for all the hurt I've caused you. I've told you--its childish giddiness, idealism, romanticism. I pushed you into something you're not ready for. For a while, I was consumed by the illusion that the world is a place that ran on cheesy "I love yous" and sweet promises. I thought that the world was a kind place, even for a short while. Oh, no. Don't be mistaken. I've gotten over it. After all, shedding the rose-colored glasses is the first step to growing up. Only when we have learned to cast off our foolish notions of romance can we face tomorrow. Or else, their shards will hurt us as we desperately try to frame them together again.

I'm forging a path in the darkness that is the future. You say that the future doesn't exist, and while I don't contest that, they say that "before the sun rises you see the glimmer of its rays"--and what we do today is a foretaste of what lies ahead of us. To be honest, I don't have the least idea. Will we drift apart? Will we stick together? Will we be nothing but footprints in the sands of each other's shore? Who knows?

You tell me that I shouldn't be overthinking. Worry not. I'm not overthinking things. Maybe a little. Maybe I've grown so dependent upon the notion of you and me together. It's a delightful thought--we have many things in common: the same things we like, the same things we hate, the same things we make. I guess in a perfect world that would mean we will be overcoming the challenges life throws at us, then ride together, hand in hand, into the waning sunlight. Fade to black. Roll credits. But no. It's a convoluted network of lines--tangent, parallel, or asymptotic to each other. And the hurtful thing is that we can't draw our own lines. If that were so, I in my childish mind could have decided to be with yours.

Again, I want to clarify that I love you. Like, a lot. Maybe the passing of time will quench that idealistic little flame in me later, but I pray not. You're precious. I want you to be my world, my life, my salvation--but only after I've grown up.

So, yeah. Thanks for everything. For the stories we made together. And for the stories we will make.

Biyernes, Mayo 9, 2014

A Loss for Words

I'm at a loss for words again.
I've torn again my thought-splattered canvas
And left my paint to dry.
I've beaten my brush into a plowshare,
And fed my thoughts to the earth.
I've lost sight of caramel-coated skies
And crimson-buttered roses
Or the hymns of silent butterflies.
I've let it break--no more sweetly singing skylarks
to be minstrel of moaning, misted morns
I've quenched the fire, and ceased the roam
To take the wearied path back home.

I'm at a loss for words again.
I've shunned the call of the lyre
And stopped not to muse by the daylight's bier
To share its fire-born tears and burning drear
Or to sound the iron curtains of the nightly frost.
I'll just walk the battered road, dead, forgot, and lost.

I'm at a loss for words again.
I'm picking up the embers of an dream forgot
And from time's scars again wells blood--
And I'm blind again with open eyes
Drowned in a sea of tears where roses float
And then I'm taken back, my lonesome way out to find
And leave the sighs of a shattered heart behind.

Huwebes, Abril 17, 2014

5 Anime Opening Songs Apparently Conceived on Testosterone

I'm back again. It's not long ago since the last post, but whatever. I'm posting to celebrate my 17th birthday. And you have to deal with it.

Now this is what's on the menu today: what's on my playlist. To tell the truth, I'm not the biggest fan of music, and I don't think I can actually appreciate much of it. When in my classroom someone'd whip out a guitar and gather my classmates to sing some new pop song from some mediocre band of "pretty boys" I'm usually the only one who has never heard of that. I am not really good at keeping up with society, huh?

Well at least I know "What Does the Fox Say?". It's a social dissertation, I think, a commentary on the state of mankind as we see it today. A rather poignant thesis, I can safely venture--as it explores the nature of the human mind: to perceive the unknowns, and question the knowns. It posits different possibilities as to the sound of the mystical creature in question.

Does it say: "Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!

Or, "Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow!

Or, maybe, it says: "Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho!

These are erudite suppositions, but unfortunately, not of them got it right. The sound that the red fox--the one prominently referred to in one of the song's verses--is a bloodcurdling scream that more or less translates to "SOOOOOOOOOOULLLLLLLSSSSS!"

And, actually, the song is titled "The Fox." And it's already stale as far as my friends are concerned. See? I'm such a hermit I have probably evolved into a wizard.

Like, you know, Gandalf Dumbledore here.
But let's leave that point at that. Let's get to the point.


In my previous post I ranted about my observations on anime, things about like the annoying weeaboos (or "otaku") and the batshit insane animegao stuff and all. This time, I assure there won't be rants, only love. 

And epic anime openings. THIS IS WHAT WE'RE TALKING ABOUT.

You see, I'm not a fan of either Western music or even OPM. I guess it's not really my cup of tea--even if you say I don't value the nation's native art. It's just that it's not to my taste, not that I think it's bad.

What I like most are hardcore J-Pop anime themes whose lyrics I don't even understand. But they're glorious as fuck--what with all those kick-ass shit that would've detonated testosterone-sacs so massive they generate their own gravitational pull. If that's the case, you'd agree language barriers are just some inconsequential hindrances to conveying full-blown awesomeness between cultures, would you not?

Below here are the five ones I liked most--the ones I considered the most badass of all the openings I've seen so far.


This opening starts rather low-key, with a young Van Hohenheim holding out his hands, probably to check his newly manicured fingers. There are a few leaves flying around, Trisha Elric smiles because she probably thinks flying leaves are fucking hilarious or she's just reassuring Hohenheim that his fingers are colored the most beautiful shade of gay (there are 50). Stuff happens, a door is closed, Hohenheim gets glasses, and then there's FIIIIIIIIIRE.

That last part is really profound, because, as the camera shows as it pans up, it's the protagonists' house being burned--something they did on purpose to mask the memory of their yesterday and so that they can settle down again in their hometown--to forget the abominable crime they committed in the past that caused Ed an arm and a leg (literally) and Al his own physical body (more on that later). . . somehow reminiscent of the Greek mythological character Icarus, who, in his pride that lured him into violating the boundaries by flying to close to the sun--paid dearly for it as the wax binding his wings melted and brought him down to the ground. Now that's so fucking deep symbolism, even if it's just I who expounded on that allusion.

Speaking of symbolism, come 0:49 the opening begins a crescendo for the badass. A montage briefly shows the massive prices Edward, Alphonse, and Winry paid for ever trying human transmutation: a young Ed with a look of fear on his face as Truth claims his arm and his leg; Al's final scream cut off as he is torn into shreds and his corporeal form dissipates into nothingness . . .

. . . and Winry losing her balance from a hangover. Now that's so symbolic.

Badass shit continues to happen as Gluttony vomits out Envy who in turn vomits out Lust. Basically, it's a homunculus regurgitating a homunculus regurgitating a homunculus.

Which culminates in an obligatory Xzibit picture.
Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye feature their pure badassitude for a second each, and then you can see Hitler on top of a rampart. Well of course it's not Hitler, but he's called the Fuhrer, so that makes him Hitler in my book.

There's an epic bridge battle that follows, with explosions courtesy of that obese guy pouncing on Ed with a beautifully expressed rape face. Ed showcases his mastery of earthbending and le parkour and owns Gluttony with a big fat stone pillar to his big fat guts.

Heh heh. Hitler.


There's something I don't understand about anime opening/ending sequences. Oftentimes, the characters of the series would be found running toward nowhere as the credits roll.

"Why the fuck are we running?"
"Shhh. Trust me."


Okay, Maka's walking. But it still qualifies.

And D. Gray Man's fourth opening somehow qualifies for that, though young Allen Walker's actually running towards the camera, unlike the running-in-profile shtick of the above examples. 

The opening's first lyrics play with the Millennium Earl's trademark "HIDE-YO-KIDS-HIDE-YO-WIFE" face, which is so creepy you can actually sue it. The show's resident bishoujo Yu Kanda appears with her super-epic swords that also somehow double as wings as she chops down a giant child molester with pure, unadulterated justice.

Giant walking piles of nope.
A montage of the antagonists, called the Noah, follows, and then proceeds to show an army clearly headed by some guy with a toothbrush mustache who is definitely not Hitler.

This guy is "Malcolm Levrier." *smirks and rolls eyes*

Cross Marian appears with his gun, an old guy does . . . er, things . . . and some blond chick sends out her Pokemon to battle, while another guy goes on ripping the enemies with his super epic electric fan.

And then more badass shit happens as Dracula . . . er, Arystar Krory (definitely not ripped off of Aleister Crowley) does a shining fist bump with villain Jasdevi.

Then an exorcist appears showing us just how earthbending's done (why are there so many earthbenders in anime?) and then Lenalee cries. I don't know, maybe because she lost all that hair fighting Eshi. Heh. Girls.

And then, briefly, you get a glimpse of the black Giant Akuma and a white . . . thing. And the white apparently is prevailing against the black things.

. . . wait a minute, Japan--is this racism I smell? Because I won't tolerate racism, you chinky-eyed yellowbags.

The opening climaxes in an epic battle between the Earl and Allen, to the tune of fairly mangled English pronunciation of the word "again," making it sound as if the singer's repeatedly saying "a gay."

"Level one! Don't wanna go out--a gay! Kokoro no instrument!
Level one! Don't wanna go out--a gay! You guys are gay~
Level one! Don't wanna go out--a gay!"




For a good while, this epic badass of an opening was my favorite, until I heard Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan's "Feuerotter Pfeil und Bogen" (more on that later), because of the way it mixes a somewhat eerie atmosphere with an intro that takes you by storm. You briefly see Grim Reaper gesturing like a traffic enforcer on meth, then arc villain Medusa Gorgon shows her moves in da hood, and then you see Excalibur . . . being Excalibur.

Fuck Excalibur.

Pure abomination.
And then you also get to see Blair jumping on screen in her birthday suit (cue nosebleed from Soul and a disgusted Maka). Afterwards, Frankenstein (or Franken Stein, actually) also appears with a charming rape face (yet again another one) and then there's Crona.

Fuck Crona, too.

Then, Maka reappears in the chorus futilely resisting an imminent tentacle scenario (because anime) and then Black*Star hurls Tsubaki like a shuriken because she's actually a shuriken (it makes sense in context). For a second, Satan pops up wearing a suit as he stares into your soul, then things happen, Soul finally transforms into a scythe and Maka finishes the Kishin (read: throbbing mass of pure nope) with a big-ass super move. Which actually isn't how the anime went down. (SPOILAH: Maka defeats the Kishin with a straightforward fist to the face because the fucker can't understand courage. BOoOoOoOoOhHhRing).


Why do I have two entries from Fullmetal Alchemist?

Because this is my blog. And I am God here.

Needless to say, among FMAB's four opening themes, this is indubitably my favorite. The way it plays with symbolism is very good, and also, because the action scenes depicted herein packs frame-by-frame testosterone overload.

It begins with Edward lying in a field of fragile white flowers under the rain, because apparently he's in his emo goth teen phase. Then the homunculi appear (apparently watching him because they're big fans of FMA and they want Ed's autograph), but for some reason they beat him up, possibly because they wanted to scold him for staying out in the rain like the stubborn pipsqueak that he is.

Then another rape face, and then a guy who's definitely not an Islamic parallel walks with a face that basically says "Fuck you. Fuck you all from the bottom of my heart."

Heard u been talkin shit.
Then Hitler . . . er, I mean, Fuhrer King Bradley, appears on his rampart again, overlooking the Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes like some kind of cliched villain. Afterwards, you Envy and Al appears fighting, while Ed sits up in fear on the ground because he's a total wimp. Pipsqueak.

This is sooooo me and my dog.

Kimblee appears amidst the fires, advertising his new contraceptive pill.

Kimblee knows you're being naughty.
God also appears in passing before the chorus, with his eyes judging the whole shit out of you.

The action sequences in the chorus speak for themselves: they're made out of pure badassery. Shit goes down, shit explodes, and then Ed gets eaten by a Titan.

Cue tentacle joke.

And guess what? In the end all of it is actually just Ed's imagination on drugs. But what an epic imagination he had.


Before I go on to describe this last entry, let us allow the good people of Tumblr condense it into a teeny weeny nutshell.

You are first treated to a glimpse of Wall Maria's symbol, seconds before it explodes in your face right after the line "Seid ihr das Essen? Nein, wir sind der Jager!"

The protagonists appear in an oh-so-heroic formation over a field littered with flags and 3D maneuver gears of the Survey Corps. Then the fucking Titans show their whore faces in front of the battered camera, smiling derisively at your losses because fuck you they're Titans.

Soon after that you see Eren and company faithfully observing the flag ceremony, because patriotism should never die even in the case of a Titan apocalypse. 

The Colossal Titan is audacious enough to show you its much-more-whorey face, because the big fucker is 60 meters tall--just about the size of your mom's ass. Then a praying mantis can be seen, then another Titan while Wall Maria shatters and Eren suddenly realizes that he's high as fuck again.

That's Japanese for "Well, fuck this shit!"
Again, this opening takes the cake for the one that starts off catchy and crescendoes into hot smoking justice, never letting go till the end until you end up breaking YouTube's replay button. You get to see 3DMG in action, and then Eren claims his only Titan kill as a Survey Corps member in the anime (trust me, he's practically useless as a human soldier).

Afterwards, you can see the soldiers raining down democracy on those border-crossing illegal migrants . . . er, Titans, and then finishes off with a nearly-literal rain of soldiers thrown like bird seeds outside the walls, to the sinister tune of "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Potato Pizza!"

Special Mention: Jean's epic backflip. 'Nuff said.

Sabado, Abril 12, 2014

Me and Anime and Not Much Else


Man, I’m back, after that shitty last post. Four more posts to go and I’ve published as many posts as I have in my previous blog, Sawsawan ng Proben. And that doesn’t really matter. It isn’t even of consequence to the subject matter of this post. But just so you know. Here’s a photo of an oh-so-adorable cat to prepare you for the subsequent wall of text and stale puns and immature jokes.

O olmiety Ceiling Cat, spaer me frum dis bullshit.

And here is a funny fail gif. Just to make you feel like you’re not the lousiest person on earth after deciding to read this blog.
Symbolic of my own academic experience.


I love anime. I love the whole shit out of it. Though I’m not the hardcore type who can afford all the merchandise and haunt anime conventions—I can safely say that I’m a fan, even if most of the anime series I’ve ever watched were the ones aired on free TV and which had really cheesy dubbing.

I am not really sure about why I like this stuff. Maybe because of their larger-than-life premises (with some even diving deep into the metaphysical and psychological), epic-ass fight scenes, impractical but awesome stunts, and . . . and  . . . uh . . . its symbolism. Yeah. Sure, symbolism. Let's go with that.

Pictured: Symbolism
As I’ve said, I’ve seen only a few, but heard of a lot, probably because I have a friend who has watched, I approximate, nearly 200 series. And counting. (True story brah.)

There are some series that take themselves seriously, weaving dark, intriguing tales around an unfortunate host of characters—building a mysterious world from this foundation, gorging itself with shocking confrontations, sinister puzzles, and grim implications, integrating them into the mechanism of the universe the protagonists breathe in, working straight up to finish a compelling, no-nonsense story. Just like Shingeki no Kyojin.

On the other hand, there are some that don’t have intricate plots, just funny premises—with a few so over-the-top a non-fan would have a lot of trouble trying to understand it.
On yet another hand, there are some that’s just . . . uh, how do we say it . . . just weird incomprehensible eccentric outta this world pure, unadulterated Japanese.

Thanks Japan. Sleep is for the weak, anyway.
But that’s just how I love it.

Watching a few series and surfing the internet a tad too much, I have come up with a few observations, and generated some thoughts regarding the genre. 


Now, to start this off,I think you can easily relate to the association of anime to naughty tentacles. Well, it depends on what anime you're used to watching, but this cephalopodian reference pops up quite often here and there in the dark squishy alleys of the interwebs. A scenario between a cute girl and a giant squid gets messy real fast.

Real soon.
And, for some reason, maybe because of the inherent weirdness in it that some Westerners cannot relate to, a few have pigeonholed this type of media straight in the middle of WTF-is-this-shit territory, even though mostly today the hentai genre doesn't have much tentacle-centric works, since most works are classified under vanilla, or, uh, the "tame" ones.

And that aforementioned fact is brought to you by painstaking research. 

Speaking of unjust pigeonholing, there are some who classify anime strictly as "very violent" and "extremely sexual" in nature--a statement clearly made by people who had apparently never seen one. I guess that's because Western audiences are used to seeing their own brand of animation--mild, humorous, and simple--which is not really bad per se, and in fact I've taken a liking to some series, at my age, no less. There's a certain appeal to that. But that, in my opinion, is what makes anime seem strange to them: many are truly gritty and sometimes even going way past the point of mindblowingly gory and becomes eldritch shit.

Eldritch shit.
But actually, those aforementioned dark, testosterone-filled anime fall to only a certain subtype: it's either shounen or seinen, which means the target audience are boys to young men. 

I don't think that it's fair that the whole industry would be known only by a certain genre. It's like saying moms are terrible because yours is. Hah. Take that. Hah. Hah. Hah.


Okay, enough of my pointless rants on pigeonholing. Let's move on to lighter matters, shall we?

For an anime fan, or even a casual watcher, the term "fansub" is very, very familiar. As the name may suggest, it is a subtitled version of a foreign show (in this case, anime) produced by fans who have some proficiency in the source material's language. However, since the translation teams are mostly amateurs, and also owing to cultural differences that may be hard to translate from the Japanese original, they are very prone to mistakes, often taking scenes out of context or just plain losing their shit smack in the middle--something that turns out quite hilarious, even if sometimes these mistakes ruin the pathos of the scene.

If you linger too much on the 'Net, I can safely venture that you recognize this gem from the fansubbed version of Fate/stay night.

Wisdom beyond dispute.
As I said, fansubbing is troublesome because it is full of troubles.

The translation team carries the burden of effectively rendering the emotional effect of the original, and also preserving the scene's context to the viewers--which is where the snag comes.

I haven't watched the anime adaptation of Fate/stay night, but from what I've read it's something about Shirou (that smartypants above) sharing his wisdom with his his Servant, Saber. It's supposed to be a play on the Japanese idiom about people who "refuse to die when they are killed," however, foreign audiences didn't quite get it and had milked it for all its worth as a meme. I hope I got it right.

Yeah. Sometimes that's understandable. But what really piques my interest is the other type of failsub: the "I-TOTALLY-LOST-MY-SHIT-TRANSLATING-THIS" type. Behold:

Reminds me so much of fangirls who try hard to speak Nippongo.
More on that later.
Dude what the fuck?

Um . . . have fun?

My dear friends, remember, context is important.

. . .

If you're already losing your shit, at least don't let people know.

You did your best, Editor-san. Have a cookie.

Anata don't simply fuck with watashi!

Fuck it. Just . . . fuck it all.

Spare me the anguish of that mental image.

But that is life. You fuck up some, you fuck up some more. But let's just say someone delights in seeing you fail.


This segment's heading came from a notorious Harry Potter fanfic called "My Immortal."

Now, I'm not really proficient at Japanese. Maybe I can form a few sentences, but that's really about it. I'm not even able to read kanji.

However, what really annoys me are fans who try their darnedest to squeeze a Japanese expression into their manner of speaking, even though it's clearly stupid-sounding. I mean, it's really fine to speak the language if you are really determined on learning it as an alternative language, but the weeaboo-ish act of desperately substituting Japanese words/phrases when there's clearly a saner way of expressing it in the language you are currently using. If anata can't wakaru fluent Nippongo, it's really baka-sounding if you hanasu this way. People will kangaeru that anata is such a stupid piece of kuso who doesn't even have a life rashii desu. 

It sounds so weird and irritating I'd probably give anything just to hit someone speaking like that every day. Hard. In the face. With a chair.

But stupid weeaboo-ness doesn't end there. It's also common for addicted fans to call themselves "otaku," a practice more prevalent in foreign audience, since many are not really aware of the social stigma that it connotes. In Japan, from what I've read, the term is used pejoratively against people who are unhealthily obsessed with something. It's weird, and no way pretty. Quit your fantasies. In my opinion, a real otaku must have a vicious--may even border on creepy--craving for Japanese culture, language, and customs (or in that case, any object of obsession, since otaku-dom isn't restricted to things Japanese, really). The correct term is an "anime fan," or "anime lover," but I don't think I'm going to describe myself an otaku any longer (I thought calling myself one was fun sometime ago).

And since I've mentioned the word "creepy," may I draw your attention to the fans who insist on being "married" to a fictional character. Though I know I'm gonna get hated for this, but I do think that such a thing is really weird and irrational (this coming from a big oddball). I mean, guys, keep the 2D and 3D worlds apart. The bishounen or bishoujo you drift into fantasy-land with only exists until the series wraps up or they stop producing merchandise.

Human ingenuity never fails to surprise me.

Or if they live in your hearts forever. In that case, dream on.

But some do not care about their dimensional differences--some go to the extremes and live the anime life to the fullest. Which takes us to . . .


Some seem to be unsatisfied with being 3D, or having human proportions, instead pining for the level of cuteness only found in anime--impossibly large eyes, impossibly cool hairstyles, impossibly large . . . uh, assets. That's really cute, I think, and really adds up to the anime's appeal. 

However, I hold that there's a reason why it's fiction.

This is called animegao, from what I've read. It's like cosplay in that you bring an anime character to life with it, but you use a creepy plastic mask here.

I don't know, it's adorable and all, but it's a bit unsettling, thinking of how those painted eyes stare at you straight into your soul, motionless and emotionless except for that charming smile plastered frozen upon its "kawaii" face, waiting to devour you and digest your very being. It's supposed to be cute, but the fact that most players are dudes . . .

And finally, we have the Ulzzang subculture, which I learned about in the same Cracked article as above. It's some sort of a trend where girls try to look "super-mega-hyper cute overload" using buckets of makeup and fervent orisons and blood sacrifices to the Dark Lord.

Wow! So adorable! Now call the exorcist.

Now, now. I may be just having fun bashing subcultures I only have surface knowledge on, wallowing in my ignorance and inability to appreciate the inherent cuteness of this . . . thing, but I should be pardoned for thinking that this is some new kind of, well, unnatural, should I say. But I guess a weeaboo isn't a weeaboo if not for that, am I correct?

The sweet, agreeable citizens of the Uncanny Valley.

To summarize my points made in this article: I hate you, people. I hate you having fun.

So, congrats! You've made it through another one of my rants. I think I've run out of gas for now, so, yeah, I'm signing off for today.


Biyernes, Abril 4, 2014

"Pinsan Mo May Scandal Sa"



Oh fucking dear. It took me thirty minutes to think up a meaningful title to this new blog (I forgot the password to my older account). I thought at first that I should come up with something striking, something profound, or something that reflects my personality as a whole.

"Blood on Silk."
"The Silver Lining."
"A Penny for Your Thoughts."
"A Soul Unchained."
"I Once Took Out My Pen to Write."
"A Soul's Voice."

. . . and I end up with "Self-Insert."

From what I know, a self-insert fic is a subtype of fanfic where the author, or an idealized equivalent of himself/herself (called a Mary Sue), is inserted as a character into the canon universe. For instance, the author himself/herself becomes a super-mega-talented wizard at Hogwarts, or becomes a super-mega-talented Titan-slaying member of the Survey Corps.

Obligatory Shingeki no Kyojin pic, with the Colossal Titan feasting on a sumptuous Pizza Hut pizza.
Because making sense shouldn't get in the way of some good ol' product placement.
But, this may lead you to ask this question: Why on earth did I pick that title? 

The answer is simple. One of mankind's greatest minds, Mr. Relativity, Albert Einstein, once spoke this remarkable gem, "Choosing a good title for a blog is, in itself, an art." So, of course, as a true believer in this art, I think that it is a most noble duty to ponder on the facts, dwell on possibilities, and find new paths and discover potentials that may come my way in so doing.

. . . and most definitely NOT because I suck at thinking up good titles.

"Get your shit together, you little bitch"--Albert Einstein, too.
No, seriously. The title "Self-Insert" is a very profound choice--it is what defines me as a young man full of ambitions, a wild dreamer who couldn't voice out his grander thoughts to a cold, uncaring world--resorting to the art of weaving letters and words to mold his soaring thoughts into one coherent symphony. I want to reach out to more people, to the sea of strangers out there--I want to reach out to my friends and family . . . and to myself. It's exactly what it says on the tin. I like inserting myself into people.

. . . damn, that came out so wrong.


To tell you the truth, ladies and gentlemen, I'm writing this piece entirely from scratch. No, it's not some kind of bragging, because it just shows that I'm such a stupid creature who can't bring his ideas together. I don't have anything much to do for the time being, so here I am, trying to get back to blogging after a short fling with it last year. I'm not entirely sure whether this new blog will last, either. I just can't seem to remember my passwords for my email accounts, and I also easily give up on things a few seconds after I start them. My last blog, Sawsawan ng Proben, died out after about six entries. I'll try beating that record this time. This time, it'll be SERIOUS!

"Lol wutevr XD"--Albert Einstein again, ladies and gentlemen.
Yeah, I don't really know how to write blogs. Some say it's like a diary, or some form of journal--an outlet to get all your shit off your head. Some use it to share their fun, exotic adventures out of town or in some really cool places inside the country; some use it to share mouthwatering recipes, or perhaps, endorse some little-known but really good restaurants or shops; and some use it to vent about the teacher who just flunked them hard, or hint at their crushes . . . who may not be even aware that they exist.

But we must face it.
Which of these will I be, in this little blog I'm putting up? I guess I'm the one that would use it for all its worth--as I've said, getting my shit down for all the internet to see . . . or whoever cares enough to look into this blog. And I've got a whole lot of shit to say, like any weird, literature-inclined teenager. And I'll use this blog to paint a world as perceived by these immature eyes.


Now, hold your horses, will you.

"Am I doing this right?"
This story I'll tell you is one I am sure many can relate to: fucking prank texts and chain messages, or as I'll call it for simplicity's sake: S.H.I.T (Stupid and Hellishly Idiotic Texts).

Normally, my phone's main purpose is to ring loudly every 4:00 AM to wake up the sleepybones that is me. I usually don't use it for texting people, since I deem it is rather frivolous, and I find it beneath me to engage in worthless conversation with people not of my intellectual stature.

Kidding. It's simply because I never have prepaid load to text people with . . . and no one cares to text me. :'(

That is why, every time my phone rings to notify me that I have new messages, I am always intrigued as to whose kind soul it was that graced me with his/her correspondence.

So I click the button for 'Open'.

Unknown number. Intrigued, I read the message.

"Pinsan mo may scandal! nsa anobayan nkkhiya pamilya nyo ambababoy nyo umayos kyo!!"
 Heh. I guess it's not only I who have already received that message. It makes me wonder: what else does this sender do for fun in his worthless life? What is his concept of happiness? What aim does he try to achieve in so sending? Is spending all that money to buy load with which to send it worth it? These things baffle me time to time.

And my cousins' ages range from 7 to 16. My god, don't even think about it, you.

Another classic one, as you may know, is the text where an unknown number notifies you of "winning their weekly draw's grand prize," most commonly cash or a car, sometimes even dropping names of well-known celebrities, such as hosts of TV game shows--even if you know yourself that you didn't participate in any text raffle shit. You know, personally I've won two cars, a sari-sari store showcase, and over a million pesos now from all those spurious text raffles. If they really were legit I would've been able to buy myself a really sweet lifetime supply of the hallowed ambrosia of the gods, i.e. proben.

Proben? More like Heaven, in all its oily, greasy splendor!

I am saddened by this. Depressed, even.

Life is full of disappointments.


But even if there were people who do not want to talk to me, I guess there's someone who won't mind the trouble of personally visiting me. Look at this little gem I found:

I'm significantly more bothered by the stupid way it's written.


Moving on, I've also seen lots of hoaxes about Facebook closing down, Facebook beginning to charge people for site usage, or deleting inactive users to make way for more. There are even posts that append that you must forward the message so that Facebook will know you're still an active user and not delete your account. I myself have never forwarded these things, but I guess, no matter how old and cliched the hoaxes are, some people are still stupid enough to bite the bait.

My thoughts on the matter, in a nutshell.

And, you know, sometimes gullibility is harmful. Sometimes, malicious URLs are attached to these circulated messages, disguised as "protest pages" that you should join to, er . . . protest the fees Facebook will allegedly begin to implement. These URLs may download viruses or other malware into the user's computer system, and may do damage to its contents. Thinking a little before clicking wouldn't hurt, now would it?

Though I guess some people on the Net don't have brains to think with.


I guess attention-whores, share-whores, like-whores, comment-whores, and all the rest of social networking whoredom rarely run out of ideas. One of the oldest tricks in the book, the Sick Child is one of the most disgusting types of chain message, at least in my opinion. It plays on both the heartstrings and the ignorance of whom it is shared to, and it is also a mockery of the situation of the poor kid in question.

How some people may think it works.

Take for instance the plight of this 9-year old girl, victim of a nefarious gang rape in Pakistan. While her situation is real, that all Facebook companies agreed to donate money for each 'like' or 'share' the photo receives is a big, fat lie.

The premise, in itself, is very, very wrong. Think, people, just think: if Facebook agreed to donate money for the poor kid's recovery, how inhumane and stupid would it be for them to go garner likes/shares first before sending much-needed help to the family of the afflicted! 

Some guy at Facebook: Oh my gosh, we must help this sick kid!
 Another guy: But our picture hasn't gotten any likes yet!
First guy: Oh well. *eats popcorn* 

 Sharing it this way, I think, is only adding insult to the injury. It is true that sharing the pic to garner sympathy is good and all, but sympathy is not getting the bills paid. When you click 'LIKE,' does it not mean that you're basically gloating over the situation the kid is facing? Because you just gave the poor gang-raped/cancer-ridden/prematurely born child a THUMBS-UP, for crying out loud.

This gif is so fitting for so many situations.
I guess the least we can do for those kids is not a lousy 'like,' or 'share,'--because that derisory effort you put in pressing the mouse just shows how much of a shitty human you are--is an earnest prayer.


So what does this add up to? What does this show?

Does it mean that we as a species are growing dumber and dumber by the hour? Are we becoming shitty citizens (. . . shitty-zens?) of the world as time goes on? This leaves us with a giant question mark.

Now share this blog to ten people in the next 24 hours or you'll have bad luck for the next seven years! This isn't fake!