super psycho(n.) an immensely disturbed individual who is obsessed with ranting, whining, and blabbering about his life. severely unstable and emotionally undefined, a super psycho should always be dealt with at a distance greater than 50 feet and, with some few doses of aspirin.
WHO THE HELL IS SUPER PSYCHO?
Name:Empermeen Mallawee
Nickname:Elp, Elf, Elfer, Elper, Emper, Empermeen, Buknoy, Boknoy, Bok, Mallawee
Age: I am 15. And I mean it.
Address: Honestly?
Favorite Color: Green, Orange
Favorite Food: Rodic's Jumbosilog
Motto in Life: Abolish our selves.
Favorite High School Subject: Biology
Most Hated High School Subject: Values Education
Most Unforgettable Experience: When I abolished my self.
Most Embarrassing Experience: When I abolished my self.
Who is your Crush: My self.
Do you think autograph questions are dumb?: Super.
So why are you answering this?: Why do you care.
Ambition in Life: To be a Super star.
What is Love: Love is what you say when 'horny' doesn't sound right.
If you were a deodorant scent, what would you be?: Natural Scent.
Your film biopic's title would be: E-pal
One word that best describes you: Magnificent.
What can you say about PGMA?: She has a mole on her face.
How about Josepha Estrada?:His stomach is really big.
How about Angel Locsin?:Her face looks too small.
Your alter ego's name is: Kokey
Dedication: World Peace.
Any Last Words?: Rrrawwrr.I'M EVERYWHERE!
We're Just Friends...ter
Yahoo Me, Yahoo You
GIMME MORE! MORE...BLOGS
Allan Habon
Riley Palanca
Aio Arzadon
Cess Carlos
Leya Sumbeling MY FANS SAY THAT...
A HISTORY OF PSYCHOSIS
Nickname:Elp, Elf, Elfer, Elper, Emper, Empermeen, Buknoy, Boknoy, Bok, Mallawee
Age: I am 15. And I mean it.
Address: Honestly?
Favorite Color: Green, Orange
Favorite Food: Rodic's Jumbosilog
Motto in Life: Abolish our selves.
Favorite High School Subject: Biology
Most Hated High School Subject: Values Education
Most Unforgettable Experience: When I abolished my self.
Most Embarrassing Experience: When I abolished my self.
Who is your Crush: My self.
Do you think autograph questions are dumb?: Super.
So why are you answering this?: Why do you care.
Ambition in Life: To be a Super star.
What is Love: Love is what you say when 'horny' doesn't sound right.
If you were a deodorant scent, what would you be?: Natural Scent.
Your film biopic's title would be: E-pal
One word that best describes you: Magnificent.
What can you say about PGMA?: She has a mole on her face.
How about Josepha Estrada?:His stomach is really big.
How about Angel Locsin?:Her face looks too small.
Your alter ego's name is: Kokey
Dedication: World Peace.
Any Last Words?: Rrrawwrr.
We're Just Friends...ter
Yahoo Me, Yahoo You
Allan Habon
Riley Palanca
Aio Arzadon
Cess Carlos
Monday, September 29, 2008
Bus Rides
I really hate sleeping during bus rides. Or taxi rides. Or jeepney rides. Or any rides, for that matter, especially if it highlights the absence of any fun company. Or it smacks this kind of blank solitude on your face.
But I did just that tonight, in a sudden bout of irrational loneliness or unclassified melodrama. I took an SM Fairview bus that sped me through kilometers away from real home. And I found myself in the Shell Philcoa station, walking to where Jollibee's face glowed immaculately in the dark.
Something's wrong tonight. I think it's not about not qualifying in the quarterfinals. I'm perfectly fine with that since I hate Russia motions anyway. I feel it's something beyond losses or conflicting views on issue grasps. I think it's...hormonal. Irrational. Illogical. Exaggerated.
A friend told me I was overanalyzing things. Spicing them up with paranoia, self-pity, pessismism. Perhaps yes, the propensity to overanalyze looms, but I guess that freaking bus ride boiled it further into something as simple as an unshared bus seat and Colbie Caillat's voice over the earphones. And Colbie Caillat songs are like, depressing.
Maybe when I wake up things will sort of change. Like deliberate displacements. Brighter hues. Longer conversations. Company. Or the lack of it. Glances. Talks. Responses.
Maybe I just can't wait. Maybe I just choose to be emotional.
Or maybe I just hate lonely bus rides. And lonely walks. And Manila in the dark.
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Saturday, September 20, 2008
Poem 2: We Escape
We escape in Thursday afternoons in scents of fire and milk. In sizzles of the oil, and the fried, and the fat that slither through the dough. We escape in little, gentle steps. In shy hushes, in gushes, in a little rush. With little pain and much life. With little love and much blindness.
We escape in Thursday afternoons with the sheets, with the grass. With the dust that fly away and the fading shimmer, or glitter, of a faraway sun. We stare at the sun, and we walk on the earth and it sticks on the feet. And we escape in Thursday afternoons again.
We escape in Thursday afternoons with little sin and much redemption. We escape in the mind, and in the soul. Dissolving the reality in hues, in fantasies, in colourful, hellish lies. We escape with much glimmer in the eye, much gloom in self-pity. Much ecstasy in an afternoon of living, and dying and giving birth again.
We escape with no love. We escape without a promise. We escape with the distances kept and with words broken. Swimming away in oceans. Flying in empty air. Digging the earth. Getting far and far away.
We escape with little faith. With little trust. But we escape again. We will escape in Thursday afternoons again.
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I have my brown pants soaked in a tub of slimy detergent solution, trying to convince my inner self that the longer it is drenched, the easier it would be for me to scrub off the stains and the brackish smell.
I never thought this day would come, actually. The day when I have to wash my own clothes. With my own hands. With my very own efforts. Thankfully this week isn't too jam-packed as before, with org activities bumping against each other in a orgasmic chaos. That is why I am able to sit back and relax somehow as I imagine how Ariel Super Bleach aggressively dissolves the mud stains on my pants. I have to wear that brown thing tomorrow.
This was what happened yesterday: Frances agreed to cut my outstanding debt by a mere and pathetic 140 if I debated for her org's Election forum thingy with a Fag Gloria Macapagal Arroyo impersonation as the highlight. And with a Titus Tan grasping for some decent, extemporanous argument. Nostalgia: I voted for Titus Tan, and Jerrie Abella. They both lost and I hated UP elections from then on.
I even had to cut my Statistics class so I could get to NCPAG on time. But logistical horrors, it started an hour late. I hate late people, lol. Anyway the debate went on and I had a free afternoon snack which I badly needed, being broke and all. A few minutes after I had to skip adjudication only to find myself in CBA's fourth floor donning this artificial Tabak and scolding my 'son' because he had make up on his face and he happened to be gay.
LOL.
It turned out Mara conned me so she can ensure that I end up as Joker's father for our presentation in Junior Philippine Institute of Accountants' application process. LAter in the evening, we had to do our group presentations in Bahay ng Alumni. And I just can't erase my mental pictue of Brad and his tiyanak costume. I think it's still freaking me out up until now. Its just...funny and grotesque. Peace.
The highlight of this post however, is my usual parade of fury and world-hate.
I hate being an adjudication panelist. Not because I am a limelight grabber. I just hate being an adjudication panelist TWICE when in fact Excel has this thing called 'randomize' or whatever.
It started out with me sitting in Angelicum College's AVR, with much attraction to red things (LOL), and realizing that unlike my org mates, I had to sit in a panel of adjudicators. But no problem with that, really, since I am a positivist. I expected that I will sit alone as an adj for the next round because the organizers have a concept of 'variety' or diversity or what have you.
And so the first round ended with me playing like a mute psycho as the chair delivered his oral adj to those hormonal high school debaters. Blabla, and two hours after, with me getting agitated since I had to decide whether or not I have to go to this required UAAP game for my table tennis class, the organizers announced the match ups and the adjudication assignments.
Oh my gahd.
I was still a panelist. And I was with the same people [not that I HATE them]. And we still have the same chair.
Could it even do any good if I grabbed a microphone and screamed out: Variety is the spice of life?! That dormancy kills, idle hands are the devil's playground or whatever aphorism mankind has invented to convince the organizers to press that freaking randomize/shift/whatever button in Excel! Oh my God, I want to use my mouth and speak, not just my hands with a GTec Pen. I just...want to oral adj. But no, they were just too lazy to at least change that lone freaking column in their Excel document. I mean, honestly, we have the twin concept of dormancy and boredom. Grrrrr.
That is why much to my dismay, I had to loeave. Because one: I didn't see any point since I will be having the same experience anyway 2) because I had to watch that table tennis game 3) because I felt so irrationally annoyed with such a shallow reason (lol).
That meant I had to leave my prospets behind, with much anonymity. Lol. Good thing may JPES pa bukas, sa UA and P. Wahahaha.
This is just bad and depressing.
And I still have to do my laundry. So surreal. Laundry. Bad, bad laundry.
And so the first round ended with me playing like a mute psycho as the chair delivered his oral adj to those hormonal high school debaters. Blabla, and two hours after, with me getting agitated since I had to decide whether or not I have to go to this required UAAP game for my table tennis class, the organizers announced the match ups and the adjudication assignments.
Oh my gahd.
I was still a panelist. And I was with the same people [not that I HATE them]. And we still have the same chair.
Could it even do any good if I grabbed a microphone and screamed out: Variety is the spice of life?! That dormancy kills, idle hands are the devil's playground or whatever aphorism mankind has invented to convince the organizers to press that freaking randomize/shift/whatever button in Excel! Oh my God, I want to use my mouth and speak, not just my hands with a GTec Pen. I just...want to oral adj. But no, they were just too lazy to at least change that lone freaking column in their Excel document. I mean, honestly, we have the twin concept of dormancy and boredom. Grrrrr.
That is why much to my dismay, I had to loeave. Because one: I didn't see any point since I will be having the same experience anyway 2) because I had to watch that table tennis game 3) because I felt so irrationally annoyed with such a shallow reason (lol).
That meant I had to leave my prospets behind, with much anonymity. Lol. Good thing may JPES pa bukas, sa UA and P. Wahahaha.
This is just bad and depressing.
And I still have to do my laundry. So surreal. Laundry. Bad, bad laundry.
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Thursday, September 18, 2008
Poem 1: Things We Will Never Say
Let’s talk about ideas, or imitations, or anything near truth. Something transcendental or something in between yearning and acquisition, something between a prayer and divine intervention.
Let’s talk about blurry dreams, concrete intentions, or reluctant murmurs of faith or steamy, slippery moans of sex. Something in between staring blankly at night and looking at an actual canvass of flesh. Something like kissing the air, or slapping the stars from afar. Something like smothering the nearest skin, or praying again, to a God, to a nearby heaven, to a dwindling faith.
Let’s talk about how you walk, how you talk, how you open your mouth, and how the words that come out of it flow in a thick, milky melody. Melodies of a dreary evening, or how the window filters out the pale streetlight nearby. Let’s talk about how you look like in the dark, when you’re not really there. When I try to picture you in that blank, starry landscape of concrete and mating fireflies.
And then let’s talk about me. How I dream. How I breathe. How I believe in a God, and her power, and her playfulness. How she weaves this world into a crazy, lunatic outburst of love, caffeine and empty barren nights. Let’s talk about gentle wind swishes at two in the morning. Let’s talk about smoke etched on the fog. Or stars melting beneath ugly, grey clouds.
Something like the distance between where you sleep, and where I think of you. Something like the tequila spilled on swirls of lemon juice. Or how the world tumbles away in a chaotic kaleidoscope of desire, desperation and the promise of another day.
Let’s talk about the things we cannot put into words. Let’s talk about the beauty in the hidden, or the scent of obscurity. Let’s talk about me looking at you from afar. Let’s talk about realities that could never be.
Let’s talk about life. About love. About flickering lights in a lonely evening. About why I’m awake. And why I am away.
And then let’s talk about the things we will never say.
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Sunday, September 07, 2008
How to Shave, How to Pray and How to Ruin Happiness
I can't believe everybody's talking about the Cheerdance competition in Multiply. I can't believe TV Patrol's news report on the Cheerdance affair was that short and dumb. I can't believe everybody's this ecstatic and this affected about college girls dancing in skirts and college boys dancing in ugly, tight leotards. I can't believe ABS CBN news reporters are that bad.
I can't believe I'm saying these things in a delicate moment when eveybody wants to be so jumpy and happy and proud.
When I woke up today, my torso hurt so badly because I only had a blanket wrapped around me while I slept on the floor. My whey protein-overloaded brother kicked me out of the lone decent mattress in the house and it actually never bothered him that his brother of such minor age and such delicate emotion was sleeping on the freaking cold, hard, floor.
Flash forward to this day, I found myself sitting in UP chapel, thirty minutes after having dinner with my emotionally-corroded worst-HS-friend [lol], Katrina, fifty minutes after our taxi ride laden with stories about our seaman-friend Jayson, and approximately one and a half hour after my frustrated attempt at decently singing UP Naming Mahal in front of an ecstatic UP Pep Squad.
As I tried to block off Father Jojo's sermon from my involuntary cognitive powers, I kept thinking of why the hell I lined up for UAAP Cheerdance tickets in the first place. Only to find myself squeezed in the stairway with people pushing me like I wasn't even supposed to be there. Only to find myself so exhausted that the thought of the victory wasn't even sweet in any sense.
In Rodic's, thirty minutes before Father Jojo broke the bread and gulped the wine, Katkat and I were talking about why Jayson should not be roaming around in Europe, why we never attended his despidida party, and what had become of our lives when we were dumped in UP. Our conversations made me think again, think back, and ponder on the memories I had left in Tabaco. But I was too hungry for some dramatic responses to her drama queen-mode. It made me shiver to even blurt out ' I miss Jayson, too, you know. We should counsel our selves regularly so we will not be affected so much by this friendship longing.' Lol.
An hour before that I was squeezing my ass and scratching my brown corduroy trying to get decent seating on Araneta's stairway. People were walking by and they were smudging their shoe-dirt on my shirt. They should die, or at least, repent. Katkat, on the other hand, seemed to be so engrossed and ecstatic in screaming out UP cheers while I tried to convince myself that UP was not going to win because they had horrible skin-tone costumes.
That was the biggest bummer of the entire Cheerdance affair for me, that ugly, dull and basahan-looking costume that would have spelled disaster if it wasn't for the given fact that I like the color maroon. I take that back. UST was a bigger turn-off, blow-your-head-in-fury whatever.
UST spends too much money printing tarpaulins. Can't they just, like, hand out their coins to their Dominican fathers for some Divine Intervention?
Two hours after I told Katkat that I wanted to sing UP Naming Mahal with passion, I found myself oily-faced and puffy-eyed in SM North Edsa, looking for my siblings to ask for some moolah. I told them I wanted to color my hair brown because I think that will make me look more Korean. They told me they were poor and that our eldest brother was my one and only chance to get that hot, brown hair. I ended up looking for him at National book store only to find out that he already went home. Talk about sibling conspiracy.
So I ended up buying this Gillette Double Razor Shave at Watson's, because it came free with 42 grams of Mentos Citrus Mix. And an hour after that I was so excited to shave for the fifth time in my life, simply because my new shaving razor whatever was colored orange.
I can't believe I'm saying these things in a delicate moment when eveybody wants to be so jumpy and happy and proud.
When I woke up today, my torso hurt so badly because I only had a blanket wrapped around me while I slept on the floor. My whey protein-overloaded brother kicked me out of the lone decent mattress in the house and it actually never bothered him that his brother of such minor age and such delicate emotion was sleeping on the freaking cold, hard, floor.
Flash forward to this day, I found myself sitting in UP chapel, thirty minutes after having dinner with my emotionally-corroded worst-HS-friend [lol], Katrina, fifty minutes after our taxi ride laden with stories about our seaman-friend Jayson, and approximately one and a half hour after my frustrated attempt at decently singing UP Naming Mahal in front of an ecstatic UP Pep Squad.
As I tried to block off Father Jojo's sermon from my involuntary cognitive powers, I kept thinking of why the hell I lined up for UAAP Cheerdance tickets in the first place. Only to find myself squeezed in the stairway with people pushing me like I wasn't even supposed to be there. Only to find myself so exhausted that the thought of the victory wasn't even sweet in any sense.
In Rodic's, thirty minutes before Father Jojo broke the bread and gulped the wine, Katkat and I were talking about why Jayson should not be roaming around in Europe, why we never attended his despidida party, and what had become of our lives when we were dumped in UP. Our conversations made me think again, think back, and ponder on the memories I had left in Tabaco. But I was too hungry for some dramatic responses to her drama queen-mode. It made me shiver to even blurt out ' I miss Jayson, too, you know. We should counsel our selves regularly so we will not be affected so much by this friendship longing.' Lol.
An hour before that I was squeezing my ass and scratching my brown corduroy trying to get decent seating on Araneta's stairway. People were walking by and they were smudging their shoe-dirt on my shirt. They should die, or at least, repent. Katkat, on the other hand, seemed to be so engrossed and ecstatic in screaming out UP cheers while I tried to convince myself that UP was not going to win because they had horrible skin-tone costumes.
That was the biggest bummer of the entire Cheerdance affair for me, that ugly, dull and basahan-looking costume that would have spelled disaster if it wasn't for the given fact that I like the color maroon. I take that back. UST was a bigger turn-off, blow-your-head-in-fury whatever.
UST spends too much money printing tarpaulins. Can't they just, like, hand out their coins to their Dominican fathers for some Divine Intervention?
Two hours after I told Katkat that I wanted to sing UP Naming Mahal with passion, I found myself oily-faced and puffy-eyed in SM North Edsa, looking for my siblings to ask for some moolah. I told them I wanted to color my hair brown because I think that will make me look more Korean. They told me they were poor and that our eldest brother was my one and only chance to get that hot, brown hair. I ended up looking for him at National book store only to find out that he already went home. Talk about sibling conspiracy.
So I ended up buying this Gillette Double Razor Shave at Watson's, because it came free with 42 grams of Mentos Citrus Mix. And an hour after that I was so excited to shave for the fifth time in my life, simply because my new shaving razor whatever was colored orange.
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Saturday, September 06, 2008
Who Loves Barney
I was indoctrinated by Barney tonight. And by Barney I mean, that freak-of-nature, genetically-modified pedophiliac purple dinosaur.
I was inside my brother-in-law's car, along with my siblings and drowsy nieces when the flat LCD panel up front started playing this Barney episode where this old guy was singing and dancing to the tune of a nursery rhyme,
Oh my God. Kill me.
It makes me wonder, why on Earth, considering loads of marketing spiels for developing children, my second oldest niece actually loves Barney. It makes me fear what Barney can possibly do to her psychology. Will Barney make her feel okay that un-purple things can actually become purple and that we should just dismiss this diparity and sing " I love you...you love me...we're a happy family..." with them? This is so alarming that I cannot even sit still as I type tonight.
Another realization for tonight: Barney actually transforms from and to a stuffed toy at will.
Jeez, talk about child-stalking, pedophilia and voyeurism. Kill Barney!
I feel extremely happy today for the mere fact that I had piles of sashimi and loads of Italian salad splattered on a single platter. It was my brother-in-law's [my second oldest sister's husband] 35th birthday, and I had to skip last tryout rounds in DebSoc to get to Manila Pavilion on time.
Realization Number 3: Riding a taxi from UP Diliman to UN Avenue wasn't really that boring [and expensive].
We ate in this really swanky resto inside Manila Pav, Four Seasons. What made the resto unique was that: they had light bulbs on the floor, as in light-emitting lightbulbs. Obviously. And the food was just, everywhere. It made me so happy that memories of my NDC tryouts were suddenly zapped out [until this moment when I actually remembered them].
And I don't want to talk about the NDC tryouts. I'm against negative thoughts. LOL.
I need to sleep already. No to getting drunk, again.
I was inside my brother-in-law's car, along with my siblings and drowsy nieces when the flat LCD panel up front started playing this Barney episode where this old guy was singing and dancing to the tune of a nursery rhyme,
Oh my God. Kill me.
It makes me wonder, why on Earth, considering loads of marketing spiels for developing children, my second oldest niece actually loves Barney. It makes me fear what Barney can possibly do to her psychology. Will Barney make her feel okay that un-purple things can actually become purple and that we should just dismiss this diparity and sing " I love you...you love me...we're a happy family..." with them? This is so alarming that I cannot even sit still as I type tonight.
Another realization for tonight: Barney actually transforms from and to a stuffed toy at will.
Jeez, talk about child-stalking, pedophilia and voyeurism. Kill Barney!
I feel extremely happy today for the mere fact that I had piles of sashimi and loads of Italian salad splattered on a single platter. It was my brother-in-law's [my second oldest sister's husband] 35th birthday, and I had to skip last tryout rounds in DebSoc to get to Manila Pavilion on time.
Realization Number 3: Riding a taxi from UP Diliman to UN Avenue wasn't really that boring [and expensive].
We ate in this really swanky resto inside Manila Pav, Four Seasons. What made the resto unique was that: they had light bulbs on the floor, as in light-emitting lightbulbs. Obviously. And the food was just, everywhere. It made me so happy that memories of my NDC tryouts were suddenly zapped out [until this moment when I actually remembered them].
And I don't want to talk about the NDC tryouts. I'm against negative thoughts. LOL.
I need to sleep already. No to getting drunk, again.
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