Breaking News (how breaking indeed!)

UP classes start June 8--university president
By Julie M. Aurelio
Philippine Daily Inquirer
First Posted 09:34:00 06/07/2010

Source: Inquirer.Net

how I entered Dante's hell (June 02'10)

                 At last, after so much wandering across the desolate lands of the howling winds and doleful cries, I chanced upon the realm of Despair and Death and Decay. Like a drifting log on the stream of black and bubbling water, like a blind man groping its way out of the dark, I traveled aimlessly – following where my weary feet will lead me. And there I was, staring absentmindedly at the distant and vague horizon, as the clouds began to assemble for an upcoming storm. I clung to my ragged shirt, as much as I have clung to the illusion that Hope has not abandoned me. But lo! I have driven her way with Faith, only to find myself suddenly at their mercy, begging with my mind for absolute forgiveness. But something inside me knew better.  It said it was already too late:  too late for repentance, too late for reminiscing the hope-filled past. For I have already crossed the Rubicon of sinful death.

                Then suddenly, the air stank of burning rubber and decaying corpses and I grew afraid. My insides revolted against the harsh smell and I vomited blood - blood as black as sin itself. I backed away from the mess and as I turned around, I was temporarily blinded with the flashing of white light. I dropped to the ground and covered my eyes, screaming in agony as I writhed on the mudcracks when a large explosion rang overheard. I cowered again in fear and cried desperately for mercy. Instead, an overwhelming blackness and void swept over me, and I remembered nothing more.

                Another heavy thunder suddenly broke my deep and dreamless slumber, only to find myself staring on the same dark and unstable sky. I slowly rose up and lo! There before me stood a massive black door of shiny material, adorned with blackened human skulls and unknown runes and inscriptions. But on it, just above my eye level, I saw a familiar language that reads:

 

"Through me the way into the suffering city,
Through me the way to the eternal pain,
Through me the way that runs among the lost.
Justice urged on my high artificer;
My maker was divine authority,
The highest wisdom, and the primal love.
Before me nothing but eternal things were made,
And I endure eternally.
Abandon every hope, ye who enter here."

               

***

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to the First Level of Hell - Limbo!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:


Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

***

                Charon ushered me across the river Acheron, and I found myself upon the brink of grief’s abysmal valley. He said I was judged to stay in Limbo, the first circle of hell, a place of sorrow without torment. A seven-walled castle began to appear in my line of sight, enclosing fresh meadows illuminated by the light of reason, and where many shades dwell. I encountered the virtuous pagans, the great philosophers and authors, many anabaptized children, and others unfit to enter the kingdom of heaven like Caesar, Homer, Virgil, Socrates, and Aristotle. A great longing for home suddenly dawned on me, but Charon wouldn’t let me go back. And as I enter the gloomy castle, a great wave of sadness engulfed me, and I drowned helplessly in the flood of my tears - tears as black as sin itself.

The First Circle of Hell - Limbo

memories of june (June 01'10)

June 2009:

Of Metal Strings and Ivory Keys

                    The sky then was covered in a multitude of dark, looming clouds – almost concealing the bright disc of the afternoon sun and giving the city its first shower of rain. This mid-summer drizzle resulted in a Tyndall effect, as shafts of light seemed to scatter and drown beneath the huge heaps of dark, suspended colloids. This awe-inspiring occurrence together with the scent of the freshly-cut grass and the sweet taste of an afternoon drizzle seemed to lighten me up for a bit, diverting my mind away from my imminent doom. But as I focused my eyes on the mediocre stone structure before me, I began to feel dreadful once again.

                     I proceeded towards the double-door entrance of the building, flashed an impulsive smile at the guy wearing a lime-green polo and black slacks who seemed to be staring at nothingness until my arrival. He then led me through the entrance into an average-sized auditorium. My heart pounded even louder in its cage after getting a better view of the stage, which was now being decorated with plant pots and dressed with smooth curtains. A large sign of the event was placed in the center, illuminated by a half-dozen spotlights hanging like bats on the high ceiling. I automatically sat at the last row of the cushioned seats to take in every detail of the vast, still deserted space. The walls were originally painted white, but most of this paint, especially in the higher portions of the walls, had chipped already, revealing the gray mark of cement. I sat uncomfortably on my seat, which creaked noisily at the unexpected shift of my body weight.

                     When nearly all has arrived and the stage was set and tuned to its finest, I hurriedly dressed up in one corner and left my other things to my parents (who arrived just on time). The emcee, which I happened to always see during the rehearsals, was then dressed in a semi-formal light brown top skillfully sewed with flamboyant beads and matched with a maroon saya. She greeted everybody with a short, pre-made speech, and then gave way to our instructor, who was wearing a golden long-sleeved baro and an elegant black skirt. Our instructor nervously gave her own prepared address, her eyes barely moving away from the paper she was keenly reading, and after this, the whole auditorium applauded. When the cue was given, I made my way to the back of the building, to a clutter of people who was undoubtedly as tense as I was.

                     As I approached the group, it was like entering into another dimension where I could almost hear their hearts beating fast, see every turn of their heads, and understand the words they were murmuring to themselves. The spell, thankfully, was suddenly broken by the same man at the entrance a while ago, commanding us to form a straight line. We have rehearsed that before and I knew that I was the last, giving me advantage on not remembering the names of people in front and behind me.

                     When all of us were in our proper positions, we marched off to the stage, glancing and smiling at our relatives whom we can barely see under the bright glow of spotlights. Then we made a deep bow, a bow of pre-appreciation and welcome to our anticipative audience. We proceeded to the seats at the back, and anxiously sat as we heard the reverberation of the first strike of clothed wood against a stretched metal string. The show began.

                        An hour of the show almost passed, and I was still listening attentively on my seat, the sight of others who were already done was like a knife stabbing my chest. But I didn’t take it grudgingly… being the grand finale had its own consequences too. I listened as the next performer tapped the keys softly with her fingers trying to flow the emotion from her into the strings. I cleaned my already-misty eyeglasses with the handkerchief for I knew that it would be my turn in a few minutes. My thoughts were abruptly broken by a loud applause; the woman with me was already bowing to the pleased audience. Then my name was called.

                         I hurriedly stood up to gain recognition, though I know they couldn’t see me at the back. I tucked my long-sleeved polo properly and firmly fixed my newly-cleaned eyeglasses in its position, and then I marched down the aisle. It was then that I felt the rush of excitement and nervousness, as innumerable pairs of eyes glimpsed at me as they clapped. My mouth was dry, my heart thrashing wildly now in its cage, my eyes fixed on the stage on the shiny instrument waiting for me. I climbed one of the side stairs, hearing not the audience anymore but the clanking of my leather shoes against the wooden steps. I proceeded to the center, and looked down. But I was blinded momentarily – mercifully – by the glare of the spotlights focused on the stage. The heat radiating from them was comfort to the cold now chewing inside me, slowly numbing me. I bowed again, turned around and occupied my seat.

                            I felt no tension at that time, just pure excitement. I was excited to please my audience, to give the best that I could offer. I positioned my hands above the white and black keys, and started to play with all the emotion that I could extract. I tapped the keys hard producing a stronger emotion, then soft for a calmer effect, then hard again… I never played with so much delight and passion before! My body swayed in its own accordance, my soul leaving its physical body into a realm of pure music and just music. It seemed that I would never stop – and that nothing could stop me. I could feel in my heart the bass; in my ears, the melody. And then at last, I was playing my last piece…the hardest of them all… my fingers hit the keys wildly as a good typist would do on a computer keyboard, producing a staccato sound. My fingers have already caught the tempo, and as the end drew near, I took in a deep breath for it was going to be much faster – suited for a grand finale. I pushed the pedal harder, focused intently on the keyboard, cautious of my every move. I hit the very last chord with all my strength then drew my hands back, allowing the instrument itself to echo the sound of the very last note to fill the whole auditorium. The finale was at least good, if not great.  I took a deep breath again then stood up as my ears were filled with a much louder applause; the voice of the emcee drowned under the cheers of my classmates. I looked at the audience again, this time with a hint of confidence and gratitude in my eyes.

                            I breathed out another sigh of relief, and then I bowed – I bowed to show the audience my thankfulness… my appreciation… but most of all, I bowed to hide the welling tears of joy in my eyes.

the I.D.I.O.T. box (May 30'10)

Me: Grabe, ang sakit ng ulo ko…

Pedro: Ganyan talaga. Parang tiyan lang ang ulo, pag walang laman sumasakit.

Me: Bakit? Hindi ba sumasakit ang tiyan pag sobrang busog? Pag maraming laman?

Pedro: Ewan.

You don’t question the cause of your headache when you know that it’s 34°C or higher inside your house. It sure must be the heat of the blazing sun outside (that by some mistake or thriftiness of not having your house wall insulated or having an air conditioner installed on the first floor) getting inside the house through the Brownian motion of particles that then fries you and your family and almost attempts to mummify you even though you’re all still alive and breathing – and sweating.

Okay, that’s enough rant. Not even Heracles had done anything to stop the “Sun” from spreading its sizzling rays. But look at me…I am just an ordinary college student who’s trying not to puke on his keyboard and who can’t even pin Mr. Headache to the ground even though he has swallowed two different Ibuprofen capsules. <sigh> The hellish summer heat is really driving me nuts.

And that’s why I became friends with our idiot box[who does not seem to be affected by what we call El Niño, because overheating is nothing new to him. No, I'm not a masculinist.]...thus feasting my eyes with a variety of movies and shows that I came upon while channel-surfing. Here they are:

Disclaimer: Their inclusion in the list does not guarantee their quality may it be in cinematography or the storyline or whatsoever. This is obviously due to the fact that I don’t have any control on what networks feed to the viewers. And as such, my sense of quality control is impaired. I am not a major critic, I'm just bored, that's all.

I was then reminded of what a highschool classmate had said to my friend: “I do not watch with my brain, I watch with my eyes.” The latter won't still forgive her.

day of the zombie (April 30'10)

Come closer, Mr. Thriller...yeah, that's it...closer to my M-16...(taken from the video game "Day of the Zombie")

I don’t know why, but everything seemed to move in slowmo yesterday. I know I have this tendency to be impatient or easily irritated at delay sometimes, but things were different here. I wouldn’t put the blame on my hormones then because: 1) unless I have psychic powers, my hormones do not affect the brain activity of other people causing them to lag and appear like zombies, 2) I was initially in a good mood yesterday before people turned into zombies due to lack of potassium(?). Therefore, it was not me just having a mood swing yesterday. Sigh. At least I have two sensible(?) reasons to defend my sanity.

My first encounter with the infected ones happened inside a branch of the popular fast-food chain here in the Philippines, the store seemingly infested by the face of a large humanoid arthropod. Come on, Grimace may look like a plankton from Bikini Bottom, but I’m not talking about that store where he belongs. Besides, he’s not even a member of the phylum Arthropoda. One good example of an arthropod is a bee…yes, a BEE! Gets? Anyway, I ordered a Chickenjoy meal (Oops, word slip.. ), fries, a hamburger and a regular-sized Sprite, all for take-out.

“Ila-large na po ba natin yung drinks niyo, sir?”

“No.”

“E, yung fries po?”

“No.”

I was waiting for her to ask me if I would like to upsize the chicken into a turkey.

She gave me a number and told me to wait for 20 minutes. Disappointed at this sudden delay, I sat on one of the chairs at the end of the store and decided to look around. Five minutes passed: I was deleting some messages in my inbox. Ten minutes: I started to chew on some of the fries, the container still inside the plastic. Fifteen minutes: I was reading the warning note printed on the plastic. It’s all about the potential hazard of suffocation in children if they ever get to foolishly stick their heads inside the plastic. Nothing was mentioned on the possible suffocation of children due to excitement on seeing such plastic on the dining table. Twenty minutes: I finished the fries and decided to look around if any crew member was approaching me with my order, but I saw none. I decided to wait some more, perhaps to cancel the error that my sense of time is much faster than theirs. Thirty minutes: I almost finished my Sprite and was repelling myself from the temptation of eating the hamburger. I stood up, picked up my things, marched down the counter and demanded for my order.

“Ay, wait lang po sir ah.”

I decided to stay there, reluctant to leave the counter without my order. After a minute, tada!, there’s my food in front of me. I crammed the box into the plastic myself and decided to leave the store, muttering words of detestation as I passed the guard who bade me to come again. The Philippines is full of irony.

I went outside the mall, unsurprised yet still aggravated by the heat brought by the late afternoon sun.  It’s like living in an evaporating dish placed over a blue-flamed Bunsen burner. I shielded myself from the scorching heat and approached the lane of the tricycle drivers. I told the first driver my address, and then asked him if fifty pesos would suffice. All I got from him was a deafening silence and a dead stare. Oh God, here’s another zombie and there I was waiting for him to respond while I was being toasted under the extreme heat. After the eternal stillness, he shook his head and pointed to the tricycle behind him. Without missing another chance, I ran and immediately went inside the second driver’s cab, telling the driver rapidly of my address and the amount. I swiftly focused my attention on the opposite side so as to not instill communication between us. I was glad after I heard the roaring engine and felt the cab moving. I reclined on the soft back rest and closed my eyes. As I fall on the state midway between awake and asleep, I suddenly realized that it’s not that bad if everything moves at a slower pace...if we all live in Zombieland.

sparkling shuriken (April 15 '10)

Perhaps to satisfy the clamoring gore-loving public, James McTeigue has focused too much on the, you know it, gruesome and extremely violent fight scenes of his latest film, The Ninja Assassin, that you could see body parts being cut off and blood spurting and spilling around like how people waste water in a carwash shop. Yup, it’s that bloody. And given with such large investment on the special effects, the plot was almost left behind, resulting to a feeble storyline about how a clan of ninjas was used to assassinate people when one day, a ninja (Rain) suddenly realized the stupidity of all the things in his clan, took off his stained shirt and put on his cape to save the day. The end.  Oh, by the way, don’t forget the counter-terrorism agents-they helped disintegrate the Ozunu clan.  (As what agents of various ‘secret’ or ‘non-secret’ organizations always do with bad guys in the movies)

I watched the film maybe two weeks ago, so I’m relying now on my hippocampus to recall some of the scenes there. Actually, the fight scenes were undoubtedly cool, (well for me, they’re cool) and my eyes were rewarded with numerous of those. Also, I like how Rain acted out his role in the film, with his slick martial arts moves and the use of his specialty weapon, the kusarigama. He’s the best for the role…if it were not for his disturbing hairstyle. Ugh. aomie Harris, the one who played the Europol agent Mika, is…<insert sigh of dissatisfaction here>. I don’t know why but there’s a frame there in the film that if you try to pause it, you’ll see Michael Jackson’s face in the screen instead of Naomie’s. Or was I being haunted then by the ghost of MJ? Nah, it’s got to be that face there in the screen. She’s good in 28 Days Later but I didn’t feel her character in Ninja Assassin especially during her first few appearances in the film.

Like many other films, this film is no exception in terms of having one of those scenes when you could almost imagine that the writer was ‘high’ while he was writing that part.  Some scenes were just – just pure stupidity; they only lack a politician’s motorcade declaring lack of common sense.  Haha. Here are some of these scenes:

                1.) Mika was already aware that her life was in danger when she entered her apartment after snooping after dirty money. She did not turn on the lights, in an attempt to surprise the killer if there’s really one inside the room. (Yet, she almost banged the door after entering..Pfft.) She was nearly hacked to pieces by a ninja hiding in the shadows of her extremely dark apartment when suddenly, another ninja (Rain) appeared out of the darkness to save her from the impending doom. Mika was frantic, fumbled through a drawer to get her…<drumroll please>… flashlight(!) then pointed it to the two ninjas who were already ransacking her furniture and things. I mean the effect was great: ninjas disappear at a blur because darkness is their advantage and the sole source of light was Mika’s flashlight. But Mika, why don’t you just open the goddamn lights to see better, instead of groping for some flashlight?! I’m suddenly doubtful about the fight-or-flight response in this scene; I don’t know if Mika intended to use the flashlight to blind her enemies and take flight or use the instrument itself to create a dent in her visitors’ heads to shake some brain cells.  It’s just lame, lame, lame.

                2.) Another was when Europol agents stormed the Ozunu clan’s base and killed almost all the ninjas there (of course, with high-tech firearms and rocket launchers. It can be noticed that they did not blow up the building where they knew the leader was hiding. Of course, he’s reserved for Rain. As far as I know, that’s what the director said, so senselessness could be set aside here just for the sake of a dramatic ending. Imagine a building spurting out chunks of wood and metal (and body parts of people, hehe) then suddenly, without a warning or let’s say without that sense of closing already your DVD player, the credits page appears. Gets?  

                3.) Uhm..

Fine. I can’t remember any worthless scene anymore. My mind has grown too befuddled by the humdrums of summer life. Argh.  But I know that there’re still crappy scenes there in the film.

Favorite scene: The scene where Rain was in a laundry shop and an attractive woman asked him for help in the folding of a white bedsheet (?). After several seconds, Rain asked what clan does she belong. The next thing I saw was a blade sticking out of the bedsheet missing the hero by mere inches. Several moves. Blackout. Next Scene: A man (probably the shop’s owner) came in to inspect the noise and was taken aback at the sight of a washing machine churning body parts instead of clothes as crimson-red blood started to flow through the closed lid and stain the floor. Guess who won the fight.

Although Ninja Assassin failed to give critics a convincing plot, it still managed to revive itself with its decent and uhm-believable fight scenes. Don’t argue. I don’t want to hack you to pieces.