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Facebook pics

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No Facebook status is as good as it appears, although sometimes, not often, it is better, but that will not last. Not one is as bad as it seems: all is worse. 

In a way, that's a nutshell way of describing life. We tend to put our best profiles up front. Those who do not have good photos of themselves, they substitute something else. I'm guessing, but the substitute pictures depict things which make the presenters feel good. 

Landscapes are good substitutes. Mountains are for those who want to ascend to higher things in life; churches are for the religious who favor spiritual over material considerations; the sea for travelers to far, foreign lands across the waters, maybe to escape former, unpleasant settings.

Comic and anime characters are popular profile pics. For the young, an anime hero represents the power which compensates for their inadequacy, the handsome/pretty faces and body they aspire to have, and the easy confidence they wish for. For the young-once, a cartoon figure takes them back to earlier and happier times, when life seemed as simple and innocent as comic book stories. 

Decades ago, comics and movies and TVs were not allowed to show graphic scenes of sex, decapitation and other fun things. Sure, we had Conan, but when he sliced an enemy's tummy open, we did not see the intestines falling out, presumably with body fluids dripping out. When he chopped off a head, we did not see the red hot blood gushing out from the stump of the enemy's neck. 

Now, when Hancock shoved a prison inmates head into another's butt, we laughed. I also laughed when Bruce Almighty made a monkey pop out of a gang leader's ass. The arms and legs blown off in Saving Private Ryan took a lot of skill and effort to bring home the hard violence of war. A Nazi pushing the full length of a bayonet into a GI's chest made me see, as scenes in the Godfather made me see, that reality favors neither the good or the bad. 

Was it just a year ago that I heard someone in TV say "Shit"? I thought then that the scene slipped throught the regulator's eye. Now I realize that it was I who had been out of sync with the trend. A movie or TV episode with SPG (Super Pogi or Strict Parental Guidance) rating is allowed to let fly an earful of bitch, fuck, shithead, asshole; and an eyeful of brains being blown off (or bits of brain matters splattered on walls and gunslingers), bodies sliced in half (lengthwise, crosswise, diagonally), arms and legs torn off brutally (How else? Try tearing one off gently. It's not KFC chicken, folks), and necks snapped sideways left and right, backward and forward. Imagine anything gory that can be done with the human body, and I will hope to see it soon on The Walking Dead Season 3. The comic book episodes also attract a lot of fans and dollars. 

Going back to our Facebook topic,  I also wonder about those who time after time change their profile pics, like me. So I ask myself: Is it discontent that makes me try to improve my image? What for? Other causes may be anxiety or angst, very different from angas, which exudes extreme ability and confidence. Happy are those whose profile pics, or cartoonized version, smile -- until things eventually deteriorate and the smile turns into the angry frown of a Naruto or a Zatoichi.

There are still a few who have no profile pics. Most are new to social network sites and are just preparing or choosing which side of themselves to show to the cyberworld. I feel a certain sadness when I see a profile pic deliberately left blank. Do you feel so low that you cannot step forward and face people? Why show half of your face only? The other half hides the sad aspects of your life, or there is a line wherein nobody, except close friends maybe, are allowed access. 

Some deface their photos, with a smear of makeup, a frown. Some hide their face behind a part of hair colored canary yellow, bright orange, or veggie green. I think of Nicki Minaj, who has survived hard knocks in life. This Thursday she looked pretty on American Idol, with the normal flow of long, flat and blonded hair, without the weird hats she uses as chips on her shoulder (Excuse the messy mataphor). But her face is creased with a frown, which goes away when a singer performs rather well, and deepens when she snarls at one who delivered a "pageantic" song. Minaj, like many who have found their way out of a bad fix, looks pleasant now, like those who have replaced their shadowed profiles with pictures of themselves with kids, spouses, classmates, pets.

Artists, billionaires, megastars are people too, subject to whims and heavy mood swings. When a Facebooker uses Batman or Spidey as profile pic, he obviously wants some action, not just sit around the house but to swing above rooftops and clobber some evil mayors and congressmen. Others who can conceal their anger or sadness opt for sedate tokens to represent or efface themselves: a Chess pawn (Does he know he considers himself at the bottom of the food chain?), a King (Ha! I'm on top of the world), or a simple stethoscope (I will listen to your heart and, if need be, I can heal you.) Boys looking for mates should beware of girls who uses money as profile pics, especially if the girl is ugly: No compensation there, all headaches.

There are more variations, I'm sure, as there are species in Facebook. I may be wrong in some of my statements, but hey! I'm having fun. And that, my friend, is what life is all about. 


Tidbits

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I have measured out my life with coffee spoons...
-- T.S. Eliot

Rizal's calling card in Hongkong
A colleague at People's Tonight once showed me a copy she had prepared for the backpage of the morning edition. She had done a good job, and I guess that's why she wanted me to appreciate it. The lead paragraph indicated that it was a crime story involving an eye doctor.

"It's spelled ophthalmologist," I said, "the t is sandwiched between two h's."

"Are you sure?" She was already turning the pages of her desk dictionary, unable to find opthalmologist.

"Yep. Its root word did not derive from the Middle English optic, but from the 14th century Greek word for eye, ophthalmos," I said. "That fact is one of the tidbits I have picked up earlier."

"And I did not even think there is a problem here," she said, her smile deflating.

"Perhaps it's serendipity, but I have learned it just a few days ago from Ed there," I said, pointing to a nearsighted editor of a sister publication. 


She immediately brightened up, the twinkle in her eyes indicating that her UP masscom degree cannot be upstaged by an upstart with a grungy Engineering degree from that Dominican backwater joint, that... that UST. Her superiority restored, peace was allowed to reign. She even smiled when I lit up a forbidden cigarette. A Marlboro for me, supremacy for her. Life is good.

Technically I was her boss, and because my rank and pay scale were two ranks higher, I took care not to pull rank on her. It had taken quite a time before I earned her grudging acknowledgement that I was not as illiterate as she had expected. Finally, in her ophthalmos, I ranked above the amoebas, with high expectations to be elevated to bacteria soon.

I remember my first encounter of the 
editorial kind with her. She had just made a printout of the backpage, and I saw that her headlinewas about the Philippines to cut off diplomatic ties with blahblahblah...

"Should not that be Sever instead of Severe?" I pointed out. I did not pull rank, but I did not let errors get pass my watch either.

"Yeah, sure!" she said, the arch of her brows high enough to hang my neck on. To her credit she looked the word up in her dictionary, perhaps to show me not to meddle with a journalist with a valid degree. However, a few minutes later she showed me a new printout, with the third "e" severed from Sever.

"We usually use the past tense and sometimes get confused," I said, "we do not just add a 'd,' we add 'ed.' It's when we use the infinitive form that we realize how severe our mistake is, particularly when we use the word in the headline. That's why we prefer simple words like 'cut,' as in, The publisher will cut off my head if he sees a misspelled head."

"It's these tidbits that you remember best," the young Bobby Fischer had been attributed as commenting on his game against former world chess champion Max Euwe in 1960. Tidbit, according to Merriam-Webster's secondary definition, is "a choice or pleasing bit (as of information)." The word was first used about 1640. A variant spelling is titbit: I do not use it because I am haunted by the unpleasant impression of a breast having been past-participled by a hungry mouth.

More tidbits: Fischer's comment appeared in the book My 60 Memorable Games, ostensibly authored by Bobby Fischer himself, a high school dropout from Brooklyn. The book is now widely believed to have been ghostwritten by his erstwhile friend, Larry Evans, who wrote short introductions for all 60 games. Up to the end of his life, the mentally unhinged Fischer relied on the royalties from that book to sustain his troubled existence.

Fischer died on January 17, 2008, and was buried in Iceland, unmourned and hated by millions of Americans. Four hours after the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center and Pentagon, he gleefully announced on Bombo Radyo in Baguio City: "I applaud the act. The US and Israel have been slaughtering the Palestinians for years. Now it is coming back to the US..." Bitter and paranoid, he died at age 64, a year for every square of a chessboard.

Fischer's book and grave
Other tidbits: In this article I relied heavily on the Merriam-Webster app of my iPad. The app is free. However, I have a hardcopy of the Eleventh Collegiate edition, which had made me P1,200 poorer. I think hundreds, if not thousands, of Webster knockoffs proliferate in markets worldwide now. Editions without the "Merriam-" prefix are much cheaper because anyone can publish and sell it without paying royalties to Noah Webster, who died in 1843.

Webster stamps and dictionary

I don't understand why Merriam-Webster allows free apps to its dictionary. Will it not drive out sales of the hardcopies? Encyclopedia Britannica has ceased publication of its printed version since 2010, converting to online format. Britannica died, as the hardcopy edition of Newsweek died, because we googled up for any information on Wikipedia instead of buying the printed kind.

Anyway, I am not really concerned if Merriam-Webster loses or makes a bundle: I am trying to learn how to write, not to learn economics. I have tried business, and I'm not good at it. I have been a newspaper employee, and I learned I could invent and write lies and sell them as news -- and get rewarded with a fat salary. Now I don't even read newspapers. What I read are novels, written by the best and inventive liars who earn gazillions of dollars. Alas, I can read but cannot write beyond a brief, shining lie. So I live retail because I cannot handle wholesale. Now I understand T.S. Eliot's line about measuring life with coffee spoons.

Hunter's New Year message

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I woke up late to join the photo session earlier, this last day of 2013, so I have been chosen to represent the human family here, the dogs and several families of cats, including the foundlings, the strays who stayed on; and the cichlids who have grown colorful in the big aquarium, and Mang Ambo's lonesome dove. Pogi says I am more qualified than he to greet you all a blessed and peaceful happy new year, what with his hotheaded propensity to insert some snide political remarks, his impractical suggestion to send many plundering government officials to shake hands with Jesus much sooner than they expect, or his inclination to post his picture here in spite of the fact that I look better, I'm younger, smarter, and I have hair. Hugs and nosekisses to all.

A Christmas greeting  


Mickey and Tabby, in behalf of Pogi, Leena, Neneng, Manilyn, and the other cats inside and outside the house, the chowchows in the garden with askal Chico, the fishes in the aquarium and in the fishbowl, Mang Ambo's dove in the cage, and Pope Francis whom we all love, greet you all a peaceful Christmas, with a little somber prayer for brethren in Tacloban and others sitting in darkness. We share what happiness we have, and send what little strength we can to lift you from your solitude.

Addiction

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Starbucks carved signage, happy Jollibee, and Coke alarm clock:
Such stuff dreams and addiction are made of.

I'm free of the evil root of loving money. But not of the sin of loving the beautiful things money can buy. The buying is limited by the amount of money, so when I'm broke I sell other items in my Stamp Room to sustain this strange fascination for stuffs that stir the heart, even if the mind struggles and tries to remind me to stay within budget. In the end vain material wins over the weak spirit. I just put some band-aids on my wounded pockets.

A few days ago I sold a framed sheet of 100 of the 1898 Spanish-Philippines King Alfonso XIII 3c issue to a picker. Part of what I earned was quickly dissolved the next day when I paid for four Beatles books and magazines; the remaining amount was used to pay for the frames of four posters I had bought earlier at the Collecticon event at SM Megamall.

Antique stamps for Beatles books, mags
Speaking of spirit weak or otherwise, I saw that five-liter Heneiken beer can as a work of art that must occupy its proper place in my work room -- work sometimes consisting of searching OLX! and eBay for some elusive Batman memorabilia, posters, comics, Funko Pops, Hot Wheels Batmobile; Coke signages and alarm clocks and books about Coke collectibles; a few vintage 7up bottles,
Vintage & scarce 7up bottles
more 
Beatles books and magazines, even Marvel plush seats from Toy Kingdom. I figured the Heineken must not feel lonely and -- voila! -- a green Heineken bottle joined in. Coming home, the Heineken pair joined the San Miguel keg and its little green brother.

There are things that cannot be priced at market value because they were not intended for made for purposes other than selling, like the Starbucks signage made of heavy inch-thick wood on which the famous coffeehouse's logo was carved. The story is that there were inaccuracies found in the design and the manager of the Boracay branch rejected it. Eventually it wended its way to Manila, where I found it at a friendly picker's home. The logo's black siren mesmerized me and told me I should negotiate for it because she's coming home to stay. A cheerful Jollibee doll and a tiny Coke alarm clock went along to take the edge off a strange day. 


Heineken can with little green brother with San Miguel keg and bottle
And sometimes what is deemed precious to collectors is just given as gift to others, triggering social contortions among us to get our hands on the gift, which cannot be found on the market. A few months ago, three editors of a broadsheet, my wife among them, each received a boxed set of Coke plastic bottle and can. I was happy to get my wife's share. She told me that her two colleagues removed the bottles and cans from the boxes, leaving them at their desk. I asked my wife if her colleagues were willing to part with the boxes. The next day I got them. To this day, however, I have not been able to get a bottle with my name printed on the label. I used to fret because I cannot travel to promo sites where Coke bottles and cans were printed with collectors' personal names or tags. Eventually I just relaxed and let matters go their own way. In short, "Don't force things. Have patience and what is due will come; what is not will not." Something like that.

Happy wife with personalized Coke.
Then there are three boxes (and four Beatles).

When dwelling in the material world, passion or greed can drive people to meanness and dishonesty, setting aside the fact that there are intangibles much more valuable than a vintage Rolex, that $3,207,852 Action Comic book, a warehouse full of vintage cars, and the fount of  rare posters and bottles.  I had the good luck of meeting online some good collectors who were generous with their kindness and information; they offset the few who were nasty and crafty. Everyday, when I see hundreds of gorgeous collectibles, I have to remind myself of Suze Orman's motto: "People first, then money, then things. Now you stay safe." I have learned this serves, or cuts, both ways.

Thank you for your artwork, Tepai Pascual. You make life an art, as you should.




Silver

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Silver

 Sabihin mo, "Rich, Rich, RICH."

Dinadagdagan ko ang vocabulary nitong si Silver. Tuwing papasok na ako sa kuwarto, lulundag na sa kama iyan at pag-upo ko ay hihiga na sa kandungan ko. Paghimas ko, maririnig ko yung sunod-sunod na "poor poor Poor." Sabi ni Leena malakas mag-purr talaga si Silver.

Hinuha ko kaya di kami yumayaman ay dahil hindi kami may attitude na yumaman. Alang focus. Kaya tuloy ang poor poor poor ni Silver araw-araw, at tuloy ang pag-iwas ng aming numero sa Lotto. Pero napansin ko, walang halaga ang malaking bahay kay Silver. Sa hapon mainit ang kuwarto, yung lalagyan ng pagkain niya ay mumurahing platito. Tugma ang lifestyle niya sa lifestyle namin: yung kutsara't tinidor namin, pati baso, plato at platito ay walang terno; iba't ibang breed din ang aming mga silya't mesa. 

Di lang makakibo si Silver, pero nakikita kong higit na lamang ang ugali't kapalaran niya sa karamihang tao: hindi siya stressed lagi, hindi siya naiinggit kung mas maganda ang food and water bowls ng mga pusang laki sa layaw, gagawin niyang unan pa rin kung ang cellphone mo ay iPhone o hampaslupang Nokia lamang, wala siyang problema sa pera, wala siyang kaaway, di niya wish na tamaan ng kidlat si Noynoy at Purisima, weno kung BMW ang kotse mo? Tama na yung kandungan ni Pogi.

Itong tanong na ito ay matagal ko nang nasagot: Kung ang kapalit ng pagtama ng Lotto at pag-angat ng lifestyle mo ay mawawala si Silver, o si Mau, si Blue, Tabby, Chester, Cordell, o yung mga pusakal (pusang kalye) na sina Ding, Bay, Cindy, Pogi sa labas, Midnight, Bas, Lord, Jenny, Billy, July, Steve, JunJun (not related sa pangit na mayor ng Makati), atbp., papayag ba ako?

Kaya ok na sa akin yung purr purr purr ni Silver. Ang daming beses na pag gusto kong sipain ang buong mundo ay napapakalma ako ng paglapit ni Silver. Kahit nakapikit pa ang mata niya sa antok, babangon at babangon, at lulundag sa kama para makarating lang sa piling ko.

Kahit sabihin pa ng Koreana sa cellphone at call center na your number cannot be rich, ok lang. May Silver Lining ako.

Cosmic 60

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The lack of light, in the darkness of false dawn, sometimes brings stressful thoughts. Once, maybe in the break of a dream, I lay still in bed, while my mind prodded at the fact that I had occupied space in this particularly minuscule point of the planet, in a spiral galaxy in an unfathomable universe. Not only space, but also lots of time. "Don't attend reunions," my mind said, "you will look old to your classmates."

I imagined my classmates, all rich and healthy and young, wondering why I showed up at all, all wrinkled, hair gone, a girl assisting my walk so I don't fall down. Jolted by the thought, I became fully awake and I realized that time had not stopped for them, either. A few of them are even older than I am, most younger by a year or two, and the rest as old if not as decrepit as I. I count four dead in our batch, one recently killed in a traffic mishap.

Twenty years ago, when I turned 40, death has ceased to be a stranger to me. In my newspaper years (1994-2004) one of our young reporters died when he dropped a bag containing a loaded gun, which discharged one soft-nosed bullet into his belly. A desk colleague, a renowned and feared columnist, was shot by an Ipit-Gang member in the back of the head, the bullet exiting from his eye. This horrid image, his body slumped at the back of an abandoned taxi in Barangay Sauyo, was on TV for a few days. Camera crews from different stations appeared in our office, disturbing our work from time to time. I even got a radio interview about the killing. A TV production on the life of Danny Hernandez, played by Joel de la Torre, was rushed through prime time within a week. I saw many discrepancies in the film's details and I shrugged. By that time I was inured to the constant inaccuracies of newspapers and TV programs. Everything is fiction, including details of our lives and deaths. The only truth about death is you will not be seen above ground anymore. Your enemies will no longer wish you misfortune. Your friends will take a little longer to forget you. (Where are those who declared their forever lover for Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston? They have shifted to Glen Frey and other old stars who novaed out.) And time no longer counts, as far as the dead concerned. Whether they rolled in money or just got along,  it did not matter too. It did not matter even in life, but we are too stupid now to think it does. The deathbed has a clarifying effect, if the dying is not hopelessly clueless, like, "Who's taking care of the store when you are all gathered here?"

While I still can compute, I'll prepare my facts for an imaginary reunion with former classmates who are in the vicinity of the six-decade mark. At your 60th birthday you have spent 365.25 x 60 = 21,195 days here. The number of your days, if converted to pesos, is equivalent to a cheap version of an iPhone. Not lack of money or surfeit of wealth will define your short stay on Earth. What then? I'm not intelligent, so I'll borrow from a movie, "The Bucket List," for an evaluation of life. According to a segment of that film, two questions are asked of deceased Egyptians that will determine whether they enter heaven or not. First question, "Have you found joy in your life?" Sort of a bonus question wherein a yes or no does not detract from your chances of admission to the ancient Egyptian heaven. However, the second question seems to bring a waft of very hot air: "Has your life brought joy to others?" I believe there are more souls outside heaven than inside. I can see myself installing a 10-hp air conditioner in a small room in Hades, where I play poker with pedophilic archbishops, many politicians, and all televangelists, while sexy starlets sit on my lap as I add a wee bit to the temperature with my cigarette smoke. A consistent life above and below, how says the jury?

In its five billion years of existence, add or take a week or two, the Earth, 500 million years ago, became so verdant and peaceful. Then, just 100,000 years ago, a fraction of a blink of the cosmic eye, the plague of modern humans arrived: so destructive, so inconsiderate, so lustful and greedy. And I belong to the species, devouring chopped pieces of chickens, pigs, cows, even rare tigers and lions whose lives are worth more than villages of brutal humanoids. For 60 years I have coasted along with our particular herd, trying not to spend my life in exchange for money, but for something tangible, something that will leave a mark here that says, "I was here (and pogi for life)." Making marks requires loads of talent: to write an excellent book, to sculpt a masterpiece, to paint a vision, to construct a breathtaking edifice, all to bring joy to others. Then others will remember you, if that matters at all. By what you contribute to others will you leave your mark, and become one of the immortals. And most of the immortals, whose names have outlived false gods of many nations, did not even reach 60. Just look at the roll of dead poets and writers, singers and composers, movie stars and Emmy awardees, painters, sportsmen and even chefs.

***

I am trying to unclog my life. I'm surprised that I have 1,418 Facebook friends, of which about only 20 are really part of my life -- relatives, friends more-or-less, and housemates. I love the four dogs in the garage, about 10 cats inside the house, but they don't have Facebook accounts; besides, we are counting humans, not whom I hold dear. I have made five real friends in my life (two have gone before me); it could been more, but time has a way of making people drift apart until they become strangers again. I deleted those friends-turned-strangers from my list, and I still have 1,418 left. I'm more comfortable with collectors, artists, comic and stamp dealers, chess players, bookworms, because we are separated by the anonymity that characterizecyberspace. They have not been classmates remembered or forgotten, colleagues whom you learned had harbored well-kept ill-feelings, girlfriends and lovers whose relationships with me became sour, awkward, tossed to the garbage pail of memories which make us cringe. I should feel lighter (I have deleted Viber accounts too); however, I feel the burden of age.

It is the body that acknowledges the effect of age -- teeth leave their companions, the pee in the bladder takes the long and winding road; the butter, fats and cholesterols we have accumulated through the years harden the arteries to the heart, still faithfully pumping lifeblood despite our abuses. The mind has no clock: think 17, and it retrieves my first kiss and believes the eventhappened only yesterday. If you deny your parents and friends have passed away, then they are alive, even appearing in unrequisitioneddreams.My mind believes it can make my right hand strum the guitar,bypassing the fact of disability. My brain is a pulpy bulb of low wattage, blinking some useless information I have culled from forgotten sources.

 Colleagues whowithheld their anger at me remind me of William Shatner, who played 60's Star Trek Captain Kirk, and was said to be self-centered. He recalled calling a former TV colleague, to keep in touch, and was shocked to hear him say, "But we hated you." 

And how I remember Christopher Reeve, who played the role of Superman, the strongest superhero in the universe, being interviewed on TV by Larry King. This was about 10 years after he fell from a horse he was riding, severing the very fine thread in his spinal cord that controls almost all bodily functions, including breathing. There he was, full of memories when he had mighty powers, when he could carry Lois Lane and fly up to the clouds with her, now showing Larry King the result of massive and costly therapy -- he could now slightly, barely perceptibly, move his forefinger! Behind his wheelchair, hidden from the camera, was the machine that enabled his lungs to breathe for him, and watching him are millions who saw his finger twitch. I though I had it bad, I said to my mind, but look ex-Superman has to be fed by someone else, had to be bathed, had to be cleaned, had to be lifted to bed, and sometimes wake from dreams he was his normal self, to be jolted by the horrible reality of his enervated life, or what's left of it. I did not feel too good about this planet at all. When Reeve died a year later, I felt relieved for the guy. Rest in peace gained for me a deeper meaning. To die is to rest -- last line of Rizal's last poem. How true.



 

  




Iterum

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Nagpasyal si Michelle Buldit sa pinagtatrabuhuan ng kanyang pinsan na si Sogo. Hinagisan siya ng kaway-pagbati ng among si Pogi, na halatang malalim ang concentration.

"Aba at bakit nakadikit na naman ang malalaking mata ng boss mo sa HBO? Anong meron?" tanong ni Buldit kay Sogo.

"Aysus, parang di ka na sanay diyan, basta lumabas ang mga favorite movies niyan, hihinto sa trabaho at parang gustong ma-memorize ang bawat pixel ng pelikula. How to Train Your Dragon ngayon. Pangatlong araw na ulit ito ha. 

"Hardcore talaga, no? Buti na lang mas konti ang pixels sa TV. Ilang beses na niyang napanood si Toothless?"

"Hmmm, 850 times more or less. Bumili ng Blu-Ray DVD sa Munoz yan nung bagong labas ang Dragon at nakupo paulit-ulit-ulit-ulit-ulit. Huminto lang yan nung namaga na yung mga mata."

"Weird nerd talaga yang boss mo. Parang nung na-addict siya sa 1965 version ng Dr. Zhivago. Parang ihi na lang ang intermission niya."

"Hayyy, na in-love kay Lara. Inihahatid ko yung almusal, tanghalian, at hapunan noon. Yung snack niya kinain na ng pusa hindi pa napansin. Bumili siya ng book ni Pasternakpara ma-memorize yung mga Lara poems ni Zhivago. Nasa kuwarto pa yung iprinint-out at pina-frame na poster ni Lara."

"Natandaan ko pa nang parang Ondoy ang galit nang malaman niyang di Oscar Best Picture pala ang Zhivago-- "

"Humupa lang yan nang sabihing Sound of Music ang nakatalo sa Zhivago. Favorite din niya yung mga kanta sa Sound of Music, kahit liku-liko ang boses niyan -- You are sixteen going on seventeen... Haisst!. Saka boobsie rin si Julie Andrews, sabi niya."

"Julie Christie naman yung Lara. Siya yung may pouty lips na ginaya ata ni Angelina Jolie. Akala ko nga forever Lara fanboy na ang kumag na yan. Ba't parang natapilok ang love niya kay Lara?"

"Nabasag ang helmet nung makita niya si Julie Christie sa Troy, as nanay ni Brad Pitt. Mala-sitsaron na yung dating mala-sutlang kutis. Saka lumapad ang balakang, parang volleyball court. At puting bihon na yung slick blonde hair ni Julie."

"Grabeng manlait si Pogi, no?"

"Ganyan lang talaga yan, exact daw yung description niya, di exaggs. Tulad ng nickname niya sa iyong Buldit, haha!"

"Tawa ka pa riyan. Ba't kasi ang dami-daming mapansin ito pa ang nakita." 

"Di ka raw boobsie eh. Magpa-deworm ka raw, para lumaki-laki ang spare parts mo."

"Spare parts! Ano ako, Sarao? Walang beep-beep kung makasagasa yang boss mo huh!"

"Hus, parang di ka pa nasanay diyan. Speaking of boobsie, naasar yan sa MTRCB nang nawala sa eksena ng Godfather yung naghubad si Apollonia sa wedding night niya kay Michael. Kaya-- "

"Bumili ng DVD sa suki niyang Muslim sa Munoz, yung libro sa Book Sale. Nahibang din siya sa film na yun. Let's see, 1972 lumabas yun at naging Best Picture. Huminto lang ang boss mo sa Godfather nang sumunod yung Part II. DVD na naman. Bast Picture uli."

"Pero hate niya yung Godfather III. Parang tama naman, dahil walang nakuha kahit isang award ito. Yung Godfather I and II sumungkit ng combined 19 Oscars. Pinanood pa niyan ang mga You Tube interview kay direk Coppola, Mario Puzo at Marlon Brando tungkol sa storylines at mga in-the-making factoids."

"Kaya gusto rin niya yung pumping scene sa Schindler's List? 

Itutuloy... 

 

 

 



 

A Pictorial History of National Stamp Collecting Month

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1995 mini sheet introducing NSCM month
In 1995, President Ramos, also a well-known philatelist, signed Proclamation 494, declaring November every year hence as National Stamp Collecting Month. This mini sheet shows the President and the four stamps of the first NSCM set issued in November 1995.

1995 NSCM Local Paintings complete set

I don't really know why there was no NSCM set printed in 1996. However, the Post Office made up for their lack, in 1997.
1997 NSCM Local Paintings complete set.
1997 Philatelic and Philatelic Division Paintings complete set.
This set, I guess, was supposed to be for 1996.

The Stamp and Philatelic Division also had issued a beautiful set of local paintings in 1972
1998 NSCM Vintage Movies complete set
1999 Local Sculptures complete set
2000 NSCM Local Nude Paintings complete set
2000 NSCM Local Nude Paintings complete FDC set
2001 NSCM Local Paintings complete set
2002 NSCM Great Achievers in Arts complete set

2003 NSCM Comics complete set

2003 NSCM Comics complete FDC set
2004 NSCM Comics complete set
2004 NSCM Comics complete FDC set
2005 NSCM Printmaking complete set
2006 NSCM Abstract Paintings complete set
2006 NSCM Abstract Paintings complete FDC set
2007 NSCM Juan Luna Paintings complete set
 
2008 NSCM Carlo Caparas Comics complete set

 
2008 NSCM Carlo Caparas Comics complete FDC set

2009 NSCM Children's Games complete set
2009 NSCM Children's Games complete FDC set
2010 NSCM National Artists complete set
2010 NSCM National Artists complete FDC set
2010 NSCM National Artists FPJ sheetlet & S/S
2010 NSCM National Artists FPJ FDC complete set
2011 NSCM Hernando Ocampo Paintings complete set
2011 NSCM Hernando Ocampo Paintings complete FDC set
2012 Young Artist of the Philippines mini sheet
I don't know if this is really NSCM. No FDC of this was made. This was printed because the Postmaster General, former Bulacan Governor Josie de la Cruz, collects painting, and the artist is reportedly a crony of hers. The postgen, whose bureaucratic mess has still to be cleared up, was appointed by morally corrupt President Noynoy Aquino.

2013 NSCM Dolphy mini sheet

2013 NSCM Dolphy FDC

 
2014 NSCM First Stamps of the Philippines 160th anniversary complete set

2014 NSCM First Stamps of the Philippines 160th anniversary FDC
2015 NSCM Philately sticker stamps mini sheet
2015 NSCM Philately sticker stamps FDC



Article 7

Panggulong Dodirty

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Painting by Fernando Amorsolo
Ang ganda ko, ano? Kinuha akong modelo ng pintor na si Fernando Amorsolo. Una mong mapapansin ay yung dala kong mga manggang hilaw; susunod ay mapansin mo yung dimples sa maamo kong mukha. Pero putangina naman, sino ba yung naka-checkered na matandang ang lakas sumipol pagdaan ko? Ang buwang, hindi sa mangga nakadikit ang tingin. Gilit lang yung maliliit na mata, pero hanep kung hubaran ka sa tingin.

Mabait naman daw, sabi ng isang ale, kung di nakasumpong ang pagkamanyakis at pagkaberdugo. "Bilib it or nut," sabi ng ale, "yan ang susunod na panggulo ng Pilipinas. Dininig ang iyong panalangin, iha, na mawala na sa eksena ang autistic na si Abnoy!"

Mamumura ko ang mga pari at obispo sa diskarteng ito -- aalisin nga ang sinto-sinto, papalitan naman nang mas malala ang topak. Nung panggulo si Gloria inip na inip ako at gusto ko siyang mawalis sa upuan, by coup or by tiris, dahil siguradong wala nang mas grabe sa unanong ito. Kaya tuwang-tuwa ako nang parang sisiw na sumipot si Penoy. Nang nabistong kulang ang palito sa ulo ang buwakanangina, sabi ko, ang lupit ng tadhana sa Pilipins my Pilipins. Pero imposibleng may malala pa sa panot na ito. At -- tsaran! -- nasilip yung sipolpol na Dodirty raw ang pangalan. Change is coming daw! Pero naman naman! Anong klaseng sukli itong dumarating: Di pa nakaupo ang laki na nang ulo, arogante, bastos, bully sa hindi kayang lumaban. Siya ang tanging nilalang na dahil sa kanya nanaisin mong manalo ang mga drug lords para maasar lang siya. Mistulang banal mismo si Satanas kung ihambing sa matulis na ngusong manyakis na yun. Sasabihin ko sanang may problema ang mama kaya laging nakangising aso. Pero ano naman ang kasalanan ng aso para insultuhin ito?

Anyway, laging galit sa mundo itong mama kaya di mapakali, kamot nang kamot; ba't di kasi maligo para at least may masabing malinis sa kanyang nilalang kahit hindi ang utak. Laging hinihimas yung isang pisngi. Minsan parang sinasalo niya at baka malaglag at di na siya makasipol. Malaglag na nga sana!

Lahat ng tao may malalim na lihim, pero sa kilos, ugali, at OCD nito, huwag sanang mapinsalang lubos ang bansa sa halimaw na ito. Sige, pabahain niya ng dugo ng mga drug lords ang ating lupa; sige, magsabog siya ng binhi nang pagkasuklam sa mga ayaw sumund sa kanya, pag-awayin niya ang mga Pilipino, pero putangina lang ang walang ganti. Kahit major-major na buwang itong uupo, marunong namang magbasa. Minsan, nung may pag-asa pang palitan ang turnilyo ng kukote nito 60 years ago, nabasa niya ang isang aklat -- na laging ring binabasa ng minura niyang si Pope Franciis, mga pari, obispo, kasama na ang buong relihiyon na marahil di niya kinagisnan sa tahanan -- ang isang babala: Kung anong itinanim, siyang aanihin.

Harinawa. Putangina naman kung walang sukli.

Boss Joe

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Joe Burgos, mas mainam pa sa mga panggulo ng Pilipinas
Boss, pinili namin ang putanginang Duterte dahil di ko alam na mas mahal niya ang mga Marcos kaysa sa mga tapat na mamamahayag na tulad mo, na sa panahong mapanganib ang isiwalat ang totoong kalagayan ng bansa, sa ilalim ng kamay na bakal, ay sinimulan mo na ang pagbaklas sa tanikalang sumisikil sa kalayaan at disenteng pagka-Pilipino. Ngayon ay nananaig ang paglait sa mga kapatid sa trabaho dahil pikon si Duterte at ginagawang ehemplo ang corrupt nating mga kasamahan para lagyan ng uling ang mga tapat, masigasig, at naghahayag lang ng kabulastugan nitong probinsiyanong lumaki na ang ulo hindi pa man nakaupo sa puwesto.

Pero relax ka lang diyan, Boss, dahil kung ang kaibigang Marcos ni Duterte, na berdugo rin, ay hindi inurungan ng mga tapat na journalists noon, ito pa kayang nagbabadyang bagong diktador. Killer nga pero tiyani bandang huli yan.


Parang di alam ni Duterte na maraming anyo ang corruption: hindi pera-pera lang, na inihahagis niya laban sa media; meron ding corruption ng moralidad -- kawalan nang galang sa magandang asal (buksan mo ang balita sa TV at maririnig ng mga bata sa bahay na nagmumura ang putanginang magiging panggulo ng bayan), kabastusan sa mga babae, pagmura sa pinatay na corrupt journalist (dahil kritiko niya sa Davao) at pinabayaan na lang yung pumatay kahit kilala niya. Hindi lang droga at pangungurakot ang salot sa bayan. Ang pag-unlad nang nga mamamayan sa disenteng lipunan ay ankla ng tunay na pag-ahon, hindi pagbaba sa imburnal ng buwang na Duterte.
Ang ganda ng mga sinasabing gagawin ni Duterte. Talagang hahanga ka pag naniwala kang malakas ang malasakit niya sa mga maralita, sa mga inaagrabyado, sa mga niyuyurak ng pamahalaan. Pero gising na ang ilan sa amin -- parang nakabasa kami ng We Forum sa panahong hanga pa ang karamihan sa pagbabagong pangako nitong Duterte, parang nung hanga pa ang mga magulang sa disiplinang idudulot daw ng Martial Law.


Ang We Forum ang naglatag ng daan para sa pamamahayag na tapat at kontra sa diktaturya, kaya nung pinatay si Ninoy, nag-usbungan ang mga ibang pahayagan -- Mr & Ms Special Edition na sa unang pahina ay lumantad ang litrato ng duguang mukha ni Ninoy. Pumalag din ang Malaya, kapatid ng We Forum; lumakas ang loob ng WHO at Business Day. Sa paglilitis ng 25 sundalong inakusahang pumatay kay Ninoy, inilunsad ng founder ng Mr & Ms Special Edition, Eugenia Apostol (at Editor Letty Magsanoc), ang weekly tabloid na Philippine Inquirer para ituon ang pansin ng mga tao sa pangyayari sa korte. Sa 1986 ang tabloid ay naging Philippine Daily Inquirer, na hanggang ngayon ay kinaasaran ng mga presidenteng gumagawa ng kabulastugan at nahahayag sa pahayagan at balita sa TV channels. Ang mga asar na presidente: Marcos na ipinasara halos lahat ng mga diyaryo at TV stations, puwera sa tatlong crony papers (Daily Express, Philippine Journal ni Kokoy Romualdez, at Manila Bulletin ni Emilio Lim); Cory Aquino, na tulad ng sinto-sintong anak na si Noynoy, ay pikon sa sa masamang balita kahit totoo; Gloria Arroyo; at ngayon, na tila susunod sa yabag ng matalik na kaibigang Marcos, Duterte, berdugo ng mga drug lords (okay lang) at berdugo ng pamamahayag na hindi sipsip sa kanya ngunit totoo.


Hanggang ngayon ay nawawala pa ang anak mong si Jonas, Boss. Dinampot siya ng militar ni Gloria at hanggang ngayon ay kasama sa libo-libong desaperidos ng Martial Law ni Marcos, na pinayagan ni Duterteng ilipat at bangkay sa Libingan ng Bayani. Ang marching order ni Duterte sa mga tauhan niya, tutukan ang kriminalidad at corruption. Gandang pakinggan, pero hindi tugma sa gawa. Gagawin niyang bayani ang isa sa pinakamalaking mamamatay-tao at mandarambong sa kasaysayan ng napakaabang bayan na ito.


Ang daming mabulaklak na pambobola ang iniitsa ni Duterte sa tulog na namang madla, kaya di napapansin, o ipinagtatanggol pa, ang lason ang kanyang mga gawain. At, tulad ng dati, binubugbog ang tagahatid ng masamang balita.


Pero kaya natin ito, Boss. Ano ba naman ang sangganong Duterte sa agos ng kasaysayan at katotohanan? Bullet day, Duterte -- Balang araw...

Duterte's blind side

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This must be taught in schools
Very very few people know that my birthday is celebrated every week, and that I believe heavily on gift receiving, even without twisting of arms or shameless reminding.

Popular Bookstore ran out of stock of the Raissa Robles book (1st photo), so I'm looking for it as a weekly birthday present (wink! wink!) to me, which does not mean I'm forking out the cash, after asking wifey to buy the two books shown in Photos 2 and 3. What are reminders for?


So I have two books about Martial Law at hand and I currently lack the Robles book. Meanwhile I'm reading Primitivo Mijares'"The Conjugal Dictatorship of Ferdinand and Imelda Marcos", which is being offered free in eBook form online, to refresh the memory of old people like my friends -- who had experienced the censorship, terrors and murders of the New Society -- and to teach millennials, like me, and this generation's dumb voters who voted for all Marcoses last May. Why not read the new books you bought, you may ask, and the answer... umm, it fell to earth I know not where.

During the election I rooted for Duterte and cursed Binay and Roxas for trying to impose their incompetence on this unfortunate country, which allowed the birth of Mariano Marcos (shot by guerrillas as a spy of the Japanese invaders), who begat Ferdinand, who with Imelda and cronies plundered our resources. Then they were ousted in 1986 with their begotten gremlins Bongbong, Imee, and Irene. After Duterte won, I began pulling roots, after he declared his fealty for the Marcoses. Part of his priority now is to pay his debt of gratitude to the Marcos clan, whom he said took care of his father and him even while the Marcoses looted the coffers, closed tne media, tortured and killed thousands of activists, and borrowed so much from foreign institutions that we, in this year 2016, are still paying for what the Marcoses, Romualdezes, Benedictos, Tantocos, et al. had hoarded, splurged, and hidden. 

Now I'm preparing for the dire results of Duterte's inconsistensy and contradictions. He has, even before the beginning of his term, started purging the system of its entrenched drug lords and crime kingpins. How he hates drugs. Me too, except my maintenance tablets. He says "Stop it!" to crime. Yey! He will bury Marcos in the Libingan ng mga Bayani. Huh?! Ok, he's not a hero, Duterte concedes, but he was a soldier. Now I want to know Duterte's birthday, so I can give him Mijares' book. That book reveals that Marcos was hunted by guerrillas, who wanted to execute him as a collaborator. Not a soldier at all, the book said, but as a buy-and-sell man during the Japanese Occupation. Possibly a traitor. Ferdinand and Imelda spawned Ferdinand Junior -- or Bongbong, who will certainly try to wrest the vice presidency from the duly elected Leni Robredo. 

Duterte has already instituted a lot of changes. For the first time in Philippine politics, the vice president will be given no tangible post as part of the administration -- because Bongbong's feeling will be hurt. Another first is that the president-elect and the VP-elect will hold their inaugurations separately, because Duterte wants it that way. Maybe he cannot have both Bongbong ang Leni together in the inauguration ball?

Duterte feels he has a debt of obligation to the biggest family of crooks ever, but why oh why, like that fool Noynoy to Purisima, must the country pay for Duterte's debt? We are still paying for the Marcoses' debt! A consolation is that the dumbos who voted for Imelda, Imee, and Bongbong have joined the old timers in paying debts incurred long before they were born. This early we are reaping the fruits of our elected leader's contradictions. When there are two opposing sides, one side will falter in the long run, and Duterte, who purportedly hates criminals who destroy our society, is on the side of the biggest looters of resources and of the killers of thousands of dissenters. What strange bedfellows you have, Mr. President. May fate be kinder to this unfortunate land.

 

Albus

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This is Albus, a very loving Ragdoll who, like any kitten, loves companionship and play. He is born on Jan. 7 with two siblings. When people took his siblings to their homes to lead better lives, he had at least two younger persian kittens and one stray left to play with. Then one by one his playmates moved to good homes, too, leaving Albus alone. When I see him looking forlorn like this, it breaks my heart. Of course I don't feel so good whenever a kitten moves to other homes, but I have come to term with this fact of life: Leaving is not so bad if the destination is a happier life. Every father learns this at his daughter's wedding day -- that no love is lost and life moves forward.

When I see Albus alone, silent, with no playmates no tumble with, my human problems, no matter how deep, diminish and are replaced with just one wish -- that this lonesome kitten gets a better shot at life's bounties. If there is kismet, I hope someone out there with the capability to make a kitten smile and purr with delight meets Albus. Full of trust, Albus purrs when we hold and stroke him. Certainly I will be sad when Albus leaves this home, but I will be consoled that he will not be alone anymore. I'll be all right if in his memory I'm replaced by a loving companion.

I quote Christina Rossetti about leavetaking, whether it involves human sweethearts or kittens that I love:
"Better by far that you forget and smile,
Than that you remember and be sad."

Fanatics

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Today, 2016 August 18, President Duterte's 50th day in power, a documentary of his "achievements" airs beyond PTV4. The document starts with his inauguration speech, in which he said, "we have become our worst enemies," and followed that with a statement that he serves no special interest but that of every citizen.

Today, it has become very clear to all, through Duterte's own efforts, that he is the most powerful Marcos loyalist to be elected, to replace the anti-Marcos but inept and moronic Aquino. A few days hence, ex-dictator and plunderer Ferdinand Marcos will be buried at the Libingan ng mga Bayani, because, according to Duterte, Marcos "was a soldier. Period." And, Marcos was a president. Period.

Those two "periods" -- or full stops -- are indicators of what kind of man the new president is; after all, he has repeatedly declared that what he said he will do, he will do. What he did not say, yet is so open to all but to Marcos and Duterte fanatics, is that he will not tolerate opposition to his will, that those who dare to curb his plan will be treated as personal enemies who will be subject to his impulsive and almost immediate retaliation.

Marcos is a soldier. Period. The full stop is there to forestall any argument, that Marcos, during the war, was involved in the black market with the approval of the Japanese administration; that he was hunted by the guerrillas, who had executed his father, Mariano Marcos, for treason, and wanted the same fate for the young Marcos; that after the war he tried to scam the US government by claiming reimbursement for non-existent cattle and equipment he allegedly supplied guerrillas during the war. He also claimed he was in battles where official records proved he was miles away. He faked papers and 32 medals to bolster his delusion as a hero, rather than the cheap crook that he was.

He was a president. Period. Marcos had sworn to obey the constitution and defend the interest of the country, yet he tyranized and looted the country, made his own laws to fit the interests of his thieving wife, relatives (including his mother), and cronies in and out of government. But in Duterte's viewpoint, treason does not undo or besmirch Major Marcos' military record. The high crimes of tyranny, plunder, and murder do not dislodge Marcos, the benefactor of Duterte Sr. and this Duterte, from the pantheon of nonmurdering presidents and true soldiers who had lived and died loyally. Duterte's period is heavy indeed.

A fanatic is not necessarily stupid -- although millions of Marcos and Duterte fanatics are -- but deliberately blind to all facts, reasons, and arguments; the specific purpose, of doing honor to Marcos, supersedes morality. In other matters Duterte can inspire by his unorthodox methods and declarations. But can a president be deliberately deaf to the cries of Martial Law victims and still believe that his conscience still has a voice? -- when that voice is telling him that he has become his own worst enemy, that he is serving not all but only the Marcoses in this matter. Period.

But in real life, morality does not win against injustice, theft, murder, corruption of the soul. Countless criminals, gambling lords, drug lords, kidnappers and carjackers, smugglers, money launderers have lived and died in comfort, at the expense of the peasants, of course. Our movies and TV shows are not so dishonest now: they no longer say Crime does not pay. Who pays for masterminding the murder of Ninoy Aquino? On August 21, twenty days before Duterte lends presidential weight to Marcos' burial, we commemorate Ninoy's 33rd death anniversary. At least Ninoy lies beside his wife Cory at the Manila Cemetery, not at the soon-to-be-desecrated Libingan.

Why oh why is it the people who must always pay for the personnel debts of our politicians? Maybe the politicians know they will always be sheltered and even pushed on by the fanatics, mighty always andmighty ever. 


Looking back

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When President Duterte was just starting, he declared that he would not look back and point fingers at what the previous administration had done wrong, had not done right, and should have done. "Move forward," sounds good, if you agree to the honor burial of his patron, deposed dictator Ferdinand Marcos, and just forget EDSA 1986 happened and mattered.

When crooked politicians suggest we move on and forget the past ("What's done is done.""Minalas sila.") -- and forgive!-- the first thing a good citizen must do is turn around and look at his wallet, family, and past. In 2005 Gloria Arroyo, whose cohorts are now in Duterte's Cabinet, exhorted us on TV to forgive her for lying about the Hello Garci tape and to forget that she usurped the presidency, which should have gone to FPJ. Electoral rigger Virgilio Garcillano, after things had cooled off and the electorate's reliable Alzheimer had set in, returned from hiding abroad and even ran for Congress in 2007. Recently, Arroyo was released from hospital arrest, as if no massive plunder and other heinous crimes had been committed. Looking back, during Duterte's campaign, he said he was in favor of releasing Gloria. What he did not say was that he and Gloria were BFFs and that he has a blind side: he cannot see his friends' sins against the Filipinos he avows to love and protect.

Now Duterte is blaming Media for his latest foot-in-mouth gaffe, which caused the cancellation of his meeting with President Obama. What, exactly, is Media's role, except to air his announcement precisely as it was captured by the cameras. What I find fault in today's broadcast media is the tendency to bleep out the presidential "putang-ina" and "shit" in his tirade against Obama and other victims of his ire -- thus shielding Filipino families from the complete presidential pronouncements, with the decorum of every hood in the neighborhood.

During the Summit, Duterte and Obama somehow managed to avoid each other and shake hands. The diplomatic fiasco stung the very sensitive Duterte. But he anticipated the humiliation and prepared some photographs showing atrocities by the Americans during the process of colonizing the Philippines, from 1898 to 1904. Filipinos who fought for freedom were killed and labeled as bandits; in 1901 American soldiers were ordered, as retaliation for the natives' killing of 48 members of the US 9th Infantry, by Gen. Jacob Smith to kill every male over 10 years old in Balangiga town, Samar. Graphic photos were shown to the other world leaders to remind Obama that human rights violation is not an exclusive prerogative of the Philippines. Duterte emphasized the hypocrisy of the critics of the extrajudicial killings in his anti-drug campaign, wherein there are more unofficial murders than the government-instigated murders. So Duterte looked back in time, selectively.

And Duterte trolls lapped it up, even if nearly all, millions, have no idea that we had been Spanish Indios from 1521 to 1898, America's Little Brown Brothers (1898-June 3, 1946), and Japanese puppets from 1942-February 1945. And now we are slaves of the Filipino oligarchy, from which Duterte's father benefited much, especially during Marcos' Martial Law. 

Looking back a little closer in time -- from September 21, 1972 to Feb. 21, 1986 -- we can see what this president, this Duterte, refuses to see: the disappearance of thousands of people whom Marcos' military goons labeled as communist rebels, which included students protesting against warrantless arrests, abductions, and the curtailment of their freedom of speech, freedom to assemble, and other basic rights. Are there graphic photos of coeds nabbed by members of the constabulary or Metrocom, then raped, subjected to water torture and electrocution, brutally killed, their mutilated bodies thrown into still unknown graves? Among the victims were human rights advocates (Etta Rosales et al), writers who criticized Marcos' rule and corruption ("Pinasuka ako ng dugo." -- Ricky Lee), and rivals in politics and business monopoly. Before Duterte reaches the distant past, he cannot avoid the evidence of murders, and of plunders that impoverished the country, caused by his friends, the Marcoses, and, still closer in time, the Arroyos.

Hypocrisy can mean declaring not looking back but still looking back, beyond the big chip on your shoulder, and stating, as President of this damned Republic, that the US ambassador to the Philippines is "bakla" and a "son of a bitch." Ambassador Philip Goldberg's past sin? Goldberg had criticized presidential candidate Duterte for a hideous joke he made about the rape and murder of Australian missionary Jacqueline Hamill. After he became president, Duterte recalled meeting US State Secretary John Kerry: "I quarreled with his gay ambassador [referring to Goldberg]. I am pissed with him. He meddled during the election, giving statements here and there. He was not supposed to do that. That son of a bitch really annoyed me." Whelp of a doggie for an ambassador, bastard of a whore for a president. There must be a clinical explanation to this madness.

De Lima, former DOJ chief and now senator, did not escape Duterte's memory and wrath, either. He is now gathering evidence against De Lima and her former driver for their alleged coddling of drug lords in the National Penitentiary. Then there's Ban Ki Moon. Duterte, after shaking hands with the UN Secretary General last week, did not spare the man for issuing his concerns about the extrajudicial killings in the present administration.

Looking back, I thought Marcos was the worst authoritarian thief elected to the presidency. Then I thought Cory, after a brief admiration in 1986, was the caregiver of cronies and relatives in government. Ramos, in dotage still a political butterfly, flitting from his cousin Ferdinand's garden to Cory's yellow canvas to Gloria's team to Duterte's street corner. Estrada, instigator of EDSA 2001, was just a cut from the old Marcosian cloth as was Benigno Aquino III a chip off his peevish mother. What could be worse?

Well, after looking back at lot, we still have to look forward, wondering why Duterte insists on just six months to wipe out a serious drug problem, when he can -- methodically, without murdering "collateral damages," setting a bright example to the world community -- ensure the success of his vision in six years: 2,191 days instead of the silly 180 days he imposed on himself. That it's a campaign promise does not hold anymore, after he failed to jetski and plant a Philippine flag on Scarborough Shoal to fulfill another campaign pledge. Or was it another joke? The jokes and excuses are running thin; at least, through this eerie and deadly transparency, we can clearly see how worthless the lessons of History are, when we entrust our future to less worthy men.

Look back to affirm, not to deny, the truth.

Sophistries and epithets

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The president seems to be misleading the public about the killing of innocent victims, including children, in his bloody war against drug lords and pushers. Is it because his messiahiad turn of mind has led him astray too?

Let's see how this president uses reasoning or arguments that sound true but are off the mark. I never thought anyone in this world can make De Lima look good in my eyes, but it takes a Duterte to shatter my misconception. Against my will (and taste), I find myself defending the scarf lady against the imputation that she's the star of the sex scandal tape. Duterte's personal vendetta against the former Justice Secretary, who investigated him for the summary killings in Davao when he was mayor there, went overboard when he used his dumb crony, appointed DOJ Secretary Aguirre, to hurriedly present half-baked evidence against her, and her driver. They are trying to impeach her character, as if facts against the extrajudicial killings will be negated if De Lima and lover were proven guilty of receiving money from the drug lords and making love with each other.

It's as old as the New Testament, this defense of sinners against their accusers and critics, Duterte's retaliation against Obama and UN's Ban Ki Moon's comments about the mass killings: "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her. [John 8:7]" refers not to De Lima (though she is getting on in years) but the woman in the Bible who was caught in adultery (well, maybe it's De Lima), and Duterte certainly is not defending her against himself! If this is confusing it's because Duterte uses arguments that can backfire on him. On one hand, he entreats Obama and the US not to be so righteous; on the other hand he keeps hurling charges (and epithets) against all who does not approve of his murderous campaign. He is the pot calling the kettle black, but he can also be the kettle. We tread a double-edged blade when we accuse any one, or if we are accused. Matthew 7:1 -- Do not judge, or you will be judged.

The main point, after sweeping away all the sophistries, is that even if the United States massacred thousands Filipino rebels and hundreds of Moros in order to take control the Philippines, will that make right the extrajudicial killings happening here every day?

If a dropout says one and one and one is three, will he be considered wrong if a mathematician says the right answer is 3.1416? During Hitler's genocidal campaign against the Jews, hunders of German physicist gathered to prove that Eintein's Theory of Relativity is wrong. Told about this, Einstein said, "If I'm wrong, just one of them is sufficient." Duterte points to the more than 16 million who elected him to office as the source of his mandate, but what about the more then 84 million who still believe that the death penalty is still out of the bounds of our law?

The death penalty was repealed by Duterte's close friend Gloria Arroyo when she became president. This act certainly saved her from the lethal injection for plunder and electoral fraud, all heinous, all acceptable now as long as you are a presidential friend. Even presidential kumpare Peter Lim escaped Duterte's avowal that this Chinese drug lord will be killed the instant he lands in our airport. Instead he was presented on TV, with Duterte casting doubt whether he is indeed the one on the police drug list. What kind of intel was Duterte being fed that thousands were killed without verification and this kumpare is not properly identified? No photos of him was included in the government files? So Peter flew back to China. And when Media asks why only small time druggies were being killed, Duterte says, "Because only the henchmen are operating here. The bosses are in China. Kung gusto mong hulihin sila, pumunta ka sa China." So much for consistency. How long this zarzuela will go on before the Duterte trolls wake up? Well, Marcosian fools are still growling long after 1986. Let me like the Devil, quoting Scriptures: Proverbs 26:4,5 -- Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like to him…

Evil time, evil men

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Cayetano said tourism is down because media is always reporting the killings triggered by the De Lima Senate inquiry on extrajudicial killings. Now she is demoted, but I think media will still report every significant events every day. If the killings continue, so will the reports.

Any sensible tourist will choose Thailand, Taiwan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, China if they want relief from stress and have a good time. In the Philippines, a tourist has a good chance of seeing a riding-in-tandem execution even in broad daylight, or a procession of policemen going house to house as part of Operation Tokhang, or during a nighttime stroll see vigilantes pulling a suspect out of his house and pumping several bullets into his head and body. An early morning stroll can offer a surprise in the form of cadavers wrapped in packing tape, hands tied, and a cardboard signs beside the corpses, and the tourist will say, "Wow! Only in the Philippines!" or "Honey, take a picture of this blood spatter on my arm."

I never thought I can feel sympathy for someone like De Lima, but evil men can make her appear in a positive light. Duterte and her stamp-pad Senate and House of Representathieves may be able to constrain her, but the truth will struggle out as long as there are decent citizens left. So far, it has been established that a four-year-old girl was gunned down with her father recently. Duterte and General Bato consider her a collateral damage; but it is, legally and morally, murder. This administration, like the Martial Law regime, is recruiting the evil elements in the AFP and PNP to do its savage policy. After Duterte leaves, these killers will be left behind, used to impunity from any system of justice, waiting for Marcos Jr. to resume his father's plunder, tortures, and murders.

There are times when I succumb to the thought of: "If the Filipinos are ignorant enough to enslave themselves under tyrants and thieves, they deserve the fruits of the seeds they sow." Then I hope some intelligent men in government and in the armed services will rise and protect us, but then I realize that I cheered for Duterte just a few months ago, and Aquino in 2009 because he would not steal like Arroyo, and Arroyo in 2001 because she replaced the corrupt Estrada, and Ramos in 1992 because the cronyism of Cory would end, and Cory because I thought she put an end to the Marcos dynasty. 

EDSA 1986 was a sham, though the Marcoses were temporarily dislocated. We cheered Enrile and the RAM boys and other military men, not realizing that they were the executors of Martial Law. Honasan, Kapunan, Matillano, Bibit, even PC Major General Fidel Ramos, and the good Panfilo Lacson were involved in torturing dissidents and making desaparecidos of thousands of young Filipinos still lost in unknown graves.

We saved our torturers and killers from Marcos, and here we are now -- the president is a rabid Marcos loyalist like Estrada, who is mayor of the rich city of Manila, whose son from a mistress (now mayor of San Juan) is a senator like Marcos Jr., whose thieving mother is congresswoman of Ilocos Norte, where his sister is governor. Marcos first cousin ex-President Fidel Ramos, who failed to settle the Mindanao dispute, is now negotiating with China about territorial rights. And Duterte has recently negotiated with terrorist and freed one hostage in exchange for P50 million, which will certainly encourage more abductions in the lucrative trade which the president has revived. Was the Davao night market blasts financed by the ransom money? I hope not. Wait and see.

Last night De Lima was demoted and it made the evening news, but the police killings also were reported. Cayetano thinks when reports of the killings stop, the tourists will flock in. The only way to stop the news reports is to stop the bloodbath, but Duterte's pet project shows no sign of abating. 

I hope there is a heaven, because it follows that there will be hell. And those that made a hell-on-earth of this country will have a certain destination, hot and bood red.

Harinawa, Pareng Jojo Mejia...

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ANG usapan nilang mag-asawa, kapag may isang nagkasakit nang malubha, hindi na pahahabain pa ang paghihirap niya.

May tawag kami diyan dito: “DNR” o “do not rescuscitate” o “allow for natural death.”

Joke lang po. Ang totoo po, hindi po angkop ang waiver na iyan sa ikukuwento ko sa inyo.

Halos naman siguro ng mga mag-asawa dumating sa ganitong usapan, lalo na kung hindi naman mayaman. Isa sa mga pangunahing dahilan kung bakit ayaw nating maratay nang matagal sa banig ng karamdaman: Ayaw nating pahirapan ang mga mahal natin sa buhay; mentally, emotionally, physically — at higit sa lahat — financially.

Hirap kasing isipin na mawawala ka sa mundo at iiwanan mo pa nang sandamukal na problema at mga utang ang mga mahal mo sa buhay. Hindi ba naman, ‘yan ang madalas na kinakatakutan natin?
Uulitin ko, ganoon nga ang naging usapan nina Pareng Jojo at Mareng Nette.

Noong nakaraang Huwebes (Oktubre 13), nagulat kami ni misis sa Facebook post ni Mareng Nette. Inatake si Pareng Jojo. Naitakbo pa siya ospital pero hindi na umabot nang buhay.

“Bigla, wala man lang signos,” kuwento ni mare kay misis nang mag-usap sila sa voice call ng messenger.

Pumanaw si Pareng Jojo isang araw bago magdiwang ng kanyang kaarawan ang kanyang maybahay. Ang sakit ‘di ba? Kung tayo ang nasa katayuan ni mare, kakayanin kaya natin ito?

Sa aming mga Katoliko, sagrado ang pagiging magkumpare. Bagama’t hindi naman talaga kami ganoon kadikit, mayroon kaming matibay na hugpong. Una na nga, ‘yung inaanak namin sa kanilang mag-asawa. Pangalawa, bilang magka-opisina, magka-trabaho, magkabaro sa industriya ng pamamahayag.

Prudencio Mejia ang tunay na pangalan ni pare. (Basta Jojo, Jun o Junior ang palayaw, asahan mo na medyo sinauna ang tunay na pangalan niyan).

Nakilala siya sa byline na Jojo Mejia. Matagal kaming nagkasama sa People’s Tonight. Nagkaroon siya ng kolum sa diaryo namin noon na kinagiliwan ng marami. Mahusay na manunulat, may sense of humor at may malasakit sa mga tao, sa lipunan at sa bayan.

Halos kailan lang, nagpapalitan kami ng like sa FB. Pinupuri niya ako ‘pag may nagustuhan siya sa mga isinulat ko, at ganoon din naman ako sa kanya. Noong minsan, sa tuwa niya sa isang FB post ko, binansagan niyang Abnerism ang aking sense of humor.

Kaming mga diyarista o mamamahayag, hindi palaging nagkakasundo sa aming mga paniniwala. Pero nitong kamakailan, dikit na dikit ang mga opinyon namin sa mga kaganapan sa bayan natin. Kasama ang isa pa naming kumpare, si William “Pogi” Chua na beterano rin ng People’s Tonight (at aaminin kong pinakamahusay sa aming tatlo) kapit-bisig at “kapit-pluma” kami.

Saklap! Nabawasan kami. Malungkot. Pero siyempre tuloy ang laban.
Iniisip ko, siguro masaya naman si Pareng Jojo kung saan man siya naroon ngayon. Hindi niya naabala ang pamilya niya. Hindi sila naiwanan ng utang sa gamot, doktor at ospital. Hindi sila nahirapan na makita siyang nahihirapan. Ganoon ‘yun, di ba?

Harinawa, maging maalwan ang paglalakbay ni Pareng Jojo patungo sa kung saan man ang hantungan ng buhay.


*Ang mga pananaw sa artikulong ito ay sa sumulat.  Maaring hindi ito ang opisyal na posisyon ng Beyond Deadlines.

Cohen's Dark Hallelujah

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Cohen's book of poetry

"Kilala mo si Leonard Cohen?" Ako, nagtatanong.

"Hinde. Evicted sa PBB?" Si Aijem, kaibigan, reality show aficionado.

"Aguy! Sikat siya sa US, at hindi tulad mong bopol!"

"The Biggest Loser? The Apprentice? Survivor? Clue naman huh."

"Sikat siyang songwriter. Patay na."

"Hindi survivor. Anong kanta niya ang alam ko?"

"Rubber Ducky. Kinanta ni Ernie sa Sesame Street."

"Oows?♪ Rubber ducky, you're the one, you make bath time lots of fun. ♫ Goyo na ito. Ano talaga?"

"Superhit niya ang Hallelujah..."

"Kay Bamboo yan eh."

"Iba yung kay Bamboo. Madalas kantahin sa X-Factor at American Idol ang kay Cohen."

"Ahaha! I've heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord, but you don't really care for music, do ya. Hallelujahhh..."

"O sige na, sige na. Tigil na ang atungal. Whoo! Sakit sa tenga."

"Masterpiece song yan, 'tol, yun bang magkahalong banal at Mike Hammer, yun bang kalahating anghel at kalahating Duterte."

"Pa'no namang lumiko sa pulitika itong hallelujah? Ba't satanic na naman si Digong?"

"Itinulak niyang mailibing si Marcos, at inaprub ng Supreme Court."

"Masama ba yun? Akala ko ba'y idol mo si Leni dahil maganda ang legs niya. (Sagwa ng political criteria mo, bro!) Pero yun nga, pag inilibing si Bongbong mawawala na ang election protest sa pagka-VP ni Leni."

"Hanep ang update mo sa current events, 'tol, galing pa rin sa Spidey comics. Si lakay Marcos ang ibabaon sa Libingan ng mga Bayani, hindi si junior, kaya nag-aalsa na naman ang mga activists -- Teka, di ka galit sa nangyayari?"

"Ba't ako magalit eh matatanggal na at last sa display case ang bwisit na yun. Alam mo bang ninakaw na pera ng mga bobotante ang pinambabayad sa unlimited aircon doon sa musoleo? May bandera pa ng Pilipinas, may seal pa ng president, tapos sinasamba pa rin sa halip na ibaon sa limot, may guwardiya pa 'kala mo bayani talagang put--"

"Ah, basta mawala lang sa balat ng lupa kahit saan ay puwede?"

"Oo naman. Kahit isama pa ang asawa't mga anak sa hukay mas maigi pa. Hindi ang desisyon ng mga bayarang mga impakto at impakta ng Supreme Court ang may timbang sa ganitong usapin."

"Gano'n? Eh ba't nagpuputok ang butsi ng mga aktibista at diyarista?"

"Ganyan naman lagi pag may TV kamera, laging may nagmamartsa, sumisigaw ng slogan, taas-kamao at kapit-bisig, habang ang mga talagang may kinalaman sa issue ay mahinahong nagmamasid at nag-iisip ng posibleng lunas sa latest na virus ng lipunan. Kung di tatanungin, di magtatawag nang pansin. Satur Ocampo. Bonifacio Ilagan. Pete Lacaba..."

"Kaya pala tahimik sina Cabinet secretary Jun Evasco, DSWD secretary Judy Taguiwalo, DAR secretary Rafael Mariano, NAPC chairperson Liza Maza at Labor Usec Joel Maglungsod--"

"Hep! Hep! Ibang kulay ang mga yan at malayo sa tulad nina Edjop, Eman, Lean, Tonyhil, at iba pa. Ang mga Liza Maza ng pesteng bayan na ito ay maingay at laging nagmamartsa noon, yun pala iba ang landas na tinatahak nila at ginagamit lang ang mga anak-pawis para makarating sa -- dyaran! -- mataas na puwestong may mataas na suweldo. At pinagsisilbihan pa sila ngayon nang sangkatutak na mababang paygrade na empleyado."

"Pisting yawa! Karmahin sana ang mga chameleon na yan! Ibig mong sabihin itong generation ng mga nagsusulat sa mga leaflets, diyaryo, campus papers -- yung we protest/condemn in the highest terms the libing-libing and hero-hero -- ay nakasilip ang isang mata sa Malakanyakanyang Palace?!"

"Tulad ng anumang sector ng sangkatauhan, ganyan ang majority -- body and soul for sale. Ang iilang tapat, matalino, at tunay na makabayan ay hindi dumaraan sa matinding tukso ng ginto at posisyon, dahil sila ang unang nadededo sa pakikibaka, at ang natitira ay ang mahihina at tuso."

"Tindi mo namang humusga, 'tol. Wala ka nang nakitang positive--"

"Sige nga, magturo ka ng tapat, matalino at tunay sa mga Pinoy sa panahon na ito."

"Eh di si PNoy, por eksampol."

"Hindi lang masamang presidente si Noynoy, masama ring tao -- walang malasakit, tamad, bobo, madakdak, kunsintidor sa pagnanakaw ng mga kabarkada, trapo, oligarch at pikon tulad ng ina, palpak, panot. Ang dami kong kilalang mas pangit sa kanya, pero may asawa sila, minsan may kabit pa. Ba't parang pinandidirihan ng babae yan?"

"Teka ha, punasan ko lang itong pawis ko sa batok, masyadong chili flavor ang banat mo kay Noynoy. Skip na natin si Erap, Gloria, at si Digong ha, mapupuno tayo ng synonyms at antonyms nito."

"Sige. Siguro naman narinig mo na yung sinabi ni Digong -- on live TV pa ha -- na sa Cabinet meeting daw ay tinitingnan niya ang legs ni Leni. May karibal ka na hehe!"

"Ay tanginang go to hell pakyu na Duterte yan ha, pasalamat siya at nasa Malaysia ang lintiang maotog na singkit na tigbalang na yan. Putsang-- "

"Relax, bro, joke na naman daw. O, ito pang isang panyo. Alam mo, bumabalandra sa isip ko yang si Digong kung naririnig ko itong kanta ni Cohen, itong part na ito:
♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Halleluja
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah..." 

 ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫ ♪ ♫

"Thank you, tol. Alam mo, pag naririnig ko ang pagkanta mo, lumiliwanag ang pag-iisip ko at nakikita kong kahit malupit si Duterte hindi pa rin siya ang pinakamasama, kahit idagdag mo pa si Donald Trump, hindi pa rin."

"Eh sino?"

"Ang boses mo, 'tol, siya ang salarin. Halika ka na at magtanim na lang tayo ng bala doon sa libingan. Dagdagan natin ng shabu."

Psycho Presidents

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I hate Donald Trump, but some of my friends like him, to the extent that they are restricting me in their FB settings, blocking my anti-Trump quips, and I think I have been unfriended by some. But not by the important and valued people in my life, so precious and few. So, nothing really important has nudged me from my quiet niche.

I suppose it's not unusual that the same equation applies with Duterte, who, like Trump, I believed and defended during the heat of the campaign, then I backtracked from when I realized that we were electing a foul-mouthed paranoid to high office, and now am shouting against in the din of heated opinions.

Eight years ago, had Trump battled Obama, -- who was then fresh and shiny like a new, dark penny, and offering an alternative to the blundering Bush -- the tycoon easily would have been exposed as the sleaze artist he is. Trump's white eyeliners, which go back to the early 80s, would have glared in stark contrast to Obama's ebony complexion. Racism would have been shouted down back in 2008 because then nobody but rednecks in the Bible Belt, die-hard Klanners, and neo-Nazis would have agreed that a black man in high office would be ineffective, would make America weak, which Russia and North Korea would take advantage of. In 2016 a third-rate psycho from Davao who attained the presidency in a banana republic told the head of the most powerful nation to go to hell, and the black president -- the shine of his blackness tarnished by the years and by his lack of skill in handling international bullies -- he let the insult pass, maybe forgetting that it's not a personal attack, but a symbolic showdown: whether America will let any tinpot tyrant besmirch its international dignity.

In 2008 Syria's Assad, his army backed by Russia's Putin, had killed more than 8,000 civilians. Based on the strength of two strongmen determined to stay on in power, against the feebleness of alliances with Western countries and the ineptness of the United Nations, it was easy to forecast the result: By 2016 more than 100,000 Syrians are dead, including children, while the inept and careless Secretary of State, Hillary Clinton, fumbled and tried to offer traditional palliatives to unconventional situations. John Kerry is no better, and may be worse, than Hillary. And most Americans, reeling from domestic ang international woes, concluded that anyone opposite Obama and Hillary must be strong and effective. If the Obama of today tackled the scam artist Trump of today, the nigger will be chained to modern history in The Rise of the Rednecks.

Trump, knowing nothing but saying everything in every voter's mind, edged Hillary out. Hindsight shows how clueless the Democrats were, to the point of asking Obama to step into the ring instead of shunting him out of sight. And Trump and his advisers pushed and intensified the issue, repeating over and over the link between crooked Hillary and namby-pamby Obama. And Trump won, and the voters who did not come out to vote for Hillary last Tuesday are now marching in protest -- of what, democracy? Trump's boobooisie delivered the required number; Hillary's mob did not care enough for her.

Duterte:Trump = Aquino:Clinton.
Almost everything Duterte is -- dynamic, noisy, decisive, womanizer, intolerant, Type A psychotic, Grade B killer, liar, rude and crude, megalomaniac, messiahyad -- Noynoy is not. The only characteristic they share is that they are both psychopathic -- they lack the ability to feel what the common people feel. Thus in times of calamities, Aquino stayed laid-back even if dead victims littered the streets of Taclocban after Yolanda ravaged the province; Duterte even blamed those killed in his anti-drug operations, including the non-pushers, accepting the deaths of two young girls as collateral damages. But these consecutive psychos in Malacanang are ultrasensitive when it comes to their own tangled emotions -- striking back at the slightest hint of imagined slights.


His street-fighter instinct as sharp as ever, Duterte has repeatedly made clear of his awareness that he might not finish his term. Trump, unexpectedly winning a game which he had joined mainly for publicity and for distraction from the cases filed against him by Trump University victims, is now taking traditional steps which his advisers are urging him to follow, with slight missteps in his presidential tweets. What is only certain with these petulant blabbermouths is that their terms will not be boring. Enraging, yes, but when did our leaders fail to give us high blood pressures?
Barring acts of God in the months (or years) ahead, such as lightning, falling airplanes, people power, Trump and Duterte will perform verbal and physical contortions and somersaults-- to incense the opposition and to entertain the fanboys and dumb girls.
***

“I believe that you have the absolute right to think things that I find offensive, stupid, preposterous or dangerous, and that you have the right to speak, write, or distribute these things, and that I do not have the right to kill you, maim you, hurt you, or take away your liberty or property because I find your ideas threatening or insulting or downright disgusting. You probably think some of my ideas are pretty vile too.”
-- Excerpt from Neil Gaiman's Credo, in “The View from the Cheap Seats"


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