Chic aren’t necessarily slick. They’re just baby steps.

me

stealing a moment just to post something

Sitting. Staring at the work in front of me. It’s amazing that I shoplift spare time to do the things I heartily enjoy. And the grace of enjoyment has it that spare time flies like a swift.

The four seasons were very fast. There are days when the sun rids the moon of its show time and vice versa. Yet time doesn’t stretch. I found myself having the least of spare time during summer–taking advantage of the long hours of sunny apparitions.

Now, it’s winter and the leaves turned to shitty brown, I find myself drowned in a permanent work of temporary liking. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that thinking about prospects never work. It all boils down to just doing something and be done with it. Come to think of it, such system of moving around and doing things worked on me since elementary.

Sleep deprivation will have to haunt me for many days to come. Hope I can handle them. And hope that I get the endorphins to do them over and over. Maybe it’s no different from going to the gym. Honey asked me to go to the gym once. You know, I’m the type who has lifted a few dumbbells at home (just for getting rid of lousy arm feeling). But now, I’m beginning to like it. I won’t show here what my pecs have become, maybe in Hawaii (haha), but the point is…. I learned to love it because I’ve seen the changes it did to me.

If I could harness that same addiction to the work that’s in front of me now, great! You’re thinking that I hate the work on my table… not really. But I like to continue on an outline I’ve been working on (in stolen bedtime moments). It excites me, I can’t put it down. But that’s the thing. It’s more like having no discipline to put it down, rather than hating the other work in front of me.

I’ve been watching recently Dr. Randy Pausch’s lecture on time management. I learned a lot from him, and followed his tell of cleaning and sorting out my email inbox (which has at about 300 mails). So I’m getting started. Not nearly there…but starting… by ending this post.

Now.

A mighty good evening. x

Or maybe I worry too much.

Unspeakable

I can’t pinpoint what “Antichrist” (2009) wants to say even if the narrative is straight. I suffered from message indigestion, asking: What the hell was that about? Maybe it depends if I want to mess around with Eden and its three characters: He (Willem Dafoe), She (Charlotte Gainsborough and Nic (the baby).

Nic topples off a window while his parents make love. She takes the tragedy hardcore and goes through psychotherapy. He, a practicing shrink, finds the progress futile and decides to treat his wife by his own methods. He starts his “exposure therapy” by moving her to Eden–the place She dreads the most. As the counseling continues, strange visions fill the screen. He suddenly becomes unnerved after discovering Nic’s autopsy report. And after stumbling upon a waning fox that howled, “Chaos Reigns!”

The tragedy of losing one’s child is so painful, English don’t have a single word for it. But there’s no need to succumb to this film’s bleak view of the situation. In life, people who’ve experienced it found inspiration. It’s good to know that the Muse visits during extreme despondency, and one acoustic ballad from the early 90s attests to this.

Depression doesn’t give a damn over ghost and goblins. And it seems 100x easier to experience scare when you’re happy than find scare when you’re lonesome. Kids forget the backyard-ghost-stories when parents argue like hell. Youngsters lock themselves up in pitch-black bedrooms when they’re grounded.

But terror is here to keep peace in business. Imagine if you’re stuck in a cemetery at dusk. You don’t know where the exits are, and from the look of the landscapes and mausoleums around, it’ll be a long night. Fear will penetrate your bones, and you’ll suffer not because of your belief in ghost and goblins, but because you’re aware how happy you really are. For he’s a jolly good fellow to actually curl under the blankets, keep the lights burning, and check if all doors are properly locked during moments of Twilight Zone.

Assuming that chaos has its own mind, like Greek deity Eris, then maybe we are at her mercy, no matter how we feel. How unspeakable! It’ll be like leaking rain on gypsum ceilings. The only solution is to replace the thing. And while you’re on the process of tearing it down, you find weird artifacts you’ve never seen before. You ask those living with you and they’re just as shocked and as perplexed. Like dandruff, you wipe the suspicions off your sleeve. You hammer and drill away, determined to finish your Home Improvement.

One day, while you fix the electrical wirings, the power supply gets activated and it nearly causes your death. You suspect foul play, but they tell you a stray raven found its way through the circuit wirings. They’re not lying; you see the electrocuted bird near the circuit breakers. Still, it bothers you that the switches are suddenly turned-on and your mind gets plagued by the math of the circumstance. How do you sleep at night?

This is basically the conflict between He and She. He has to stay critical and to listen. She spends her days grieving. Combine this with the bizarre animals, an unkempt cabin, whispers of the leaves, crazy dreams; then you have a horror that terrifies without the benefit of boom-boom Hitchcock score before the knife hacks the flawless skin of a blonde girl.

It’s nice that they cast a Brunette for this because the story is not just disturbing, but incantatory, which I believe explains the title “Antichrist.” I checked out screenplay elements lately. And I learned that “time” is an important factor within a good script. For instance, Cody’s Oscar-winning “Juno” is encapsulated within a nine-month pregnancy. The ploy of Antichrist loiters until the formation of star clusters. Three major constellations will appear side-by-side on one dark sky namely the Raven, the Fox and the Deer. I searched the Internet for any “evidence.” Surprisingly, they do exist.

This film must’ve religious implications. “Eden” and its dead tree can’t be ignored here. And the three characters seem to symbolize The Holy Trinity. I’m only being spectral; I’m not a theologian or Biblical scholar of sort. But if there’s something I’m sure of, the goosebumps that grew on me came from something pagan. Something unorthodox.

The story was written with a thinking cap—showing a lot without dictating. Its execution can’t be dismissed as utterly nonsense. There’s an abstract quality to it which seem to uphold Oscar Wilde’s warning: “Those who go beneath the surface do so at their own peril.”

It’s difficult to say objectively. It’s as if my own “meaning” would splurge instead that of the film. The character study is so good it proverbially splits many reviews.

Roger Ebert cautiously dwelled in its delicate “symbolisms.” Others commented on scenes and production value. And those who are too pissed bluntly focused on the filmmaker’s provocateur past.

Richard Roeper didn’t review this film altogether on his website. I don’t know if he’s being honest, smart, clueless, cowardly, or tactful. But if Von Trier refused to explain this at Cannes; perhaps he knows we’re only over-analyzing this film. Since no explanation was given, maybe it’s indeed Misogynistic. I digress. If you’re reading carefully, you already know why.

But let me ask again why? Why should a piece of non-commercial horror, with genital mutilation, disgust some critics. No one complained when “Final Destination 4” served up 3-D scenes of teenagers being ripped by grinding machines. But I guess some art film critics don’t live on the second-world… the way I’ve always perceived them.

Anyway, this is business as usual for Von Trier—his fetish into defeatism. He takes us to an alternate Eden with no hope whatsoever. But (again) it works… because his competence is undeniable. His vision is like a whip speaker who can prove almost anything. The brouhaha of reasons. How rational are we not to use our own image and likeness to represent our darkest, unspeakable nature? How rational is it for Von Trier to do otherwise?

I choose not to deny that I’ve enjoyed this Cannes-worthy horror film. I like the fact that sex is explicitly used as a coping mechanism—as if porn isn’t just the device of the sexually orgasmic. I also like the scene when the husband questions his wife’s conjectural approach to her unfinished dissertation. That she must not fuse with the grounds that her research tries to question. The camera shots are extremely nightmarish. Wish I also sat through the end credits to see if no animals were harmed in the making of this film.

I warn the squeamish and the faint-hearted to not see this at all. When I saw this at “Film Huis Den Haag”, a man (probably in his 40s) suffered a mild stroke. Humanity led us all out the door to call for help. It was so tense and surreal, as if the horror decided to finally seep on our reality.

I saw this the second-time at Pathe, where I’m at peace with the company of punks who’re hungry for some bloodletting (cue laughter). I believe there are three types of minds that may find this film real: 1) those who can eat an apple pie while roaming any pathological museum. 2) Those who question their decency as they stroll at a place where whole families build sandcastles in the nude. 3) And those who hate herd conformity.

Sometimes we dream weird things that actually sound funny when we recount it to others. How the hell did Lars managed to dream this and wake up the next day? “Antichrist” is scary enough on the screen. Imagine how terrifying it would’ve been if filmmaking doesn’t require collaboration. If Von Trier can directly channel his subconscious as a product.

I’d probably die sleeping.

“The evil you talk about is an obsession.”

Sandpaper

Impression.

Not even Tuesday afternoon was spared from the perception of multi-tasking without doing anything. Such feeling seemed airborne and it resonates to others.

People.

It caused an unveiling of a mini-favor from a kind soul: To cut rectangular shapes from a roll of sandpaper because the hardware store don’t have the pre-cut machine fillers in stock.

Task.

I cut the rectangular shapes, made sure the sizes were right for the machine or else they wouldn’t snap fit. This required precision and dedication because the roll of sandpaper stubbornly curled like a wriggler.

Transparency.

While cutting, I saw a basket-full of “unpatched” clothing, waiting for a Mother’s free time. A little boy transcribed Christmas songs from old cassette tapes while a girl, with broken menagerie in her palms, hid under the bed.

Patience.

It took me five minutes to make twenty cut-outs. It impressed a soul on how fast I did it. ”Are you kidding?” I joked. “…felt a lifetime.”

Ce’st La Vie.

F#cking Universal.

“Any moron can waltz in here and do our jobs, but you’re obsessed with making it seem so much more fucking important, so much more epic than it really is….”

F#cking universal.

Kevin Smith’s “Clerks” (1994) is the most stolen VHS tape in America. Perhaps the most rewound too, given the early 90s technology.

It reminds me of a bowling session with a prim bunch. On our left, just two alleys away, is a group of co-ed punks who jeer, cheer, and laugh hysterically.  It appears the punks give more damn on beer and fun unlike some of us who seem more conscious on proper steps, sway, score board, and whatever bore. Truth is: real fun only happens when free-spiritedness takes a hold of you.

We follow an annoyed cashier‘s call of unwanted duty during his rest day. He finds himself stuck throughout the entire store hours and invites his hockey friends to play on the rooftop (among other craziness) caused by his chicken soup of self-justification, helpless obedience, and boredom. He also learns from a paper announcement about his ex-girlfriend’s engagement to an “Asian Studies Major.” Strangely, this annoys him despite being taken.

The juice? Two buddies, polar opposites in reasoning, working at wisecracking New Jersey–all-boxed up in this 92min. dough with mozzarella stretching out in thick delicious mouthfuls. The dialogues are too awesome to miss.

Characters may represent you and me if not totally, partially, or not at all. Ha!

Dante Hicks (Brian O’ Holloran) is a college dropout in a rut with no balls to say “no” to naked eye bullshit. But he’s a good guy who injects a sort of humanity in his tedious work. He has a weakness though. Peer pressure? Nah. I think it’s an instinct to unknowingly rebel ‘cause he hates his job by default and tries harder not to hate it more. He discreetly blames the world from screw-ups. Indeed, it’s not his fault. But there’s something about the way he sighs. Like saying: I screwed up ‘cause I’m in the wrong basket.

The other guy Randall Graves (Jeff Anderson) works at a neighboring Video Rental joint who has profound respect on things not found on his job description. He’d be happy to give the finger on: Other duties that the employer may reasonably require from time to time. It’s not that Randall enjoys his place in the world. He’s just less delusional and treats catharsis like masturbation. He gives shit on common sense than policies. Conceivably like Kevin Smith, who dropped out from esoteric film school, reimbursed his tuition, to finance this project. In fact, if not for the overwhelming odds of being both the writer and director, Smith would’ve played Randall. (But I love Jeff Anderson on this role… harhar)

Dante’s girlfriend, Veronica Loughran (Marilyn Ghigliotti), tells her boy that he can’t punch cash registers forever. She loves Dante so much she’d bring him lasagna during school breaks. She’s kind, Bunifa-loud-mouthed, and realistic. Too realistic, I guess. Her past included intimate sex with only three guys and 37 casual blowjobs. It’s not the same Dante!!!

We learn that Dante’s ex, Caitlin Bree (Lisa Spoonhauer), will be married by her mother’s bargain. She confides interesting details to Dante, enough to make him go home and change clothes while Randall questions her sudden apparition. At times, it seems the past is just as unpredictable as the future. Especially when you reunite with souls after zillion events happen in between. Is time a wound healer or an act cleaner?

And then there’s Jay (James Mawes) and Silent Bob (Kevin Smith), two dealers of soft drugs who spend their days either chillin’ outdoors or shopliftin’ indoors. I don’t know if they’re happy but they never looked bored. Maybe those that sell remission never get bored. Who knows? But I guess they stick together ‘cause Jay trash talks a lot and Silent Bob listens to him a lot.

I love the scene when Jay dances by himself for a long while. Then suddenly, Silent Bob joins him. They’re real best friends who influence and treat each other more genuinely “unclownish” than the rest. Note how keen they are on people’s issues no matter how “spaced-out” they appear. Near the end of the film, Silent Bob speaks a few words that are enough to make someone abysmally pathetic.

Stupid customers (uncredited). They’re like everywhere in this movie. Nuff said.

I’m gonna steal buy a copy.

“We like to make ourselves seem so much better than the people that come in here. We look down on them, as it we’re so advanced. Well, if we’re so fucking advanced,then what are we doing working here?”

Bella Enchanted

She informs him that she’s made the decision to be with him forever and offers him her neck. Edward bends over to bite her neck but ends up simply kissing it. “Is it not enough just to have a long and happy life with me?” he asks. “For now,” Bella replies.

Bella Swan loves Edward Cullen, the vampire. Why wouldn’t she? She behaves like a goth girl from deep within. Right after the movie starts, the young Bella ponders about death for the sake of a loved-one. I think she hates the sun too. She’s too pale to be from sunny Philadelphia. And the film’s bluish color scheme (the same color tone of The Ring or that Omen remake) gives her ice-cube complexion. Thankfully, she’s not far too timid and icy as she looks.

Yet something bothers her and I could only guess why problems are etched on her face like second nature. Perhaps her parents’ divorce causes her seemly discontentment, and induces her to philosophize about life…or about virgin suicides, or both. And maybe Tokyo underground. But she has loving parents doesn’t she? And what a pity that my sixth sense fails to grasp the real reason why she looks bored. If only she visited a shrink like Donnie Darko– then perhaps I’ll understand her completely.

Bella is cynical about everything, even if she’s not really THAT alienated (as what others describe). She’s the “Johnny come lately, new kid in town, everybody loves you” kinda gal. No cliches here. No High School “fresh meat” inductions. Nobody teases her when she arrives in her truck, on her first school day. And the funky Asian-looking student–dubbed as “the eyes and ears of campus”–befriends her in no time. I guess she’s being her charming, lethargic self—destined to become Teen’s Choice.

When Bella and her two BFFs enters a boutique to try-out some prom outfits, Bella haven’t had the slightest inkling to be enthusiastic. She just sits there like a non-living thing. Totally spaced-out. No wonder, the telepathic Edward Cullen can’t read her mind. What is there to read from the mind of a bored-to-death Bella Swan? Nada nada nada. If only the 114 year-old Edward Cullen learns that emos still exist long after Edgar Allan Poe, perhaps he won’t be mystified by Bella’s unpredictability, or worse… fall-in-love. Remember the scene when Edward saves Bella from that deadly wayward pick-up? Bella was inquiring, “why did you save me?” in what appears to be a thinly-veiled disappointment.

If werewolves and vampires are taken out of this movie’s equation, there’s really nothing left to analyze. Except that “Twilight” (synonymous to half-light) is the only time of day when we moonlight our teenage madnesses–either caused by pure love or pure insanity. Curiously, I believe Bella suffers from both. In the name of love, she fully entrusts her life to Edward’s bloodthirsty threat. She’s totally “in dreams”, dismissing the possibility that someday, when her Mamilla darkens, she’ll be Edward’s Kebab.

She’s in love. She’s fixated. She’s more than happy to become love’s ultimate sacrificial lamb. The more Edward shows her his many superhuman freakiness, the more she wants him so badly. What’s hilarious is that Edward Cullen wears an Annie Lennox make-up and possibly, a wealth to match. He dodges sunlight because the sun’s rays reveal all the sparkling diamonds within his body. Bella then reassures him, “I trust you and I love you.” Finally, a promising future.

Why doesn’t Edward sink his fangs into her? Apparently, the answer lies in the scene where he explains the dire consequences of loving a mortal. He calls himself a monster and he wants to change by abstaining from human blood. However, legend has it that vampires don’t see the man in the mirror. So how could Edward follow the King of Pop’s advice to make that change? It will be extremely difficult, maybe close to unlearning an instinct. This is why I’m nervous during the much-talked about kissing scene. With the right stimulus, Edward the mantis chomps Bella the butterfly.

But he didn’t do it. He’s in control of his corporal desires, temptations, whatever. His will to kill is totally handcuffed by love, which I think is this movie’s main focus. So scenes where Bella does extensive research on vampires and werewolves serve only as time fillers. I mean why not? What’s the purpose of “investigation” scenes if secrets are shared in the first-half of the movie? Hence, the suspense is numb with werewolves fulfilling their obligation to the running time. And the romance, overflowing. I guess that’s how it should be for their Miley-lovin’ market.

P.S.

I’m so digging the soundtrack.

And I Bilk To Myself, What A Wonderful World

Imagine being on a plane with Murphy’s Law in the cockpit. Or Mr. Murphy at railway switch points while you’re on a train. We all share these crazy feelings. Even Lars Von Trier. According to ImdB, he travels to Cannes using a trailer described as “specially outfitted because of his many phobias.”

His 1991 film “Europa” begins with streaming images of railroad tracks… and a narration from a hypnotist (oooohhh scary). He commands us to go deeper and deeper… and in the count of ten, we’ll be in “Europa.” Is this an effort to desensitize us for what’s to come? If a shrink swings a pendulum before my face, I’m sure he’d intrigue himself on anything but pleasant.

Like a hangover, Europa is wicked and memorable. The color scheme fascinates like a glass of Pepsi under a light bulb. Within the Pepsi’s overall dark hue lurks surreal coloration—usually appearing at the bottom of the glass. Or should I say “rock bottom.” Those that signify emotional tipping points change color in this picture.

There’s an overall “Noir” feel to this film. But I’m afraid the muted coloration is only for aesthetics, just like Art Calendars in Black & White (I doubt a budget problem like Kevin Smith’s “Clerks”). Honestly, I can’t imagine this whole thing in Technicolor especially when characters suspend before projected images. It might pass as a Mel Brooks comedy or a short film by Jim Henson, don’t you think so?

On a serious note: Could the suspension of characters mean that no sense of “belongingness” will ever rid us from any sort of isolation and accountability? If discretion is the sincerest form of valor, I’d say yes.

The story setting is another unique exploit. It directly contradicts our protagonist instead of being a mere depository of story elements. Also, the  lead is good-natured—a far cry from introducing a main character in “existential bitterness.” His name is Leopold Kessler (Jean Marc Barr), an American of German origins who voluntarily arrives in 1945 postwar Frankfurt to “offer his fatherland some kindness.”

Leopold is the “dovish” pacifist. In one scene, he refuses to accept a pistol offered to him out of concern. I’m impressed and confused, considering the disarray in Germany’s Denazification heyday. You’ll want a gun if Allied Forces are still busy dismantling remainders of the Nazi regime and partisans (known as “Werewolves”) continue to terrorize.

The film feature tale spins of chaos; division, shame, corruption, abuse and all things troublesome (you name it), which you have to see for yourself. The theory of “The Great Patents Heist” has been described in one  “casual” talk. Dispersal soldiers prevent civilian gatherings. And questionnaires are handed-out to the bourgeois to determine active involvement with the mass murder. This is a short list.

Upon Leopold’s arrival on Frankfurt, he sits on the biggest weighing scale I’ve ever seen and was declared, “Fit to work.” Through the help of his Uncle Kessler (Ernst-Hugo Jarengard), he lands an internship as a sleeping-car conductor for Zentropa–The only Sleeper Train Complex permitted to run after the surrender.

While training, Leopold meets Katharina Hartman (Barbara Sukowa) in one of the cabins. Their first meeting was like two stray dogs sniffing each other’s curiosities. She inquires about his arrival and Leopold asks her about the killings. “They’re fighting for country,” She tells him while the sight of lynched “wolves” show up from outside the windows. Leo pulls down the shades.

Katarina is the daughter of Zentropa’s founder, Lawrence Hartman (Udo Kier). It’s because of Mr. Hartman’s influential friends that Zentropa remains operational. We soon learn that Zentropa once transported people to the Grim Reapers of ethnic cleansing.

There’s a poignant scene when a cathedral permits snowfall within its halls. It’s in this church that Leopold unexpectedly spots Katarina, soaked in snow and its chill. What could she beseech from God during a depressing Christmas Mass in a roofless church? We’ll never know. With a shared heart, it’s only a matter of time before Leo gets entangled in a love triangle like no other.

As with Gazillion other movies that use history, Cinephiles of ImdB tracked down the presence of factual errors. “In the real world, the Werewolf were nowhere as important as the film implies…” writes user daneelo in his review entitled “Brilliant Though Historically Incorrect.”

Wikipedia’s factbook says that Werewolves are from German folklore. With regards to the film, we’ll never know why partisans referred to themselves as such. If you ask me, at least it’s not “The Frankfuhrers.”

Skeptics enhance film experience and their opinions interest me. But I beg to differ on “factual inconsistencies.” Europa isn’t a documentary. Here, God is not the director. And the film is not even close to propaganda. It’s an Un-Hollywood drama that still falls under general fictional drama. Only this one is manufactured in Denmark, which is perhaps why they take it so seriously. Citation needed.

One explicit, beautifully-shot drowning scene made me muse. In reflection: Nothing dispirits us more than seeing the sudden collapse of our house. Nothing horrifies us more when we find ourselves trapped inside it. And nothing puzzles us more when such catastrophe is self-induced.

Near the end of Brian De Palma’s “Carrie” is a house that crumbles down, swallowing its owners. The psychotically religious mother, Margaret, stabs Carrie first. And in turn, Carrie had an emotional blackout, responds violently and is wrought by guilt afterwards. I don’t understand if Carrie’s guilt justifies the crumbling of her house, and her own death. Was she sad about the loss of her only universe–even if it wants to suck the life out of her?

Maybe I’m plain wrong on my first assumption. Maybe it’s not surroundings that influence our dread, it’s the need to be comforted in order to feel safe.

And the need to be loved in order to feel sane.

Prima Donna of All Eye Drops

click image for source

I have eye strain again while writing this. They are beading. Palpitating. About to self-destruct in seconds like the talking head grenade in Total Recall.

OK. I’m frustrated. There’s no Santen Neo FX eye drops within my reach. It may be the most nationalistic Japanese brand ever. According to the “all infallible” Internet, Sante Neo is never widely available across Westdom.

If you’re like me that’s been wearing astigmatism and contacts since Darwinism, major league eye strain is as common as beauty soap. At times, my eyeball feels geriatric with a thin beige sheet of film on top of it. I’m like jaundiced without sick leave.

Another is the sensation of cigarette smoke entering my eyes…minus the party and booze with six-packed iguanas.

What I totally hate is “TV eye strain.” Especially, when TV time never happened. And this really blows. It causes super bedroom eyes in the light of day and people assume I’m always sleepy, lazy, or moody when I really want to invite them for Frisbee.

Unlike famous boring boric acids like Visine, Eye-Mo, Bausch & Lomb, and Dior?, every drop of Santen Neo FX is Disney’s “Fantasia.” It’s so painful and pleasurable, the masochistic joy from After Shave is not even close.

Be warned: it really burns—-like hot Tempura through the cornea. But the pain lasts in no time. As amazing as Acupuncture, symphonic explosions of peppermint notes blankets the eyes. A wave of ginseng Tsunami floods the pupils, washing away all the eye exhaustion.

It’s soooo tooo soothing, no stringent red blood vessel remains unrelaxed. The end result is a pair of healthy cornea for future blind dates.

I’m really craving for this Japanese brand but I can’t buy them over here. If its sold on the net, perhaps one must wait for months (or so I learn from THIS PARODY).

Grief lightning. If only Fujitsu invents eye drop download. xD

Going Green. Honestly?

“The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.” — Ralph Waldo Emerson

Climate change is lung cancer. Still, many continue to smoke. Having said this, I wouldn’t waste my time researching about the latest ill-effects of our actions. I think many of us (if not most) accept that it’s real. From Al Gore’s Nobel worthy alerts to the construction of the Millennium Seed Bank, the “Surgeon General’s Warning” is well established.

In honor of the recently-wrapped Blog Action Day 2009, I choose to reflect on human spirit. Why? Because I’m a sorta helpless part of this problem. I’m not indigenous and my daily life is chock-full of Fast Moving Consumer Goods (and Electronics). I think it’s not disrespectful to say that my blog somehow contributes to this environmental crisis.

The data stored here is maintained by a server that’s fully air-conditioned somewhere 24/7. Its role in melting trillion tons of Greenland ice may sound miniscule, but like a 1% interest rate multiplied by millions of Credit Card holders, it spells a lot. Such reminds me of a joke that if I didn’t sweep the floor under my bed, time will come that a man made of dust will emerge right under it.

According to “The Story Of Stuff,” our materials economy is the dynamo of all environmental destructions. If this is the case, is Mother Nature’s grudges cutting our “work” for us? When I say work, I do mean our solemn duty to ensure that all earthlings (6.67 Billion of us) lives adequately as affirmed by UN’s 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights.

Nature knows no bargain and the atrocious triumph of individual welfare over the common good should only remain on “The Lord Of The Flies”—a novel written by William Golding, another Nobel Prize laureate.

I’m not campaigning for regress of modernization. Life is too complex nowadays that going back to horse-driven chariots won’t eliminate lobbyists. And as far as this topic is concerned, it’s easy to be cynical by all the Űber-metrosexual obstacles. Pragmatically, one only needs to enter a hardware store to wish Earth the sincerest “Goodbye.”

But we humans are more intelligent than that. Even the myth about the Pandora’s box never excluded hope. And I believe that one of our triumphs as rational beings is that we don’t reward pessimism. I have yet to be enlightened about an award-giving body that recognizes cynics. To the best of my knowledge, there’s no such thing.

Incentives reward great vision with a reason more obvious than the obvious. It’s because many of the beautiful realities we enjoy were once “an ideal.”

I can’t speak for everybody but I do feel that one thing may have linked our role model’s ideals to their successes. And that is to sit down and contemplate about the future. Judging from our skills and hurdles, when was the last time we pigeonholed our prospects?

Think about this: considering all the alarming facts around us, how do we see the future of our planet 20 years from now? As simple as it may sound, to know the real score misery.

We need to honestly evaluate our ways and sort our shit out. It’s the pre-requisite of changing bad habits.

click image for source

my vote for the 2009 phil. bloggers’ choice awards

I vote for GREENPEACE SOUTHEAST ASIA
Bloggers’ Choice Award
2009 Philippine Blog Awards

**P.S.

I’m afraid I won’t be able to explain why I wish to vote for Greenpeace SEA as much as I heart to render my sacrosanct support to their cause. Thank you.