A seven year old asked Senator Obama why is he is running for president. This is his response...

Which “good old days” did Obama mean? The 1980s? I doubt it, and if he means the Clinton era, then why did he run against Hillary in the first place?
Once again, Obama got off the teleprompter and put his foot directly in his mouth. He’s not selling Hope, he’s selling Despair, and himself as the snake oil that will cure us of all our ills.

Everyone is entitled to their cynicism, but to pass it on to a seven year old seems particularly sad.

Four years later, at the ripened age of eighteen, life came knocking on my door today. For the first time, I saw the world as a surprsingly nice place, not the dog-eat-dog world that I had encased in my inner consciousness. I realized that I had been cutting myself off from the world for the past four years, and that all the anxieties that I had felt back in the past were due to barriers that I had created myself.

I was on the recieving end of many kind acts today, from complete strangers. For example, I didn't have enough change for the city bus, and the driver wished me a "Merry Christmas" as he let me on a dollar too short. The strange thing is... it seemed almost like karma. Just a few days ago, there was a lady who was short of change as well, and I gave her a dollar so she could ride the bus. It's funny how the world works.

Strangers seemed approachable today, as opposed to the almost icy hostility I usually feel. People helped me out with directions and some even offered me a friendly chat.

"I was wrong about the world after all," I thought as I walked home against the cool summer breeze. It seemed like the beginning of a brand era for me - I was a cynic no more.

Last week I chatted with a stranger and the topic turned to skepticism, “I don’t like that skeptic guy on TV. He’s a snob. All he says is ‘No. I disagree. You’re wrong. It isn’t true. I don’t believe in that’.”

Sound bites, editing with an agenda, and yes/no questions can portray a skeptic as a naysayer.

However, we don’t want to be gratuitous skeptics either.

That doesn’t help our objectives, or our profile.

It seems that skeptics can be too skeptical, or not skeptical enough.

How can we find a happy (non-paranormal) medium of skepticism?

Not that I claim to be the perfect skeptic. I don’t think there is such a thing. I can’t cast the first stone of skepticism, I’m still learning all the time, but I know when a skeptic has descended into leniency, or dickheadism…

And there will always be someone who’ll label you as a dogmatist or a cynic. Meanwhile, someone else will accuse you of being irresolute and wishy-washy - for saying the same bloody thing…

Since we’re talking cliches and catchphrases, here’s a skeptical motto or mantra to remind us that we’re aiming for logic, rationale and reason, rather than high-functioning autism.

Effective skepticism is about educating others, and educating ourselves.

When we educate others we teach critical thinking, dispel myths and explain how the world works.

This is NOT Proselytizing. This is NOT preaching. This is NOT converting. This is NOT dogma.

It’s simplistic to frame skepticism as a kind of religion; or atheism as another form of theism.

A gathering of atheists is not a church congregation. James Randi and Richard Dawkins aren’t messiahs. The similarities might make it easier for us to understand one thing in terms of another, but the differences make the meaning.

Educating ourselves is about research, knowledge, reassessment, re-evaluation and keeping an open mind. This is our skeptical maintenance, to be skeptical of ourselves. But this also requires an understanding of the beliefs and practices that exist. This is not a rote, aggressive, obnoxious dismissal and premature ejaculation rejection of, say, the opinions of Christians or psychics.

Now you know why no one will have sex with you but yourself…

It’s kinda obvious to me that a skeptic should be an amateur anthropologist, and an amateur psychologist.

Unless they just want to be a fucking snob.

Sometimes, skeptics make the very worst skeptics…

CLICK HERE TO GO TO THE ORIGINAL ENTRY AT "THE SKEPBITCH"

Crowd of people in uncomfortable chairs drinking shitty coffee from styrofoam cups-Hi John

Seemingly jolly man with buttoned long sleeve shirt and tie with a creepy smile-Tell us about your experience

Me-Well, okay then...

Today i wrote a bulletin on Myspaces bulletin system about the way privacy is handled online these days. It was long and elaborate, and within it contained the makings of a borderline conspiracy theory worthy of a tin foil hat.

At this moment, I still haven't seen it posted.

I want to write it again, but I, in all my years of working with computers, didn't take 12 seconds to save the damn thing. Well, I didn't think it would get on anyways, seeing that its a News Corp owned subsidiary, Rupert wouldn't want such things said to the fine sheep who mingle away on Myspace. The essay did have some points though that I want to iterate here, and seeing that it is an open forum, I will go along and do so.

Privacy is no longer a prized possesion, but a commodity that is bought and sold. Privacy is just a policy now, something that we forget about as we click quickly on the "I agree" box and scamper away, unknowingly hacking our personal freedoms away. We wonder where all this spam comes from, and we get filters to take our minds off the problem, but when the majority of our emails sent are unwarrented, and they somehow know how to get your email, I worry a bit.

The Patriot Act gives way too many freedoms to our government. I read the Patriot Act awhile back ago and nearly vomited. The amount of freedom this single law gives to those in power is absolutely, knee shaking scary. It's the makings of thousands of paranoid schizophrenics the world wide, and for good reason. This law can give investigative agencies free reign to wiretap any, and all phones without legislative oversight as to who and why. It gives amazing freedom in its vagueness, and it includes passages that read like "books, records, papers, documents, and other items" where "other items" isn't necessarily implied.

There have been reports though, not from the media but from individual sources on blogs, where Myspace and Facebook profiles were accessed, while also being set to private, to aid in investigating crimes, such as people taking pictures of themselves smoking pot, and other uses of our tax dollars. I just can't get over how scary this law is, and how important this next presidency will be in supporting our freedoms.

What's especially interesting about Myspace, is who owns it. News Corp (Fair, Balanced, Fox News... and now the O'Reilly Factor) owned by the most self proclaimed propagandist since William Randolph Hearst, Rupert Murdoch. Now, why would they want Myspace? When they bought it, it was actually losing a fair amount of money, gaining in popularity, yes, but buggy and nearly unusable. 580 Million dollars later, Mr. Murdoch owned the lives of millions of teenagers, and with it, access to their email addresses, IP addresses, bulletins (which often includes survey information), web searches, friend lists, job information, messages between friends... basically, every nook and cranny of the lives of these people. Sure, it's good for advertising, but we're talking about Rupert Murdoch here, king of swing, Manda of Propaganda, crier for fire. This was the guy who said the greatest thing to come from a war in Iraq would be 20 dollar a gallon gas. I am appalled that in this "non-monopolistic" capitalist country, we have men like this who can control what we see, hear, and say, and now we blindly hand over every piece of ourselves to an organization of fear.

The thing I am most afraid of though is, we are going about our days like this isn't happening. Maybe it's the media, suppressing the message of the activist and calling them childish names so that all the viewers root on big brother like cows mooing right before their heads are chopped off. We have become a society that looks down upon free thought, and conformity is no longer an option, but a necessity. Our police are not protectors of justice any longer, unless justice is now the blind lady who shackles you into namelessness and oblivion. Our school systems grade on how well we stand in line, rather than how well we question its existence. It's scary the direction we are going, and it has to end soon before Orwell has his way.

What we need to do is find ways around these media markets, and its creations like blogging and the Internet that can drive these things. When 5 major companies control our news, our news is no longer news. What we need is teams of journalists made from the black and white keys of the Internet revolution. Web 2.0 will give us, the people, a voice. One that can be heard from every steeple and every valley but as close as the swing of a mouse. We need to free up the Internet, giving access to all, not just the subscribed few. We need to be constantly watchful, and at the same time we need to constantly write our experiences down, and write them well. We need to live outside the box. In a way, we all need to be cynics, and we need to be proud of that, because at least cynics are looking rather than waiting.

Now aghast seemingly jolly man with buttoned long sleeve shirt and tie with a creepy smile-Now how does that make you feel?

Me- ...

Yeah, you know who I am talking about. I think every circle has at least one. My circle has three: my mother, my father, and my neighbor.

Mind you, I am doing my best to be nice to my parents during our second chance. As a result, I am really biting my tongue. Because so, I do not always know how to best deal with a situation. I am pretty much accustomed to saying as I wish when I wish. However, in the intentions of being nice I restrain myself.

The pessimism happened twice in two days.

I began working for the city Public Works. So, I share this wonderful news with my folks’ friends at the Fourth of July barbecue they held at the base lake, approximately an hour and twenty minutes from my home. Everybody is there – drinking, eating, cooking, talking, playing horseshoes, talking about the different events at the lake – and a group of guys are over at the barbecue grill. We are all talking about our work, family; bullshitting, shooting the breeze—everything guys do at a barbecue. So, a groups of guys are over at the barbecue grill talking while watching my father cook various pounds of meat. We are kind of going around the circle talking about the latest news at work and when it is my turn, I share what I think is great news about getting on with the city’s Public Works. Everyone seemed to have good things to say but my father.

“Don’t loose this one like the other ones you’ve had. This is a good job if you don’t screw it up.”

First of all, I am shocked and taken aback by how rude and discourteous this remark. Second of all, I am shocked and pissed off by virtue of my father, my flesh and blood, has announced himself as the pessimist. Yeah, what does it say about my father speaking up with such negativity? More importantly, what does it say about me since my father felt the need to say this in front of everyone?

Maybe he tried to sound nice when he said. The only thing is, he does not speak that way with other men, only with children. Consequently, I felt like he was regarding me as a child. This only added insult to injury.

Here comes my bite in his ass: “Damn! Can’t be happy for a guy, can you? Always wantin’ to point the worst of things, the things that can go wrong. Hey, don’t lose your job by fuckin’ up either. Damn! Be happy for a guy that’s tryin’. Be happy for something good.”

He kept trying to interrupt and interject his explanations but I did not let him. When I told him not to lose his job, he clearly became annoyed. When I said “damn” the second time, he just shut up. His arduous silence was probably because the circle of guys had dispersed between the time he shut up and I finished. Later, one of the long-time family friends tried to explain to me about my father is just concerned about me no differently than any other parent.

“Well, that may be so, and that’s fine. However, I am not going to tolerate that kind of disrespect from anybody, especially my own father disrespecting me in front of everyone. That’s bullshit. If he feels he can dish it, he better be prepared to take it, too.” My words were harsh, but they were real. This particular gentleman had sheltered me from time to time during my turbulent childhood, so he was privileged with my candor.

“You’re right, he could have said his peace in a... better way. But, he is your father, and he cares for you. So, maybe the two of you can work things out so he can still talk you but do it privately, so you’re still comfortable.” His attempt to keep the peace only upset me more – nobody said a word to my father regarding his conduct, except me.

“Yeah, well, my father should have thought of that before he pulled shit with me when I was growing up.” Again, since this gentleman provided me shelter during times of tribulation with my father, he is privy to my family’s inner mechanisms. His insight has always made my family quite wary and reserved in his presence.

The conversation fell silent. Our lips occupied themselves with the bottle of beer we each had in our hands. No one spoke of the incident from that time on, and my father stopped speaking with me of anything more than the weather and the food. Perhaps I embarrassed him. Good. He embarrassed me too many times when I was younger. Honestly, it was nice not having his pessimism in my ear.

The following day, my wife and I spent most of the day at my folks’ house. Sometimes, I feel guilty since I live so far away from them, so I decided to hang around for the day.

Since my wife and I had unfurled our brand new tent for the first since we bought a year ago, my father asked the next morning how we liked sleeping in it. My wife and I had a few knots in our legs and back, so my father offered to give me his old military cots. Great deal, right? Just wait, it gets better.

We leave the base lake and head back to my folks’ house with me in pursuit of their pickup and camper. Back at the house, he and I go around back to his little aluminum shed and dig out the military cots from underneath years of accumulated junk, dust, dirt, and critters.

We carry them around front and I open the two cots so they can dry in the sun. Well, I finish cleaning them up completely – removing dirt and mud, and lubricating the joints so they operate easier.

While he and I are sitting there with the cots spread out under the sun in the driveway, he says to me, “I am going to give you these two cots. They’re my old cots from the Army. But, if anything should happen, or if you don’t want them anymore, I want you to give them back.”

Typical. My father can not give me a gift, or do anything nice for me, without strings attached.

“Then, why don’t you tell me I can use them, but you want them returned?” I say.

“No, no, no. I am giving them to you. All I’m saying is…,” he begins to explain.

“You want them returned,” I interrupt.

Just as he starts his explanation, again, I refute, “I can use them, but you want them returned. Just admit it.”

Reluctantly, he does admit it. “Okay, fine. You can use them, but I want them returned.”

You see, his admission that he is only letting me borrow the cots with the condition of returning them never removes his ownership of them. However, he was persistent about “giving” me the cots with the condition of returning, which would have implied he still has authority over me because he can take away my property.

I really hate that bullshit. I hate how my father and mother are always giving me something with strings attached. They can never simply say something in support of me, such as, “Good job,” and shut up so they don’t say anything to ruin it, nor can they simply give me a gift with no further instructions or conditions.

Either give me a piece of property or don’t. Do not give me conditions with your gift.

Sometimes, I enjoy returning the favor to them, and they dislike with great disgust. My consolation to them when they get upset about one of my gifts with strings is, “You can either take it or not at all, but my conditions stay the same.”

Conclusion

As I was writing this, I suddenly realized that I was upset about my father not giving me his praise or approval – fighting every thing that I do. Now that I understand this, I have a much better perspective how to deal with pessimists in my life.

Thank you, friend, for listening.

Thiru Ekaampa Maalai - 43

How many, o how many mothers were mine?

How many, o how many fathers were mine?

And then, how many women did I posses?

How many children did I beget?

How many,many births did I go through?

I dont know-

I,your foolish,foolish slave.

How many,

many more births shall i try to waive?

O lord Ekampa of Kanchi,

what shall I do?

Poet : Patinathar

Translated by Kamil Zvelebil

Patinathar has been regarded has the greatest poet among the Shiddas. He is also considered the great relativist and the great pessimist of Tamil Literature . He was a poet who believed life was a tragedy and an eternal interplay of contradictions and ‘fairy tale told by some idiot’ .

His poems often express spiritual frustration and a passionate longing for peace, even in death.

This poem here expresses his helplessness in trying to end his cycle of birth and death. Unlike other poets who pray to god to take them out of this cycle and to grant them salvation, Pattinathar has pessimistic attitude even in idea. He has no hope that he would attain salvation and he is worried about his helplessness.

This poem of Pattinathar is a mix of cynicism and pathetic helplessness.

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Reference:

Poets of Power by Kamil Zvelebil.

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Stumble It!

Dehors c'est le désert urbain, 35°C à l'ombre et ciel bleu-gris pollution, ici à l'intérieur, c'est la fournaise. Il fait accablant sous les toits l’été. Il y règne une atmosphère chaude et sèche, lourde dans l’appartement, où le frigo et la douche sont les uniques oasis de fraîcheur et d’humidité. Les fenêtres grandes ouvertes, volets en plastique rabattus à moitié pour se protéger des rayons lumineux calorifères, pas d’effet de serre mais pas d’air circule dans la pièce, hormis un vent chaud brassé par le ventilo pour ne pas éprouver d’insuffisance respiratoire. Ce n’est pas la canicule non plus, mais des après-midis à rêvasser de climatisation, de Mister Freeze, d’expédition en Antarctique et de vacances au Touquet, on a à peu près tous connu ça quand on vit reclus dans une pièce sombre. Pour ma part, j’ai découvert une solution plus efficace que les bonbons Tic Tac pour me glacer le sang en quelques minutes. Au début de cet été est sorti chez Babygrande Black Snow

« The Curse » (feat King Magnetic, Charon Don, Sicknature & Reef The Lost Cauze) est le signe avant-coureur de cette malédiction, celle-là même annonçant le retour des bonshommes cagoulés DJ Illegal, Det, le scratcheur DJ Waxwork et Thor un an après German Lugers. Le déluge démarre par de la musique classique des plus angoissantes, tel un thriller fantastique se déroulant en plein milieu de la 3^e Guerre Mondiale. Cette première attaque météorologique venant des fronts est et ouest n’était que le prélude de « Black Snow ». Coup de tonnerre ou bruit d’explosion ? Nul ne le sait. Je préfère rester barricadé chez moi face au dérèglement climatique surnaturel provoqué par Ill Bill et Apathy. Une horde de MCs sortis de l’underground ont débarqué dans la ville pour tout piller sur leur passage et dévaliser les magasins, brûler les voitures bloquées par la neige noire. De mes jumelles, on aurait dit les Jedi Mind Tricks et des combattants de l’Army of Pharaohs mais je ne repère pas leur chef Vinnie Paz, juste la bande de Snowgoons et une troupe de dangereux criminels verbaux couverts de suie envahissant les trottoirs, ainsi que des groupuscules connus des services secrets (dont les Outerspace et Smif-N-Wessun). Le temps d’un radoucissement de la température extérieure, j’ose m’aventurer du regard (et de l’ouïe) sur les pistes sombrement verglacées par la pluie cendrée de « Still Water Runs Deep » (feat Supastition), « Raining » (feat Brainstorm, Edo G et Jaysaun de la Special Teamz) et « The Storm » (feat Boom Bap Project). La noirceur opaque des nébulosités empêche tout rayon de lumière de filtrer au travers du ciel, même lorsque Viro The Virus répand « Starlight ». J’ai l’impression de vivre un enfer hivernal apocalyptique. 

Il m’est impossible de distinguer ce qu’il passe au-delà de 200 mètres depuis ma position, me sentant à la fois terrorisé et en sécurité au dernier étage, témoin du mal qui sévit en bas. Une brume pâteuse empêche de discerner les événements qui se déroulent, mais je peux entendre tous ces dangereux individus rapper sur des instrus diaboliquement symphoniques à la germano-AOTP, agissant principalement en faction pour un « Hold Up » (feat R.A. The Rugged Man armé jusqu’aux dents, Lord Lhus & Savage) le soir de Noël ou alors pour créer l’anarchie (« Incite a Riot » feat King Magnetic & Adlib). Ce n’est pas le soulful « Pay Attention » (feat Decay, Astonish & Scheme) qui va calmer les choses. Il se forme des combinaisons mortelles prêtes à brutaliser la population paniquée courant dans la tempête de neige qui s’abat, comme les Smif-N-Wessun et Respect Tha God sur « Casualties of War » (comme le dernier album du Boot Camp), Killah Priest, Rasul Allah et Richard Saw avec « Serve Justice » et surtout les artisans armuriers Main Flow, Godilla, El Da Sensei et J.Sands sur « Still Got The Ammo ». Même l’église est mise à sac par Cynic, Sick Jacken et Barcardi si je me fie  à la terrifiante mélodie d’orgue de « Sick Life ». Alors que d'abondantes chutes de neiges retombent sans discontinuer, Pace Won, Nervous Wreck et Adlib viennent dynamiter les pentes sombrement enneigées pour dévaster les rues en contrebas (« Avalanche Warning »). 

Pas le temps de dire ouf, sauf après avoir vécu l’expérience traumatisante de ces 21 bombes sinistres. Black Snow des Snowgoons m’a donné des sueurs froides et la chair de poule. Certes, j’ai déjà traversé des épopées similaires venues de chez les Jedi Mind Tricks et ses sbires, mais on finit toujours avec des traces de blessures de guerre et des cauchemars dont on ne peut s’habituer avec ce genre d'album.

Copyright © July 05, 2008 David Hodges

Bereavement and Redemption

The sulpicio lines tragedy hits close to the heart  and I haven't really been done with grief.  But then too, I have to do anger management.  The bad reaction of government, letting the sulpicio operate once again dahil bad for the economy daw, is in poor taste.

What will happen if RP will have better ships, specially sulpicio?

The tragedy should never have had happened at all.  But that is preposterous.  Pure wishful thinking.  It will take an honest-to-goodness coup d’ etat by good-hearted people and real leaders to change the way things are, unless our present leaders wake up to reality and start not walking backwards but a little forward even if an inch or a millimeter at a time.

So much is in store for the country, but of course only a mere few know that.  And I cannot even tell you anything of it.  At least not on this blog.  But go to the US and Canada and you might get wind of it.  Ask your friends back in the States.  They know.  It’s just the poor Juan de la Mahinahon who is absolutely clueless of his very, very, very good fortune to come!

That's why, compared  to New York (with the exception of a big chunk of states like Virginia -- let me take this occasion to say Hi!!!  to all the beautiful neighbors in John Denver country hehehe), this country the Philippines is much more preferable and loaded with hope!!!   Certainly you can't take a little optimism away from a fucking insatiable satirist and cynic like this writer.  Aba, pagbigyan mo na.  Paminsan-minsan.  Naman.  Namaaaan!!!

Very poor taste.  That  instant  allowing  of  suspicious lines to operate.  Of course the rest of the shipping industry’s facilities are inferior.  But where in the shipping industry and Philippine aviation is there no inferiority?  Where ?  pray tell…  hmmm?  …  that … hmmmm?

Gen. Teroy Isleta, one of the grand old men of aviation, says that Only In The Philippines can we see air planes (and presumably ships) that are bought as junk and made to fly (or sail) again.  Inay ku pu!!!  Hesusmaryosep!!!

These junks are bought at cheap cost, delivered to RP as chop-chop (remember the chop-chop cars?) and welded together to form a Voila!!!  Brand new (recon) vessel!!!

Hep, heeeeep!!!!  Hurrrraaaaay!!!!!!

Score one for the Marvel Comics scAvengers!!!!

Shit!

Ain’t anybody going to change that?  The Man with the Big Kapre Cigar, Wespowent Graduate, Engineer by degree (not by profession), could not change that.  How much more our dear Madam President, who Big Kapre Cigar Man says, is only a teacher!!!  Pray tell me, who are you voting for our next president?

Don’t tell me that it will be Barack Obama!!!  And his local boy!!! He (Barack) seems like a decrepit and seriously incapacitated idiot to become a world leader.  A vote for his accomplice in these parts will be our damnation!!!

We’ll continue to live in a fogged existence with all the chop-chop shit in our midst, corruption, mendicancy, inferiority, enslavement to the so-called much vaunted Bilderberg shits, and so on and so forth.

The sad part about it is Barack, and presto!  his local anointed prexy candidate might win!

Shit!  And double fuck!!!

But that really is bad for the victims of our latest controversial sea tragedy.  It means that there will be more victims come final showdown times.  And we’re not even talking of the end of the world.

And imagine, it can really only happen here.  Look at the people living in Corinthian Gardens.  They’re sitting on a big pile of soil, rocks, sweetly rolling landscaped sites, mansion / palatial sized houses, that are on top of a huge earthquake fault.

At least, when the big earthquake comes, along with a tsunami, then liquefaction to a superlative degree, all the filthy rich –  particularly those with a bad attitude to us their poorer brethren — will be taken by the lord who is allegedly in heaven.

Good riddance you fucks!!!

Unfortunately for these filthy damnable rich, the earthquake might come sooner than expected because of global warming.

Is it logical that we will see secret lipat bahay operations and hush-hush real estate deals in the immediate future between and among the residents of Corinthian Gardens and their willing buyer-victims?

Unless some of our beloved fucking Corinthianers are really pragmatics or future Corinthian Gardener residents are fearless nincompoops who will say that if it is truly their time na, they’ll just roll with the tremors and dance with the liquefying hearth and raise their hands to welcome the onrush of the tsunami that might still, by the grace of god, reach up to their necks in their part of the land.  Yeheeey!!!

Cheap shits!

So if the humble Corinthian Gardens citizens can afford to live in shaky and turbulent environment, why can’t we poor ones accept the fate of riding chop-chop ships, airplanes and buses all through our lives!  Sila nga tanggap na nila na mamatay sila pag nilamon sila ng lupa (buti nga!) tayo pa kaya na walang kuwenta?

There goes my bereaved feelings for the dead, drowned, eaten up and buried victims of sulpicio and future epitaph for the Corinthian Gardens fucks.

eghghghf

At 6 pm on July 2, 2008, Vice President Tito Guingona, Sr. coinciding with the birthday of Madam Imelda  Marcos, launched his memoirs at Manila Hotel, entitled Fight for the Filipino.  It is only fitting that the former President of the strongest political party fete himself and his friends with so-called significant memoirs for all scholars and soon-to-be famous countrymen to  study  and  extol  to high heavens in the future.  Fitting also that our beloved (albeit, bone thin and severely,  acutely  canceric and tubercolic -looking) vice president is a former fighter for freedom, democracy, etcetera, etcetera.  Etcetera.  Or at least that is what he wants us all to believe.

So the vice presidency?  Well-deserved.  Accolades for his book?  Very, very well-deserved.  Tito served his country.  Well.  Very, very well. 

But….

Some say that the most part of the book are not really about the life of one Tito Guingona but a quick gathering of highly selected anecdotes, claims, declarations, commentaries, ridicules, riddles, attempts at prose and poetry but all meant to spite Madam Gloria Arroyo.  All intended to denounce the regime under her and the boys and girls hiding under the Queen's skirts and doing unmentionable damned things underneath.  Sneaky Devil that Tito!!!

There is nothing in the book of course that tells us about the great, wholly entertaining addiction of entertainer son cinema and stage Director Bart Guingona (isn't he a closet or open gay?), the extreme addiction of G-Boy Guingona (isn't he the congressman or some other politician following after the footsteps of daddy daddy?)  as well as the  wild ways of Marie Guingona, most possibly also as an addict and confirmedly a drunkard.  She totally loves booze and sex, all in one sentence or one word altogether.

When she gets drunk, she mouths expletives against Madam Gloria.

Tito of course, most certainly, would not reveal a cloak and dagger type secret:  he was a stool pigeon among the real fighters of democracy.  He was a quisling of the security apparatchiks.  He was not a real reformist, revolutionary, etc.

He was…

A fake.It's  alright, his handlers would say,  He served the country well.  Indeed!  Hmmppph!!!

Look at his face, his bulging eyes, that seem to almost jump at you.  His body is so emaciated some people say, the only thing keeping his skin from falling off his bones are drugs.  When he was vice president and secretary of foreign affairs, he was reputed to be the drug addict Malacañang was touted for having  in  the  Cabinet.  Wow!!!

Dear  Tirititots KinKonga de Torotots  must be suffering from kArMa for having been the stool pigeon, gun runner, etc. that he is and for all the other bad things he has been doing to all his fellow creatures on earth.

You never really would have believed what he was doing and mouthing at Manila Peninsula Hotel during the siege.  As part cloak and dagger operator and overt political critic, former senator, executive secretary, foreign affairs department chief, ruling party president, etc. his role at Manila Pen could have all been a sham.  The man is really deep.  You can't fathom his soul.  It is buried somewhere that you can't see.  You have to go through a maze of layers and layers of hundreds of demons and their hives well-ensconced in his system before you reach that forsaken part called soul of Tirititot.

And up to now, he is still engaged in probably the same game.  His family is engaged in quick money and illegal schemes.  Outside of the drugs, his children and other family members were engaged in large scale gun running and alpine (I’ll Find You…) transactions and wheeling-dealings.

G-Boy and now a member of the congress, gleefully claim fucking Irene Marcos, another hopeless addict, when she was younger.  The respectable member of the congress even says, Irene, most definitely will never forget him and his deadly weapon (after marrying a faggot).

Tito today, even before the launching of his book, is a spent force.  Probably it has something to do with affiliating with the satanistas…  Of course, notwithstanding  the  very dark, secret and sinister  power of these cretins …

eghghghf

Homobono  ADAZA,  Sr., the arrested one, has no love lost with Tito Guingona.  Bono   was visited recently by Neneng Pimentel in his detention center.  Bono likewise does not have any goodwill with this old Neneng.

Pimentel and company ruined Bono and company with Tita Cory.  Pimentel and Guingona are two abominable terms, anathemas to Bono Adaza.

You cannot make Bono say the words “Pimentel” nor “Guingona” without making Bono puke to death!

Jesus!  Spare the old man!

But Pimentel made a show of good grace.  He went to Bono and commiserated with him.  The Great One.  Although Pimentel made bad jokes of who Bono is now.  That shit.

It is really not because Pimentel is running for president, because he will not even win in a fair fight in his own barangay, just like Guingona.  Both are demonyitos.

Possibly Pimentel is letting Bono know that whatever coup plans the other guy is entertaining, may Bono not forget Neneng, the wife (if she is still living), the children and OMG, susmaryosep!  the handsome and beautiful apos!  Dios Mio Bono, if anything happens will you promise not to take on them, vent your anger at me (and Tito Guingona) on them?  Please, please Bono!  Huhuhuhuhuhu!  Bonooooo!!!

Oh dear GOD!!!  Please please Bono!!!!

Is it true you’re heading the coup?  (doubtful)

If it is not, forget I visited you and forget you ever knew me and heard of my name.  (As if…)

On the other hand, if Bono will be the next president, I will be happy.  I might become the next Presidential Spokesman, Speech Writer, Press Secretary and Rasputin, all at the same time if he has not become demented enough and is pronounced only to be partially insane.

I too have my own redeeming values, by the way…  huuummmmpphhh!

eghghghf

Fortun is a lawyer of erap.

But sometimes  I do really think Bono was sincerely arrested by the government.  Or if Bono just sincerely was arrested without any agenda lurking behind the scenario?

Do you?

eghghghf

Bono is a lawyer of and bosom friend of Gen. Abenina, Gen. Comendador and the military rebels including Ariel Querubin et al.  Gen. Abenina’s boy is Raffy Cardeño. 

Fortun  is  not  known  as  Bono’s enemy.  Bono is supposedly bilking Fortun’s client, a despicable japon, with 4 million dollars.  (Does the japon really have that papel de cuarta?)

Mapalo  is  a legend.  In  the military he is a bold, bastos, extremist.  In the underworld, he is a veritable godfather.  Ask the spirits of the victims of the RCBC massacre who can now see in the spirit world practically everything,   and there will be a commotion when you mention the name of Mapalo.

On second thought, if you’re apoplectic, don’t ask the victims’ spirits.

eghghghf

There's some bollocks on TV at the moment about NASA training chimps up for space travel (of course! Because why send a person when you can send an animal?), and some kid - who must only be 10 or 12 - has some sort of working relationship with a chimp and the scientist woman. And the woman just offered to the child's father to tutor him (the kid) in exchange for his (the kid again) being allowed to work at NASA.

Um... child labour laws, no? I'm pretty sure space programs don't let kids get involved. Especially not kids who are failing school, as this kid seems to be.

And that, my friends, is why TV breaks my brain.

Last week I chatted with a stranger and the topic turned to skepticism, "I don't like that skeptic guy on TV. He's a snob. All he says is 'No. I disagree. You're wrong. It isn't true. I don't believe in that'."

Sound bites, editing with an agenda, and yes/no questions can portray a skeptic as a naysayer.

However, we don't want to be gratuitous skeptics either.

That doesn't help our objectives, or our profile.

It seems that skeptics can be too skeptical, or not skeptical enough.

How can we find a happy (non-paranormal) medium of skepticism?

Not that I claim to be the perfect skeptic. I don't think there is such a thing. I can't cast the first stone of skepticism, I'm still learning all the time, but I know when a skeptic has descended into leniency, or dickheadism...

And there will always be someone who'll label you as a dogmatist or a cynic. Meanwhile, someone else will accuse you of being irresolute and wishy-washy - for saying the same bloody thing...

Since we're talking cliches and catchphrases, here's a skeptical motto or mantra to remind us that we're aiming for logic, rationale and reason, rather than high-functioning autism.

Effective skepticism is about educating others, and educating ourselves.

When we educate others we teach critical thinking, dispel myths and explain how the world works.

This is NOT Proselytizing. This is NOT preaching. This is NOT converting. This is NOT dogma.

It's simplistic to frame skepticism as a kind of religion; or atheism as another form of theism.

A gathering of atheists is not a church congregation. James Randi and Richard Dawkins aren't messiahs. The similarities might make it easier for us to understand one thing in terms of another, but the differences make the meaning.

Educating ourselves is about research, knowledge, reassessment, re-evaluation and keeping an open mind. This is our skeptical maintenance, to be skeptical of ourselves. But this also requires an understanding of the beliefs and practices that exist. This is not a rote, aggressive, obnoxious dismissal and premature ejaculation rejection of, say, the opinions of Christians or psychics.

Now you know why no one will have sex with you but yourself...

It's kinda obvious to me that a skeptic should be an amateur anthropologist, and an amateur psychologist.

Unless they just want to be a fucking snob.

Sometimes, skeptics make the very worst skeptics...

What is a stomach?

In anatomy, the stomach is a J-shaped hollow muscular organ of the gastrointestinal tract involved in the second phase of digestion, following mastication. The word stomach is derived from the Latin stomachus, which derives from the Greek word stomachos (στόμαχος). The words gastro- and gastric (meaning related to the stomach) are both derived from the Greek word gasterγαστήρ).

Which is why is pisses me off to no end when I see advertisements like this on my Gmail:

10 Rules for Stomach Fat - FatLoss4Idiots.com/DropStomachFat - Drop 9 lbs of Stomach Fat every 11 Days by Sticking with the 10 Rules.

His death surprised me. It surprised me, first of all, that he had died without giving us any warning of his impending demise. It surprised me that he was already 71. And it surprised me that he lived to be 71, given his history of heart trouble, his chronic cynicism, and his intimate acquaintance with drugs, recreational and otherwise.

I liked George Carlin. I wasn't an ardent Carlin groupie, like so many of his fans. But I always enjoyed his merry riffs on the human condition. I enjoyed his honesty and his contemplative hippie persona. In fact, I think he represented all that was best about the counterculture that sprouted like some magic psychedelic beanstalk from the fertile ground of the 1960s.

Carlin was countercultural without being fanatical about it. His style was laid-back, eccentric, almost innocently childlike despite the famously X-rated vocabulary. He loved words, and he loved to play with them the way a child plays with blocks. He loved to observe absurdities, like any child with an inspired and half-demented mind. He didn't rant; he reflected. He mulled. He got high on ideas.

Meanwhile, the fanatical faction of the '60s counterculture prevailed in the world at large. My generation grew obsessed with careers, status, parenting, education, self-help, food, you name it. Political correctness fanatics now run our schools and universities. Aging fitness fanatics plod joylessly throughout our city parks. Dietary fanatics castigate us for loving cheeseburgers. Environmental fanatics order us to measure our carbon "footprints" (I'll take a size 12, please).

I wish the counterculture had produced fewer fanatics and more George Carlins.

Originally released in limited quantities back in 1996, Cortlandt was Sean Malone's first post-Cynic outing. Those of you acquanited with Cynic's magnificent Focus - a rare and one-off gem of an album that paved the way for everything from Fear Factory's cyber thrashings to a glut of tech-death bands - will understand that Sean Malone is a bassist of considerable ability. So much so, in fact, that he has spent much of his career as a musical academic, penning a multitude of theory-books, teaching, and lending his talents to a host of projects. Now that Cynic have reformed, and their first album in over a decade is nearly upon us, now is as apt a time as any for the resissue of this work.

For the hardened deah metal meathead, Cortlandt fails to offer any of the visceral flesh rendering of Cynic to whet their bovine-unfriendly appetites, since Malone was far more interested in conjuring a wide range of musical styles, textures and moods that were far removed from the metal realm. Instrumental jazz acts as the focal musical vista, but there are elements of progressive rock and world music also at play throughout. With his wandering yet smooth bass (as well as Chapman Stick) tones as the backbone, much of Cortlandt plays as a bass-heavy jazz album in the vein of, say, some of the late bass-maestro Jaco Pastorius's work. That's not to say that Malone has let his own talent run away from him, as he restrains himself enough to allow some excellent arrangements and compositions creep through. Even a cover of Bach's 'Sinfonia' on stick isn't overly wanky, and for the most part it's obvious Malone was trying to simply have a go at numerous musical genres in one go. Cynic's Sean Reinart provides drumming throughout (as he would on Malone's subsequent Gordion Knot project), with numerous other musicians adding guitar; namely Bob Bunin, Geoff Caputo, and Trey Gunn.

Cortlandt sees Malone in an inquisitive musical modus, with each track offering a wide variety of styles, textures and moods but played under a similar jazzy umbrella. Occasional progressive rock stylings make themselves known through the lurching riffs of 'Splinter', whilst the extended soloing on 'Big Sky Wanting' recalls 80's King Crimson with a world music twist. The aforementioned 'Sinfonia' may come across as somewhat pointless for all but those who understand just how perplexing the stick is to master, and as with all virtuoso solo albums, it can be hard to shake the feeling that there's an air of showiness to proceedings, but since Cortlandt is just so damned listenable, it's equally hard to be completely put off by them. An album that should put paid to the notion that death metal bassists are surplus to requirements, and one which will renew everyone's expectations for Cynic's imminent return.

Official Sean Malone Website
Official Laser's Edge Website ]]> http://erinstark.wordpress.com/?p=895 Wed, 18 Jun 2008 00:39:45 +0000 erinstark http://erinstark.wordpress.com/?p=895 And would you like to know why?

At the supermarket this morning, the guy in line before me was buying ONE tin of baby formula. The checkout lady processed his order, and moved on to me. He barked at her to give him a bag, so she did.

And then he walked off carrying the bag wrapped around the tin, but not actually using the handle.

No wonder this world of ours is dying. How the hell is it ever supposed to live if it's still populated by ignorant fcks like this guy??

CYNIC, banda de metal progresivo vuelta a reunir - cuyo album de 1993 "Focus" es considetado como un hito en lo que respecta al metal tecnico/progresivo - han entrado recientemente al estudio junto con el productor Warren Riker (DOWN, SANTANA) para comenzar a grabar su nuevo álbum para un lanzamiento a finales del 2008 via Season of Mist Records.

Sean Reinert baterista comenta:

"We are currently finishing up mixing the last two songs for the new CYNIC album with Warren Riker and could not be happier. It is really sounding amazing. I'm loving my drum sound! Paul's [Masvidal, guitarra/voces] guitar tones are really killer. [Sean] Malone [bajo] came down from Missouri for four days and tracked some great bass and stick lines. Tymon [Kruidenier, guitarra/voces] arrived [from Holland] last weekend and is now part of the fold. His growls and guitars are sounding sick!! We've been in a Glendale studio for almost 4 1/2 weeks now and yet I feel like we've been here a year! After we finish tomorrow night we will sit and live with the songs for a week before proceeding on to mastering. Right after that we start our rehearsals for the summer European mini-tour so keep a lookout for dates."

El nuevo álbum de CYNIC contendrá 8 canciones y la banda esta trabajando nuevamente con Robert Venosa (reconocido artista quien creó la portada y arte del disco "Focus").

Los miembros fundadores de CYNIC Paul Masvidal (guitarra, voces) y Sean Reinert (bateria), quienes se ganaron reputación y alabanzas al tocar junto a Chuck Schuldiner y DEATH en la grabación y gira del álbum "Human", pasaron un tiempo juntos en Audiohammer Studios en Sanford, Florida trabajando en la mezcla de tres nuevos tracks demos con el productor Jason Suecof (TRIVIUM, CHIMAIRA, THE BLACK DAHLIA MURDER, DEVILDRIVER, etc.). Las tres nuevas canciones  - "Integral Birth" (que puede ser escuchada en el MySpace de la banda), "Evolutionary Sleeper" y "Adam's Murmur" - derivó en el regreso del bajista en tiempos de  "Focus" Sean Malone, quien escucho los demos y se entusiasmó con ellos. A pesar de que Sean ha estado ocupado trabajando como maestro, ha renovado los lazos con Masvidal y Reinert y se decidió a unirse para la grabación del segundo álbum como también presentaciones en vivo cuando le sea posible. Completando el grupo esta Tymon Kruidenier, un talentoso guitarrista de Holanda que manejara tambien las voces agresivas.

Vean a CYNIC tocando la nueva cancion "Evolutionary Sleeper" en el Hovefestivalen en Noruega (Junio del 2007):