None the makings of an artist

July 23, 2010 at 11:56 am | Posted in Sarcasm | 16 Comments

Mental block, yes, that’s what this is, my current inability to put my thoughts in paper, to put some sense into my daily train of thought. Not writer’s block, mind you, for I have none of the makings of a true writer. It always feels comforting to have a name for everything we experience and sense. Or, maybe, I’m simply running out of topics to talk about.

As long as you’re passionate about it, go follow your dream. Mom says. You’re more likely to succeed in something you deeply love. Yeah, says the one who studied chemistry, for reasons that it’s practical and that it was what they would have wanted for her, and ended up being a secretary here. People tend to have romanticized ideas about careers in the liberal arts, forgetting what matters most, more than ambition, motivation, and passion, the gift. Let’s get realistic here, Paulo Coelho, and don’t go giving such big hopes for a lot of young hopefuls, only to later let their hearts be broken by the jungle-like industry.

Epitomization of beauty

I just don’t have the makings of an artiste. The eccentricities that come along with it, compared to them artists I seem commonplace. The artist’s easy access to the workings of the human heart and mind. Her effortless command over the language. His innate capability to easily go into the inner depths of the soul, the ability to epitomize both beauty and ugliness. Her eye for intricate detail. His eye for seemingly flowing words. The ability to shock, disturb, discomfort. The ability to pull its audience’s heartstrings. And not to mention all the effort and work and their willingness to devote their whole lives to their work. I just admire this but I have none of that.

And once a bunch of ambitious teens start studying in the fields of liberal arts, most, especially the ones who thought it was all going to be a piece of cake, seem to lose all interest once they see how complex the creating process is, how troublesome the whole researching process is and how competitive it is out there, not to mention all the sucking up you would have to do.  What a great way to burst people’s bubbles, show them a dose of reality, what they’re up against. They seem to be oblivious that (although Youtube has given us easy access to great films from across the world and from older periods, conquering space and time) this Youtube culture has ruined art or anything that might resemble it for the next generations. They seem to forget that most so-called great artists have only gained a real audience or obtained critical acclaim, glory, etc. after their untimely deaths or any other event before that which might seem news-worthy or controversial.

Of course, since it’s a dirty business out there, if you don’t have the gift, you could always choose to be a sell-out. That’s not hard. Use excessive sentimentality and be like Nicholas Sparks and Stephenie Meyer to appeal to the pop culture-influenced idiots among the masses. Never get outside their comfort zones, or you’ll lose your audience. Never use big words; they seem to have an irrational fear for complicated words. Market yourself as a brand, your book as a mere household product, because that’s what capitalism is for. Just do that, and, ta-da, your book has just been this week’s bestseller. What seems to matter most anyways is whether your work will be of any profit to them bigshots who make the calls. Your whole career depends on a bunch of wealthy people in the business field who know nothing whatsoever about art. Of course, your name wouldn’t be written among the names of people who have vastly contributed to history and mankind including great artists, filmmakers, novelists, etc. and the name will soon be forgotten once the passing fad is over but you’ve just influenced the next generations. Because of you, now they’re a bunch of illiterate, counterrevolutionary, and naive blubbering idiots. Gosh, thanks.


Infatuation follows a certain blueprint?

June 8, 2010 at 12:14 am | Posted in Heterophobia, Sarcasm | 22 Comments

Two nights ago, I’ve been able to get myself to attend at an acquaintance’s party. Acquaintance, not friend, we’re not that close. I never usually go to social gatherings. I’m socially awkward, if you must know. As much as possible, I try to avoid going to social gatherings and come up with the oldest excuses known to humankind or just plainly say the next day “I was feeling too lazy”, which is usually not the case.

And of course, I got to see old faces, people I haven’t seen in ages. And, you know, there’s the obligatory small talk, asking me what I’ve been doing lately. I don’t ask back, most of the time, afraid that the conversation will lead to more awkwardness or something else. Sometimes, I’m compelled to answer; sometimes I just shyly say “Oh, nothing much.” And then one, with all of his best intentions in mind I guess, asked me if I was still single. You see, I’m pathetically one of the very few who hasn’t still been in a relationship yet and pretty much the only gay person in our huge circle of friends back in high school. How that is possible perplexes me. Wait, we do have a lesbian friend but she’s obviously not a potential partner for me and now provinces away, haha.

And, of course, I sadly shook my head. In their heads, they think it’s my lack of social skills; in my own, I say it’s my eccentricities, unreasonably high standards and destiny’s hatred towards me. And then they started asking me what type of guy am I into or do I like and getting me to try hook-ups with other gay guys they know. Um, if you’re going to hook me up with someone, please let him be cute, at least. I couldn’t answer back and just laughed it off. I was thinking at the moment, what kind of guy did I really want? I mean, I was never specific even back then and my crushes didn’t exactly follow a certain blueprint or pattern. They really got me into thinking, haha. My only answer to them was that I liked my men geeky. Vague, much?

Now since I have no real idea myself, I shall create a blueprint for what kind of men I like. This shall now be a guide on future prospects for myself.

When they ask me of what ethnicities do I have the hots for, I usually say any men of any kind as long as they are hot. But the truth is, I have a thing for fellow Filipinos, Indians, and white men, specifically Italians… as long as they are hot. Haha, quick disclaimer. But, of course, that’s only a generalization. You never know, right? Wink, wink.

And my men shall be opinionated about all kinds of stuff. Don’t have to agree with me, as long as they know what they’re talking about. Yuppie capitalist scum are never a consideration, even if they possess such heavenly bodies. My men shall be a bit smarter than I am. Not too smart, or I might consider them as adversaries, rivals, competition. I don’t care much about their line of work or their annual salary and it doesn’t matter whether he would make more than I would but he shouldn’t be too committed to his work. Work is only a means to an end, despite your passion and devotion for it. And they shall know how to cook; I don’t want them to be like some people I know who are already husbands. Manigas nga sila; palamunin lang sila ng mga asawa nila. And my men shall teach me how to cook, while they’re at it, haha.

They shall be into some geeky stuff like films, sci-fi, graphic novels, superheroes, cool video games, comics, etc. You name it. But, at the same time, they shall be mature. They shall not be shopaholics or people who care too much about their own looks and clothing but, at the same time, they should know how to dress themselves nicely. And if I find out they obsessively collect shoes and/or bags, I’m outta there, haha. That’s just what I need, another one like my mom. They shall be good conversationalists and be able to talk about anything under the sun so we’ll never run out of anything to talk about. And they shall be good at sex and be up for anything. You’ll never know what goes inside my head, when it comes to stuff like that, haha.


Um, Chris, good luck on finding that man, with those unreasonable standards of yours. No wonder, you’re such a loser still single.

If this is what it means to be free, then I’d rather not be.

March 29, 2010 at 11:44 am | Posted in Sarcasm | 5 Comments

Go to work, send your kids to school, follow fashion, act normal, walk on the pavements, watch TV, save for your old age, obey the law. Repeat after me: I am free.

I must be useful to society. Or else, I’ll be immediately labeled a bum, an anti-social person. There is no other way of going through life other than finishing university, raising a family and contributing to society 24/7. Money is thought to be essential. Wealth and power give me the respect I deserve. That’s the civilized way! There is no other way. Anything else will be primitive, savage. Repeat after me: I am free.

Questioning the way society works and the meaning of life is not acceptable. If I do, people will think I’m strange and will narrow-mindedly call me a commie, a weirdo, a psychopath. As if there is such a thing as normal. They don’t like threats to the secure and wealthy lives they have. I am not supposed to bluntly say what I really think. Acting the way they expect you to and telling them fake compliments and lies are the only ways to get you the job. School has trained me to act the way they want me to. More like a brainwash than teaching. Repeat after me: I am free.

No use looking beyond the pretty surface, beyond the lovely exterior. I own a pretty house. I have friendly neighbors whom I never get to personally know and talk to aside the occasional small talk and greetings. “Yes, smile back, you asshole. I bet I make more money than you do.” No use looking beyond the fake surface. I’m afraid I’ll be able to see something unpleasant. I’d like to think that I’m happy based on all the things I have and all that I have been able to achieve. I am happy… Right? Repeat after me: I am free.

I have a decent job. I get by pretty well even though I spend more of my time at work than at home doing what I really want to do. It’s ok in the long run as they reassure me with their retirement benefits and other perks. Yes, even though I don’t get enough sleep and I spend 2/3 of my time helping my superiors earn more money than they’re supposed to, spending them on material things that they don’t really need and that won’t be able to fill the void in their empty lives. Climbing the corporate ladder is what’s important, not family, not friends, not the environment, and not the ones i need. It’s all about me. Repeat after me: I am free.

I must keep up with the latest news, the latest trends. Or else, they might think I’m living under a cave. Screw my personal choices and preferences. I’ll let others think for myself. Let the media, the ones in power, do it for me as they seem to know better. They know what’s best for me. I mean, they know us so much in a personal level that they create caricatures and reinforce stereotypes based on little that they know. According to the media, I am a flamboyant, dumb, perverted, and promiscuous fashion slave who lives in my parents’s basement, can’t speak using an intelligible accent and is either a nurse, a caregiver or a servant. Repeat after me: I am free.

As soon as I am born, I am expected to follow certain roles based on what I am. Blue for male, pink for female. If I am a male, I am expected to be tough, active and aggressive. Don’t cry; only girls cry. If I am a female, I am apparently the weaker sex. I am expected to be domestic, passive and submissive. Don’t be too aggressive; it’s not the womanly thing to do. Act a certain way. If not, I am a faggot, a dyke, a bitch, a commie. Alternative choices and lifestyles are unacceptable. Heterosexuality, democracy and capitalism are supposedly the norms in society. Anything else is a threat and must be extinguished without question. Repeat after me: I am free.

I have no mind of my own. I never question or doubt anything that’s been laid out in front of me. I am practically braindead. I conform to society’s expectations of me. I am defined by what I own and what I have done, not by who I am and what I think and believe. Daily routine gives me reassurance and security. It gives me a sense of control in my life. Delusions. Clothes, brands, and cars satisfy my hunger for more in this life. I am a consumer, a customer, not a person. Any kind of progress is better than nothing. Repeat after me: I am free.

If this is what it means to be free, then I’d rather not be.

Emo and hiphop are just two sides of the same coin.

March 16, 2010 at 3:50 pm | Posted in Sarcasm | 20 Comments

You heard me.

Emo is just a bunch of rich white kids who claim to be different from the crowd and complain about how their life sucks. Hip hop is just a bunch of rich black kids who claim to live in the chaotic ghettos and complain about how their life sucks. Ergo, two sides of the same coin.

Skinny with excessive make-up and accessories, fugly hair and signs of depression. EMO!

Jay-Z, you don’t have 99 problems; you only have 1 problem, where to spend all your big-ass wealth. You, cunt.

Emo kids whine about how life is tough in their dull suburban lives. Oh, yes, life is tough when you live in a first-world country with all the excessive resources you can consume. You get to eat three meals a day. You get to spend money on whatever you want without having to sweat and bleed for it. You get to go to school, which means you get to have a better future. You don’t have to always worry about your food and shelter for tomorrow. Oh yeah, life is so tough. Please.

Oh, right, it’s tough being a white kid too. A bunch of ethnic people (their term for any non-white people) have infiltrated your community and you don’t like hanging with the likes of them because they’re different. You feel threatened. Immigrants are so scary and abusive, right? You’re scared that maybe the racial stereotypes are true. You’re scared you’ll soon be a minority in your community. Only another bunch of your white look-alikes would be able to understand the total despair and angst you go through. Please, the rich white grown-ups have been trying to westernize and fuck up almost everything in this world. Unfortunately, their annoying faces, along with their supremacist egos and xenophobic attitudes, are not going away anytime sooner. You’ve never gone through oppression, intolerance and discrimination in your whole entire life, unless you’re a part of another minority group (women, gays, transexuals, disabled people, etc.).

Hiphoppers whine about how life sucks in their ghetto homes, the suburban slums. Oh, yes, life is tough when you live in a first-world country and possibly have more career opportunities than your other brothers and sisters in the third-world countries. Oh yes, life is tough when you have enough money to buy your “bling-bling” and your fugly-ass cars.You live under a roof with you. Unlike other minority groups, black people also get to be represented and have a lot of other well-known, successful black people to look up to in the media. Oh yeah, life is sure tough. Please.

Oh, right, it’s tough being a rich black kid too. The white kids are always after you. The “chinks”, “flips”, and the terrorists are taking over your community with their small businesses, and they don’t even know how to speak English, right? Guess what? Most of them do. The police and the masses are always suspicious of you and think that you’re always up to no good. People think you’re such jerks because of your skin color and all that. You even have it tougher than Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, and all them who had to go through a lot of oppression and more obstacles to fight for your rights and your freedom. Please, these days whenever we hate you and don’t like your attitude, it’s really because you’re a jerk and you have an attitude, not because of your skin color. You’re using it now as an excuse for your stinky attitude. And, unlike your ancestors, you didn’t have to go through slavery and being servants to those white assholes and you now have more freedom in your lifestyle choices. And guess who’s in control of the corporate hip hop industry? A bunch of white people!

Emo, thanks to you, a lot of people think contemplating suicide and being depressed about almost everything are so romantic and chic. And just one expressing one’s emotions will immediately mean that one’s “emo”. Hip hop, thanks to you, the luxurious, misogynistic playboy lifestyle has been glorified and glamorized to death and the term “pimp” has now a positive connotation and meaning to our youth. Thanks to you all, our youth are a bunch of mainstream sexist, homophobic, materialistic, manic-depressive dicks and cunts.

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