A Fist Fight Over Turkeys

Everybody is fussing over Thanksgiving Day, that is, if you're in America. Apparently, this national holiday has made most people extra busy preparing for the said event. Thanksgiving, if I may add, is very much anticipated, unless ofcourse if you're a turkey. I, personally, don't know how turkey tastes like. Yes. Pathetic, I know. But you have to realize that I live in a country where Thanksgiving Day isn't relevant. We have what we call Fiesta (celebrated in honor of a patron saint), and instead of big birds roasted and served on top of the table, we butcher pigs instead and roast them over live coals (mmmmmm... yum yum). So going back to the topic of turkeys, I couldn't imagine how supermarkets would be like, just a day before Thanksgiving Day. It would probably be crazy. One thing I learned about shopping, NEVER EVER DO IT THE LAST MINUTE!!! I asked a friend of mine if turkeys in their country aren't endangered yet. With all the people serving turkey on Thanksgiving, I could only imagine mass annihilation of these poor big birds and their probable extinction. He laughed at me and said that turkeys were ridiculously abundant so I don't have to worry about him shopping for it just the day before. I was surprised that he wasn't worried about last minute shopping. I then had this absurd idea of him getting into a fist fight in the supermarket over who gets the last turkey. I told him about this and I guess I made him laugh out loud. He called me crazy, maybe out of endearment. I suddenly remembered one particular episode of FRIENDS where Monica puts a turkey on her head. It was such a hilarious clip, I just had to share it. So maybe turkeys are abundant after all. If Monica could afford to ruin a turkey on Thanksgiving Day by putting it on her head as an apologetic gesture, then maybe serving turkey is really not that important compared to having your loved one by your side during a special occassion such as today (Thanksgiving, ofcourse). One thing I learned about holidays is that whatever food you serve, whether it be turkey or fish, it still is more meaningful if you celebrate life with those you love. I'm sort of frustrated because we don't have Thanksgiving Day here in the Philippines. Maybe I just miss my friends and I can't wait for the next holiday to celebrate with them. It is indeed ridiculous to engage in a fist fight over the last turkey in the supermarket. Personally, I don't believe that fist fights are the best way to settle arguments, but if I were to get into a fight to defend a friend who just grabbed the last turkey, I would do so without reservations. Because no amount of turkey in the world could ever replace a friend.

Requiem

Genre: Gothic-Thriller Archetypes: The Vigilante, The Dark Lord Plotline: Transformation, Escape Keywords: Body Painting, Church Marcus has lived most of his life in hiding. He has never stayed in the same place once nor has he used a real name to establish his identity. It has been so long since he used his name Marcus. Different people have known him by different aliases, but no one knows what kind of person Marcus is - what kind of job Marcus does. For years, Marcus has served no absolute master except his own obsession to rid the earth of all scum. He does this quickly, stealthily - with or without a price. For every man that dies in his hand, he leaves a sign; a Japanese Henna tattoo on the forehead of the victim translated as REQUIEM. No one has been able to trace the perpetrator of the killings. Always, he has left top investigators befuddled. Killing has been so ordinary for him that slowly, he was being transformed into a monster - hollow and unfeeling. He hated this void he felt deep within. He knew he needed redemption. A kind of redemption that would transform him into something new. He wanted to live a normal a life. It has been 15 years . . . Marcus went to a place where he has made himself an anathema. The Roman Catholic Church. He has been raised Catholic by his devout parents. They have sent him to a seminary so he could be a priest. And there, at the age of fifteen, he learned the meaning of rage. Marcus closed his eyes, trying so hard to erase the memory from his head, but he could remember every detail of abuse. His mentor has abused him in such a way that he could hear even the church walls scream in protest with the sickness of it. Marcus was so enraged that his vision darkened and he could only remember himself hitting his mentor with a marble candelabra on the head. He remember the exhilirating feeling of seeing red, of smelling red. He didn't feel afraid. As if, by spilling his first blood, a new door has been opened to him - his new calling. He has long excommunicated himself from the church. He felt that no amount of blood of the Savior could wash away his guiltlessness. He knew that his soul was already doomed, yet here he was, in this so-called place of God, waiting for an absolution that would not come. He knew he was supposed to agonize over what he was about to do next. But he could not let himself feel remorseful nor repentant. The Dark Lord is rising. He has to move fast. This would be his last assignment and after this, he could retire. Oh yes! The Dark Lord was very well protected. Nobody knew what kind of evil monster this Dark Lord was. He was cunning, deceitful; but he was also an old man - frail, fragile. He just needed to be meters away from this monster, and the world will be free from this Dark Lord, and the Darker Lord behind him. He could imagine it now. Hundreds, or maybe thousands of people, mourning for their personified Lamb. What they don't know is that the man lying before them is indeed the spawn of the Apocalyptic Antichrist, and the shadow that died with him is the greater evil still. Marcus could now taste the sweetness of blood at the tip of his tongue. His final assignment would be his greatest ever. There is no room for failure, no room for second chances. It is either now - or it would be too late. He left the church with a new kind of rage that now roils in his blood. For hundreds of years, the world has been deceived. It was now time to open their eyes in shock. It was the age of transformation. So many people have been marionettes of this Dark Lord. It was time for an uprising. And with the Dark Lord's death, people will never be deprived of heaven again. He has waited for this day. The Requiem. He got the things he needed and placed it inconspicuously in a guitar case he was carrying. Today, he was known as Antonio, a travelling musician, who just got to town to witness the grand procession of a self declared god. Antonio will just be in the town square playing music. Thousands of people will be out to see the procession, and the Dark Lord will pompously parade in front of his puppets, in robes of purple, while the other, in robes of black. Antonio knew that he needed to be swift. One wrong move, and he himself would send the whole earth to its doom. He knew he wasn't just going to kill one - he also has to kill the other - the substance and the shadow. To do that, he needed two kinds of weapons. One forged by machinery and the other by an older magic that was lost and forgotten. Minutes passed by and his anticipation has made his hands tremble with excitement. He was trained to do this. He would not fail. He musn't. The crowd started to thicken and the cavalcade of abominations about to begin. Antonio positioned himself to a place where people won't notice him. He has been trained to shoot even out of range so he need not be near his prey. The procession seemed eternal, but finally, the highlight arrived. The Dark Lord walked through the crowd, and the people gave him reverence. He was a living deity among them. To touch him would seem like blasphemy, because his self-proclaimed infallibility has equated him to be the Son of the Most High. Antonio squinted his eyes in disgust mixed with stern concentration. The Dark Lord paraded, unprotected, without bullet-proof vests. Perhaps he knew that no one would dare touch him now. Years ago, there was one who tried to eliminate his predecessor. The perpetrator almost succeeded, but his predecessor lived and the vigilante was brought to justice. Today, no one would dare. Now, with a dark force behind him, he knew that he was very well protected. The Dark Lord was oblivious of Antonio, lurking in the distance. Antonio was well prepared for this. Before this task, he has visited a Native mystic from his ancestry. Now, with the intensified spirits of brave warriors shielding him, even the Darker Lord would not be able to sense his presence. Antonio looked at the Dark Lord from where he was standing. It was time. He pulled the trigger with one sure motion. The bullet buried itself on the Dark Lord's forehead, a convenience that Antonio tried to make sure of. Now he didn't need to paint his victim's forehead with REQUIEM. Then, there were screams everywhere. Amidst the confusion, the Dark Lord lay dead. But there was another, a Darker Lord still. Antonio's spirit eye could see the shadow move closer to him. The Darker Lord has sensed his presence. Quickly, he pulled the trigger again. This time, the bullet was infused with magic of long ago. The bullet pierced through the shadow. Shattering it to pieces. A shrill cry was heard -deafening - like that of a thousand banshees. Everyone was disoriented. Louder screams were heard. Nobody pursued Antonio. He blended in with the rest of the crowd. No need to flee and feel guilty. He has done the world a favor. The Dark Lord was dead. The Darker Lord gone with him. Now his job was done. Once again, he became Marcus. Marcus retreated in a corner where screams and cries were less heard. It was time to retire from this self-imposed job he has created for himself. To die is sweet escape. He smiled inwardly at himself for a job well done. Today was the day of transformation. Today was a good day to escape. With that last thought, the spirits of the brave beckoned him to come with them. Marcus put the gun against his head and . . . bled.

Emo

Here I am, contemplating about how it is going to end for me. I hate myself for hurting you. I don't want to hate myself any longer. I thought I could be a salve to heal you from your pain, but this chasm between us is so deep and so wide that even wishful thinking could not reach. I am way too far ahead and you are way too far behind. Knowing you now makes me sad because it seems that you are a lightyear late and I could have saved myself from such misery of wanting you and of not wanting you if Destiny was just kind enough to let us meet in time. I didn't mean to be deceitful nor have I wanted you to bank on false hope. The truth is, I am stuck in quicksand, I have no redemption. The more I struggle, my doom comes a little bit faster. So here I am, waiting for my inevitable escape to the afterlife. No one can save me, because I am bound by traditions stronger than fate. I can only covet you from afar because nothing can bridge the gap between the chasm that divides us. It would take three revolutions of the sun to bring me back to time because Destiny is cruel and she has played a mean trick on me. So, continue to thrive, because I need no saving. I can say that I am happy where I am. And you have to believe me. Otherwise, you'd have to fall deep into the chasm, and there I could never be able to help you live. Understand that I didn't mean for this to happen; for us to feel this void deep within, realizing the gap and the inescapable circumstance that binds me away. I didn't mean to feed you with my psychosis and let you suffer my pain. I am in this alone. I hate myself for hurting you. I don't want to hate myself any longer. So now, I contemplate how it is going to end for me. I might just well let myself bleed. Emo Girl

The Coquette and The Reluctant Villain

I just purchased a very cool tool for my Creative Writing Club from PowerBooks. It is called Talecraft. The aim of Talecraft is to create stories based on cards. Some see it as a creative tool. Others treat it as a game. But Talecraft is an art: one with the purpose of taking its participants on a journey to the recesses of imagination, to see lands where rules are bent, and to meet people who steal our hearts. Archetypes: The Reluctant Villain, The Coquette I got to pick out nine cards. One for genre, two for archetypes and six for keywords and plotlines. I decided to just make a character sketch of the archetypes I got. Making a full story would take me hours, and I have no time for that at the moment. Character Sketch for The Coquette: Sandra Mayfield came from a poor family and her economic status has given her the motivation to succeed in life. However, she equates success with money and because of this, ethics has never been her strong point. Sandra has grown to be self-sufficient because of her cleverness and innate gift of manipulation. Sandra is a stunningly beautiful woman, with long golden locks, deep blue eyes, and a smile that could stop a heartbeat for a nanosecond. She is aware of this physical attribute, and has used it to her advantage. At nineteen, she has become skilled at teasing: she gives a man a taste of something (like a kiss), then withraws. With this, she has driven men crazy and she has been able to get what she wants. Money motivates her, and with rich men under her spell, she gets it easily. Character sketch for the Reluctant Villain: Glenn Summers was just an ordinary guy from Sandra's town. He wasn't exceptionally rich, nor was he breathtakingly handsome. However, he had a mind like Einstein and was good in computers. He had known Sandra since elementary, and like the other guys who desired her, he was head over heels in love with her but he couldn't express it because she was his bestfriend. Glenn's extensive knowledge in computers has made him a pawn of gangsters to exploit his expertise. As much as he wants to earn money the legal way, he is then suckered into a world of thieves because of grave threats and emotional blackmail. Sadly, he lets himself be used by these evil people because he was a pushover. Moreover, he kind of enjoys the perks of being part of debauchery. He gets to have a lot of money which he knew would make Sandra like him more. So far, these are the character sketches I have made for the archetypes I have picked out from the deck. Talecraft is really a great tool for the imagination. "Words are spells . . . " To practice Talecraft is to weave words. . .

Fallen

Something unexpected happened today, and it has saddened me the way that I have never felt for a long time. I have let my own words destroy the very being that I needed to save. I should have let the beauty of my inner mumblings rot inside my heart and should have not let another feel the burden. My unacknowledged masterpiece has made another person miserable and now I am discouraged to write another word . . . about . . . priceless wishes. I didn't mean for that person to misinterpret or give a whole new meaning to my unwanted ramblings. I just wanted him to be free from his personal demons by giving him hope that there is absolution. Maybe not today, but in the future . . . where there is uncertainty, with or without me. I feel like I have been emotionally blackmailed and that the thoughts that I so desperately needed to exhale were turned into the very thing that would stiffle my breathing in the end, and leave me a little less lifeless than what I have been before. Is it my fault to be inspired by the grief that embodies him and be compelled to turn his sorrow into something beautiful, more than he can imagine? I wash my hands off that guilt. I was just trying to be an angel, and now I have fallen. My conscience has been screaming bloody warnings at me and I am very much afraid. I guess I deserve this kind of agitation. For me to continue to be kind seems intolerable cruelty to him, and to be brutally cruel seems like kindness. Whatever I choose to do seems like Catch 22. I will lose either way. I have never meant for this to happen- to be stuck in a void where emotions collide. But here I am, absorbing all the pain that this unexpected turn of event has to offer. I can never escape it. It's too late now . . . and I'm crying my tears red. I never wished for his eyes to go blind with the mere thought of my radiance. I don't deserve such adoration. Nor did I wish to hear his ragged breathing that sounded like rasping in my ears. I feel myself burdened with the thought of his agony because it was never my intention to hurt. All I ever wanted was to share the feelings stirred within me through the meticulous weaving of words, hoping that if I did, I could revive someone who has been broken. I never thought that even through discreet metaphors, my deep emotions could render someone a little incapacitated. I am not really an angel, just like he imagined. I can never be one now because I have caused someone to figuratively bleed. I have failed in my task to save a life. And now, I could never write another word about priceless wishes, because I have already fallen.

Twilight Apart

We live a twilight apart, And I am a person living in the future. Dimensionless is this world we live in, Yet my day is your night, And when you wake, I dream. In dreams I fly into this limbo Contained in your yesterday. And this realm is our rendezvous, But we could never really touch. We could never really feel. We can only stare past each other's eyes And imagine how we could outsmart time By defying distance through this Field of dreams. I wish that you weren't a sunset away, Because even virtually, We are cheated - We are robbed of moments That could have been, But would never be and . . . Only words can contain these priceless wishes. It's sad how we can only be content With vicarious experiences Because we can never be - Never be more But a twilight apart.

Without Love, I am Bankrupt.

Taking time off from work has made me realize that life is all about relationships. Eversince I started working my ass off, I have become like an ass myself. I wasn’t able to nurture intimate relationships with my colleagues. I wasn’t able to maintain the close relationships I had with my friends. I had become a stranger to my family. - All because of work - work - work! I tried to work to keep myself from being bankrupt. I tried to make myself happy by buying new things. But all work ever did was create an emptiness that I found hard to control. The more I worked, the more money I had. But then, busyness is the death of any relationship. So now I am trying to patch things up with my close friends. Slowly, I am building the relationship where we left off. Now, I have more time talking with my family. I am not a boarder anymore, nor am I a stranger. It’s sad to think that I have wasted my time on things that don’t even matter. Apostle Paul once said, "No matter what I say, no matter what I believe, no matter what I do, without love, I am bankrupt." When I was working, I thought I would never be bankrupt. I was dead wrong! You know what, now that I have patched up my relationships, I am richer than ever. Life is about relationships. Now I have a life.

Narcissus

The light of the moon shineth upon thy fairness, And the stars envy thine eyes of Oceanus hue. Sleepeth not o Narcissus In wide poppy fields and untamed grass. Stareth not into nothingness Of the timeless vault of blue. Awake and breathe The essence of mystical experiences - That thou refuseth to touch With thy delicate hands. Cast thineself away from the shadow Of Solitude's golden slumber - Feareth not the sun rays that Chaseth darkness from the land. Run as far as thine eyes could see To greener fields and fragrant wildflowers. Embraceth the wind that bringeth forth Melodies of promises, As you playeth thy flute Under the light rain shower. The light of the sun shineth upon thy fairness, But not a star to envy thine eyes of Oceanus hue. In greener fields and wildflowers art thou lie, As thou stareth at the future In the timeless vault of blue. (April 16,2003 - Dedicated to Val)

Pondering

Ostentatiously concealed - you are an enigma. Give me some time to comprehend this dilemma. Evaluation. Emulation. I know in the end it just boils down to adoration. Dark revelations are still not written. Sometime in the future, it will no longer be hidden. Addiction to you is an obsession - Not really a perversion - but Only time will let me see clearly Just how much you really complete me. (November 22, 1998)

Anaxaphila

I have set ideals for the person That I'm supposed to love But when I met you, The ideals I have set all seem to be So ridiculous and inconsequential. You defy every single one of it. And my senses had been screaming at me To get away from you. I don't know why I'm falling in love With the obviously wrong person Because supposedly I'm the one Who should've known better. Love has once again played A mean trick on me Because she has given me an anaxaphila And I can't get enough of it For I can never get enough of you. (For Ave Angel)