Here are all of the quotes salvaged from Bob Ong's original compilation:
10.5.11
A God-fearing atheist
2.5.11
What hybernation has taught me so far
I've always told people that I can never live in the province. I've lived in the city ever since I can remember. I grew up in a crowded district of Manila called Tondo. There, the only private time you have is when you go to sleep. Sleep is private because that is the only time your consciousness is separate from everything else. In our neighborhood, houses were divided only by walls. The walls themselves don't seem to provide much seclusion to each family in the area. Whenever Tiyang Delma would engage in a heated argument with his sons, all of us living nearby would know. Even if you tone down your voice, you'd make an impression to the neighbors that something's wrong, one way or the other. Those living near by would hear it when you slam the door, throw a book, stomp your feet. Perhaps this is why the people in our part of the city grow up to be so loud: there is no use in toning down. There is no use in hiding your anger under a soft voice. People will find out eventually. When you're mad, you should might as well express rage at the fullness of tone. Might as well fuel your words with intensiveness. Why bother hiding behind the suppression of whisper?
I have become accustomed to the city: the dirty air from cars, the noise, the lives of people happening in front of me. I have come to realize that when I say that I can't live in the province, I am expressing the fear I have of own thoughts. In the place where I grew up, there is always something else to think about. There is always something to capture my attention. Something louder than what I have to say. I've been trying to isolate myself from the noise the past couple of days, and what it has done so far is to push to my consciousness reflections.
I have cut the time I spent in the internet and avoided networking and and messenger sites. The past few days that I have done so felt like moving into a province. Before, when I open my computer in the morning, the first thing I would do is to look at my Twitter and Face book accounts. And already, it's the lives of people starts flashing in front of me. What they're doing, how they feel, what interests them. Sure the status messages flashing in feeds are just projections, but isn't it that the same is true with everything we know about the people around us? Aren't they all projections? To cut myself from the virtual world is like withdrawing from the addiction of living in the denseness of the city. You are cut off. As the metropolitan noise fades slowly, your thoughts start to become louder. At first, it was frightening: my own thoughts. My desires. My worries. I can't remember when I last heard it talk to me so loudly and unfazed. And what is more bothering is how it is so unfamiliar.
I have become accustomed to the city: the dirty air from cars, the noise, the lives of people happening in front of me. I have come to realize that when I say that I can't live in the province, I am expressing the fear I have of own thoughts. In the place where I grew up, there is always something else to think about. There is always something to capture my attention. Something louder than what I have to say. I've been trying to isolate myself from the noise the past couple of days, and what it has done so far is to push to my consciousness reflections.
I have cut the time I spent in the internet and avoided networking and and messenger sites. The past few days that I have done so felt like moving into a province. Before, when I open my computer in the morning, the first thing I would do is to look at my Twitter and Face book accounts. And already, it's the lives of people starts flashing in front of me. What they're doing, how they feel, what interests them. Sure the status messages flashing in feeds are just projections, but isn't it that the same is true with everything we know about the people around us? Aren't they all projections? To cut myself from the virtual world is like withdrawing from the addiction of living in the denseness of the city. You are cut off. As the metropolitan noise fades slowly, your thoughts start to become louder. At first, it was frightening: my own thoughts. My desires. My worries. I can't remember when I last heard it talk to me so loudly and unfazed. And what is more bothering is how it is so unfamiliar.
4.12.10
Basag ulo
I regret to tell you that I'm the guy in the red corner. Unfortunately, the fight didn't go well for me. Nonetheless, it was a good match.
13.11.10
a game of chess
I have always been good at at giving people advise on difficult situation. I'm not just good at it, I'm awesome at it. But when I'm faced with my own personal problems. I suck at it. It's like when you're playing chess: as an observer, you see all the openings, but as a player, all moves are impossible. I need to find someone who's going to be my JL.
9.11.10
Free Lunch
The French moralist Joseph Joubert said that "misery is almost always the result of thinking." But does it follow that when you're happy, you you are foregoing "thinking?" We are taught in economics the concept of opportunity cost. There is no free lunch. Everything has an underlying cost. Everything. If we take that statement as fact, it would mean that happiness too has an underlying cost. When we're happy, it is likely that our delight is at the expense of other people's potential happiness.
7.11.10
The Return
"Besides intercourse (when the Image-repertoire goes to the devil), there is that other embrace, which is a motionless cradling: we are enchanted, bewitched: we are in the realm of sleep, without sleeping; we are within the voluptous infantilism of sleepiness: this is the moment for telling stories, the moment of the voice which takes me, siderates me, this is the return to the mother ("in the loving calm of your arms," says a poem set to music by Duparc). In this companionable incest, everything is suspended: time, law, prohibition: nothing is exhausted, nothing is wanted: all desires are abolished, for they seem definitively fulfilled. Yet, within this infantile embrace, the genital unfailingly appears; it cuts off the diffuse sensuality of the incestuous embrace; the logic of desire begins to function, the will-to-possess returns, the adult is superimposed upon the child. I am then two subjects at once: I want maternity and genitality. (The lover might be defined as a child getting an erection: such was the young Eros.)"
— Roland Barthes (A Lover's Discourse: Fragments)
— Roland Barthes (A Lover's Discourse: Fragments)
31.10.10
What is Long Overdue
Sometimes I feel like I never learn. Of course, the less people involved in a project, the easier it is to control the project's out come. I invited three artists to help me out with my long-overdue comic book project. The idea of having more than one artist to work on the project was Josel's, the first artist I approached for the project. Josel and I tried to do the project ourselves but a lot of things got in the way. He had his thesis. I had work, graduate school, and my fucked up personal life. Tonight I invited two more artists to work with us--one is Dar Galvan, a former line artist for our college paper, and Nelz Yumul, the fiancée of one of my closest friends. All of them are skilled artists. I am confident that the project I have for them is worth their while. My problem is, I'm not really good at working with people. I always want to be the one in control. I think for this particular project, I have to make a lot of compromise. Oh well. This is for the good of man kind.
25.10.10
As Ricci used to say, Hair is Memory
Jonah Lehrer: Feeling Sad Makes Us More Creative
I guess he was happy when he wrote the title for this one.
The Theory of Everything
[note: this is the first line of the short story im currently working on. i hope i finish it soon.]
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