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Some Thoughts on Filipino Nationalism and REligion
Nationalism (Thought Fragment no.34)
Constantino sees Philippine History as the struggle of the Filipino People against the Forces of Colonialism. In the drama of Philippine History, there are three principal characters: the colonialist foreigner, the collaborator, and the one who resisted domination and fought. The Catholic Religion is seen as a tool employed by the foreigner to conquer the Filipinos. It was only seen in a much more positive light when it contributed to the goal of freedom from colonialism. Thus, the histories of the various religious revolts and uprisings following the arrival of the Spaniards in 1565 are given prominence in COnstantino's narrative.
Zaide, on the other hand, is sympathetic to the goals of the Church. He sees the Philippines as a special nation because of the arrival of the Christian faith upon its shores. As stduents, we often are made to be proud of the fact that we are 'the only Christian nation' in Asia. This idea is propagated not only in the private religious schools but in the supposedly secular public schools as well. Zaide states that because of this special attribute of our nation, we carry a special task: that of spreading the light of Christianity into our nonChristian neighbors. The differences in these points of view is made much clearer with their treatment of the event in Philippine History known as the 'First Mass".
Given Zaide's view, the question of the exact place where the mass was held holds much importance. When we consider Constantino however, the question of the first mass does not bear any significance at all, for even if the mass was held in Limasawa or in Mazaua, the fact still remains that Christianity was a tool used by the colonialists to convert and conquer the Filipinos. Thus, we see here the importance of considering points of view when discussing the History of the Filipino People. Following after Constantino's theme, the importance of an individual and or a group varies with their relation to the question of whether they contributed to Filipino nationalism or not.
Thus, within the scale of this theme, Andres Bonifacio sits on a higher pedestal than Jose Rizal, in the same way that the revolutionists take a much higher stage than those who compromised or collaborated. It is in this scale then that we could judge the actions of those under Agunaldo's command and Aguinaldo himself. We subject them to the scrutiny of whether they contributed to the freedom of the Filipino People against Colonial domination or not.
Constantino sees Philippine History as the struggle of the Filipino People against the Forces of Colonialism. In the drama of Philippine History, there are three principal characters: the colonialist foreigner, the collaborator, and the one who resisted domination and fought. The Catholic Religion is seen as a tool employed by the foreigner to conquer the Filipinos. It was only seen in a much more positive light when it contributed to the goal of freedom from colonialism. Thus, the histories of the various religious revolts and uprisings following the arrival of the Spaniards in 1565 are given prominence in COnstantino's narrative.
Zaide, on the other hand, is sympathetic to the goals of the Church. He sees the Philippines as a special nation because of the arrival of the Christian faith upon its shores. As stduents, we often are made to be proud of the fact that we are 'the only Christian nation' in Asia. This idea is propagated not only in the private religious schools but in the supposedly secular public schools as well. Zaide states that because of this special attribute of our nation, we carry a special task: that of spreading the light of Christianity into our nonChristian neighbors. The differences in these points of view is made much clearer with their treatment of the event in Philippine History known as the 'First Mass".
Given Zaide's view, the question of the exact place where the mass was held holds much importance. When we consider Constantino however, the question of the first mass does not bear any significance at all, for even if the mass was held in Limasawa or in Mazaua, the fact still remains that Christianity was a tool used by the colonialists to convert and conquer the Filipinos. Thus, we see here the importance of considering points of view when discussing the History of the Filipino People. Following after Constantino's theme, the importance of an individual and or a group varies with their relation to the question of whether they contributed to Filipino nationalism or not.
Thus, within the scale of this theme, Andres Bonifacio sits on a higher pedestal than Jose Rizal, in the same way that the revolutionists take a much higher stage than those who compromised or collaborated. It is in this scale then that we could judge the actions of those under Agunaldo's command and Aguinaldo himself. We subject them to the scrutiny of whether they contributed to the freedom of the Filipino People against Colonial domination or not.
Eliseo Soriano Sex Scandal
Eliseo Soriano Sex Scandal
by karaangtawo.multiply.com
Nalagay na naman sa panibagong gusot ang lider ng samahang Ang Dating Daan™ nang lumabas sa mga bangketa ng Quiapo ang umano’y mga VCD na naglalaman ng umano’y kuha ng isang hidden camera na umano’y nagpapakita sa lider ng samahan sa umano’y malaswang sitwasyon kasama ang isang sikat na artista na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales.
Mariing itinanggi ni G. Soriano ang nasabing paratang. “Paninira na naman yan nung mga taga-Iglesia ni Manalo”, sabi niya matapos dumura sa isang arinola na nasa tabi ng kanyang upuan. Ani naman ng lalaking aktor na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, “I don’t know whatcha talkin’ about, the person on that video is clearly not me. Get away from me. Paano ka nakapasok sa bahay ko? Manang! Manang! There’s a person in the house, di ba sabi ko walang papapasukin!”
Ipinasuri naming ang naturang video sa isang video expert para ma-confirm ang authenticity nito. “Well, as we can see here, makikita natin na may dalawang lalaki. This video is authentic, pero wala nga lang audio. Mas maganda sana kung may audio. Atsaka, furthermore, magkano bang bili nyo dito? Ah trenta, mura lang pala. Brod, pakiabot nung beer tsaka yosi. Gusto mo ng VCD Sex Scandal ni Kris at Joey? Meron ako dito 45p. Tatlo 100? Pare ang cheap mo talaga. Ah sige na nga, pero bili ka ulit ha?
Pinanayam namin ang dalawang representative ng Iglesia ni Cristo™, isang samahan na may matinding galit kay Soriano dahil umano sa mga kamaliang itinuturo nito. Nagdasal muna kami. “O panginoong Diyos™, nawa’y dinggin nyo kami”. “Opo” “Sana’y magdusa sa dagat-dagatang apoy si Soriano dahil sa kanyang kabaklaan at maling turo” “Opo” “At pati na rin po yung imoral na artistang nakunan sa video na kasama niya” “O Ama™” “Yun lang po” “Amen”. Umupo kami at ganito ang kanilang sinabi: “Hindi naman sa nangungutya pero tanga lang ang naniniwala kay Soriano. “Opo” sabat ng isa. “Kitang-kita na siya nga ang nasa video na gumagawa ng kahayupan kasama yung artista.” “Kitang-kita”, sabat ng isa. “Hindi pa ba sapat yung komiks na pinalabas namin?” “Hindi pa ba sapat”, sabat ng isa. “Ano ba sabat ka nang sabat ah, nagdarasal ako kanina, kung anu-anong sinasabi mo, sapakin kita dyan eh”
Kamakailan lamang ay sinuri ng MTRCB ang video at idineklara ito na R-18 o “Retail Price 18 pesos” na agad na ipinagbunyi ng gay community dahil umano “ngayon ay abot-kaya na ang video ng aming pinakamamahal na papang si artistang itinago sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, wais na, sulit-tipid pa” sabay lakad na may lundag habang hawak ang palda.
by karaangtawo.multiply.com
Nalagay na naman sa panibagong gusot ang lider ng samahang Ang Dating Daan™ nang lumabas sa mga bangketa ng Quiapo ang umano’y mga VCD na naglalaman ng umano’y kuha ng isang hidden camera na umano’y nagpapakita sa lider ng samahan sa umano’y malaswang sitwasyon kasama ang isang sikat na artista na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales.
Mariing itinanggi ni G. Soriano ang nasabing paratang. “Paninira na naman yan nung mga taga-Iglesia ni Manalo”, sabi niya matapos dumura sa isang arinola na nasa tabi ng kanyang upuan. Ani naman ng lalaking aktor na itatago natin sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, “I don’t know whatcha talkin’ about, the person on that video is clearly not me. Get away from me. Paano ka nakapasok sa bahay ko? Manang! Manang! There’s a person in the house, di ba sabi ko walang papapasukin!”
Ipinasuri naming ang naturang video sa isang video expert para ma-confirm ang authenticity nito. “Well, as we can see here, makikita natin na may dalawang lalaki. This video is authentic, pero wala nga lang audio. Mas maganda sana kung may audio. Atsaka, furthermore, magkano bang bili nyo dito? Ah trenta, mura lang pala. Brod, pakiabot nung beer tsaka yosi. Gusto mo ng VCD Sex Scandal ni Kris at Joey? Meron ako dito 45p. Tatlo 100? Pare ang cheap mo talaga. Ah sige na nga, pero bili ka ulit ha?
Pinanayam namin ang dalawang representative ng Iglesia ni Cristo™, isang samahan na may matinding galit kay Soriano dahil umano sa mga kamaliang itinuturo nito. Nagdasal muna kami. “O panginoong Diyos™, nawa’y dinggin nyo kami”. “Opo” “Sana’y magdusa sa dagat-dagatang apoy si Soriano dahil sa kanyang kabaklaan at maling turo” “Opo” “At pati na rin po yung imoral na artistang nakunan sa video na kasama niya” “O Ama™” “Yun lang po” “Amen”. Umupo kami at ganito ang kanilang sinabi: “Hindi naman sa nangungutya pero tanga lang ang naniniwala kay Soriano. “Opo” sabat ng isa. “Kitang-kita na siya nga ang nasa video na gumagawa ng kahayupan kasama yung artista.” “Kitang-kita”, sabat ng isa. “Hindi pa ba sapat yung komiks na pinalabas namin?” “Hindi pa ba sapat”, sabat ng isa. “Ano ba sabat ka nang sabat ah, nagdarasal ako kanina, kung anu-anong sinasabi mo, sapakin kita dyan eh”
Kamakailan lamang ay sinuri ng MTRCB ang video at idineklara ito na R-18 o “Retail Price 18 pesos” na agad na ipinagbunyi ng gay community dahil umano “ngayon ay abot-kaya na ang video ng aming pinakamamahal na papang si artistang itinago sa pangalang Jericho Rosales, wais na, sulit-tipid pa” sabay lakad na may lundag habang hawak ang palda.
This Story is GOing Nowhere
This Story is GOing Nowhere
Have you ever been so happy that you decided to spread that happiness by going on a random killing spree? Well, that's exactly what Mike, our protagonist is feeling right now. It's a weird feeling, he thought, it does not come and go like a wave, but it's continuous, like it's been this way ever since I was born and I grew up with this feeling that there's something lodged inside my ribcage just around the vicinity of my heart. Mike writes this thought in his journal which he then closes. He rises up from his chair and floats into the washroom, where he gazes upon his face, all twenty years old of him, staring back from inside the magic opposite mirror land and the face attempts a smile. Almost, almost. No, the attempt was a failure. He washes his face and floats back into his room, changes clothes, goes out.
It's windy and he breathes the cold air, holds it inside his lungs for several seconds then exhales. It's almost noon and the street is bustling with activity. The usual: beggars, office workers, cars, small mounds of garbage, stray dogs and cats. He digs inside his pocket. He forgot something.
Now all packed and ready to go, he goes where exactly we do not know. For this story is not about Mike but about the man he's about to kill that afternoon and that man is currently sitting inside a fastfood restaurant called the joyousbee or happywasp or something like that, munching like a pig on his supermegadoubledeluxe burger. He's a simple man with simple needs: such as a mansion, women and expensive cars. He has just been from a rather strenous meeting and all day he's been looking forward to this meal. Wrapped around his right wrist is a rolex which reflects the light coming from the outside and fills the whole restaurant with its radiant wonderful health-giving golden glow.
He awaits the jeepney and Mike whistles a happy tune and every single time, the happiness of the tune convinces him that he's not afraid.
Ah what's the point of all this, what's the point of life, what's the point of suffering, what's the point of breathing at all, all these thoughts raced across his mind while looking at the blur of sceneries outside: the usual working people on the streets walking going to their offices and work and jobs and him, where am I going, nowhere, I'm going nowhere. Nowhere.
He's a man of purpose and importance and the last thing that he wants right now is to be late for his next important appointment, so he wipes his mouth and rises up. You could hear the trumpets and drums rolling on the background, proof of how important this fat, ugly sonofabitch really is. Thank you, come again sir, the guard who opens the door, says to him.
Mike thinks about something, what we do not know, and why the hell would we want to know. We don't even know the guy, we only know that he's going to kill that fat bastard, and that's the only reason we've come this far in this narrative anyway. Anyway, Mike actually thinks that someone is watching him and he does not like the feeling. He digs inside his pocket just to feel the security offered by his new and shiny butterfly knife aka balisong. Fellow passengers look at him with that funny look people give you when they think you're about to shoot them in the head.
Someone shouts HOLDAP, Mike looks at him. The guy is maybe sixty years old, frail-looking and wearing old man clothes, the rusty knife he's holding is wriggling and jiggling as if having an epileptic seizure. The people smile at the old man, and they all say at the same time: AW Grampa, you're so funny. And that's when the old man stabs Mike on the knee.
The end
No not really, Mike beats the crap out of the old man. The other passengers joining him.
Now, if you think this story is going nowhere, you are probably right for the author only made this all up to pass the time and he apologizes if you do not like it. Meanwhile, he has to close this journal now so he can go out, breathe the cold air and go kill some fat, rich politician in some fastfood restaurant called the happywasp or joyousbee, you know, just to spread the joy.
Have you ever been so happy that you decided to spread that happiness by going on a random killing spree? Well, that's exactly what Mike, our protagonist is feeling right now. It's a weird feeling, he thought, it does not come and go like a wave, but it's continuous, like it's been this way ever since I was born and I grew up with this feeling that there's something lodged inside my ribcage just around the vicinity of my heart. Mike writes this thought in his journal which he then closes. He rises up from his chair and floats into the washroom, where he gazes upon his face, all twenty years old of him, staring back from inside the magic opposite mirror land and the face attempts a smile. Almost, almost. No, the attempt was a failure. He washes his face and floats back into his room, changes clothes, goes out.
It's windy and he breathes the cold air, holds it inside his lungs for several seconds then exhales. It's almost noon and the street is bustling with activity. The usual: beggars, office workers, cars, small mounds of garbage, stray dogs and cats. He digs inside his pocket. He forgot something.
Now all packed and ready to go, he goes where exactly we do not know. For this story is not about Mike but about the man he's about to kill that afternoon and that man is currently sitting inside a fastfood restaurant called the joyousbee or happywasp or something like that, munching like a pig on his supermegadoubledeluxe burger. He's a simple man with simple needs: such as a mansion, women and expensive cars. He has just been from a rather strenous meeting and all day he's been looking forward to this meal. Wrapped around his right wrist is a rolex which reflects the light coming from the outside and fills the whole restaurant with its radiant wonderful health-giving golden glow.
He awaits the jeepney and Mike whistles a happy tune and every single time, the happiness of the tune convinces him that he's not afraid.
Ah what's the point of all this, what's the point of life, what's the point of suffering, what's the point of breathing at all, all these thoughts raced across his mind while looking at the blur of sceneries outside: the usual working people on the streets walking going to their offices and work and jobs and him, where am I going, nowhere, I'm going nowhere. Nowhere.
He's a man of purpose and importance and the last thing that he wants right now is to be late for his next important appointment, so he wipes his mouth and rises up. You could hear the trumpets and drums rolling on the background, proof of how important this fat, ugly sonofabitch really is. Thank you, come again sir, the guard who opens the door, says to him.
Mike thinks about something, what we do not know, and why the hell would we want to know. We don't even know the guy, we only know that he's going to kill that fat bastard, and that's the only reason we've come this far in this narrative anyway. Anyway, Mike actually thinks that someone is watching him and he does not like the feeling. He digs inside his pocket just to feel the security offered by his new and shiny butterfly knife aka balisong. Fellow passengers look at him with that funny look people give you when they think you're about to shoot them in the head.
Someone shouts HOLDAP, Mike looks at him. The guy is maybe sixty years old, frail-looking and wearing old man clothes, the rusty knife he's holding is wriggling and jiggling as if having an epileptic seizure. The people smile at the old man, and they all say at the same time: AW Grampa, you're so funny. And that's when the old man stabs Mike on the knee.
The end
No not really, Mike beats the crap out of the old man. The other passengers joining him.
Now, if you think this story is going nowhere, you are probably right for the author only made this all up to pass the time and he apologizes if you do not like it. Meanwhile, he has to close this journal now so he can go out, breathe the cold air and go kill some fat, rich politician in some fastfood restaurant called the happywasp or joyousbee, you know, just to spread the joy.
Are you proud to be a Filipino?
Are you proud to be a Filipino?
Anyone who says that he is proud to be a Filipino either does not mean it, is totally delusional, is in a complete state of denial, was brainwashed successfuly by the educational institution (although this would be highly unlikely, i personally once had teachers who could not fucking care less about nationalism. i love them all by the way), is being forced to say so at gun point, has political motives and or totally insane.
Personally I would rather be an American. Americans are the greatest most benevolent people that has ever graced this beautiful planet earth. Watch their splendor in television everyday. The wonderful spectacle that they make of themselves. Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Brad Pitt, Lindsay Lohan, George Bush. With their democracy, their businesses and economy, their, god bless them, american culture which is now daily permeating all across the globe and which they claim is the greatest thing that ever happened since jesus christ came out of his mother's pussy.
Or I would rather be a German. Like HItler. I would kill lots and lots and lots of Jews. I would be an Ubermensch, Nietzsche's Superman, the greatest human ideal of social darwinism. Heil Hitler. Seig Heil! Down with all those black, brown, red, orange, yellow mongrels. Survival of the fittest. Let the chips fall as they may.
Or I would rather be Japanese. I would rape lots and lots and lots of Chinese women, just like what happened in Nanjing, CHina and in the PHilippines and Korea. I would invade other nations and butcher their men, snatch their babies from their mothers, throw the little dog in the air and as it falls down, let it land on the knife-edge of my bayonet. For I am Japanese, descendant of Gods, descendants of Izanami and Izanagi and all those people are fucking barbarian dogs. I would be famous for making technologies like cellphones, computers, cars, radios, walkmans and also animes and mangas like Naruto, DragonBall Z, YU=Yu Hakusho aka Ghost Fighter and Urotsuki Doji (Legend of the Overfiend OVA) which features among others, TENTACLE RAPE. Hah, man am I proud.
But, you ask me, do you truly mean this? Are you saying that being a Filipino is such a terrible thing? I would answer: well, with the way that all these politicians, movie stars, TV and radio evangelists act, the way they so piously look and sound, the way they smile and jump and bend over and let Uncle SAm fuck them in the ass (aka imperialism), well, hell yeah, Iam fucking ashamed to be Filipino.
Oh my God, you exclaim, what are you saying, you poor misguided little boy with your false beliefs and hideous unrighteous thoughts. Papa Jesus is not happy with your blasphemies. I will pray for your soul that you may, when the last judgement finally comes at least get to see the Lord's holy middle finger before you are swallowed by the ground and barbecued in hell.
Anger And Unnameable Emotions OVer the Fucked Up Craziness Of My Mother Countr
Anger And Unnameable Emotions OVer the Fucked Up Craziness Of My Mother Country
by
narodniki
Manuel L. Quezon is an arrogant paternalistic asshole who wallows in his own excrement of self-importance and ignorance. He thinks he is so righteous and so right and so secure in his dedication that the Filipinos should have a goddamn national language. He thinks oh so nationalistic when in fact he is nothing but a goddamn puppet by the goddamn american imperialist corporations who shove their dicks up his ass and wiggle him around for a bit, shake his goddamn internal organs for a while and then they shove it deeper and deeper and deeper until the fucker dies. And on the third day the little fucker is ressurected and the people beat him back to death but the fucker just won't die and now he is glowing off the white light of holiness that saints are supposed to emit. And a statue is made in his honor and like all the goddamn statues in this goddamn country, it sheds tears. But not only tears. It also pisses and shits and mucus drips from its mouth every day during the Holy Week and people from around the country would flock to this statue and then they would wipe their immaculate white handkerchief with the liquid emissions of the holy statue. And then they would apply the handkerchief to whoever it is tha is sick and that sick person would lapse into a coma and die within minutes. Goddamn I hate all these fucking politicians and this is the only way that I can get back at them for fucking this country really bad.
Why am I so angry you ask. For the simple reason that I love this country so much that's why. Because in my dreams I often see her in her splendor and glory, before she was defiled by all these parasites that came from across the seas in order to 'civilize' her. And the parasites have grown and multiplied in the soil of this country and more than five hundred years later, the rot and the defilement has sunk so deep within her flesh that I cannot bear to look at her anymore. Sometimes I wish for the total annihilation of everything that exists, that all these ugliness be wiped out off the face of the earth and then everything starts anew. Beautiful fresh flowers, green surroundings, air so fresh and clean it feels as if with every breath another year is added to your life. And when you look up there are no airplanes and helicopters and electrical wires, only the trees and their leaves and the birds. The ground your standing on is nothing but soil, not dead cement. But who am I kidding? Such things will never ever happen for the simple reason that the parasite that came from the west has infested us so thoroughly that any attempt at authenticity is an attempt to create something out of nothing, an impossibility, a futility.
Everywhere there is this feeling of sickness and death. Everywhere hypocrisy reigns for behind the smiles and the beauty are liposuctions and botox injections and breast augmentations and old people want to look young and young children they want to grow old fast and start having sex at thirteen years of age and the great herd of mindless zombies, simply follow the same stupid road followed by generations upon generations of their ancestors who worshipped the same gods and deities. Nothing ever changes in this place. It just decays and dies, no, it does not even die. It's like an ugly old vain rich woman who because she wants to preserve whatever is left of her youthfulness goes through great lengths like injecting her bloodstream with formaline and mercury and other heavy metals just so the fake suppleness of her mutated white skin is retained. Why can't she just fucking die!
There is nothing here but the same feeling of helplessness that people feel everywhere. Where the awakened ones with pure hearts and even purer intentions cannot survive in this toxic environment of apathy and moral callousness. Everyone is busy, so busy minding their own business, so busy getting rich and powerful and successful and complete. Everyone wants to be fucking complete. Stupid fucks. Me, I just want to blow up all the goddamn government buildings that infest the country. All I want is the simple dream of seeing all of these goddamn spawns of satan politicians hanged and quartered and their mansions and imported automobiles blown up with dynamite, then if a stick still remains upright, that too is to be burned down. And then when not a trace of them is left, the soil that their mansions were once built on will be sprinkled with salt so that nothing will ever grow out of that godforsaken soil. These people, these benevolent assholes, paternalistic self-serving liars and hypocrites, these good-for-nothing lowlives, worse than the most disgusting tapeworm that you can think of, these are the leaders of this Goddamn Filipino Nation and these fuckers they have the ability, they constantly claim in the news, of speaking to GOD. These heartless creatures with no morality whatsoever, grown fat and pale by the suffering of people, these narrow-minded pigs, they think, they breathe nothing but thoughts of staying in power.
May they all suffer an eternity in hell.
Anger And Unnameable Emotions OVer the Fucked Up Craziness Of My Mother Country
by
narodniki
Manuel L. Quezon is an arrogant paternalistic asshole who wallows in his own excrement of self-importance and ignorance. He thinks he is so righteous and so right and so secure in his dedication that the Filipinos should have a goddamn national language. He thinks oh so nationalistic when in fact he is nothing but a goddamn puppet by the goddamn american imperialist corporations who shove their dicks up his ass and wiggle him around for a bit, shake his goddamn internal organs for a while and then they shove it deeper and deeper and deeper until the fucker dies. And on the third day the little fucker is ressurected and the people beat him back to death but the fucker just won't die and now he is glowing off the white light of holiness that saints are supposed to emit. And a statue is made in his honor and like all the goddamn statues in this goddamn country, it sheds tears. But not only tears. It also pisses and shits and mucus drips from its mouth every day during the Holy Week and people from around the country would flock to this statue and then they would wipe their immaculate white handkerchief with the liquid emissions of the holy statue. And then they would apply the handkerchief to whoever it is tha is sick and that sick person would lapse into a coma and die within minutes. Goddamn I hate all these fucking politicians and this is the only way that I can get back at them for fucking this country really bad.
Why am I so angry you ask. For the simple reason that I love this country so much that's why. Because in my dreams I often see her in her splendor and glory, before she was defiled by all these parasites that came from across the seas in order to 'civilize' her. And the parasites have grown and multiplied in the soil of this country and more than five hundred years later, the rot and the defilement has sunk so deep within her flesh that I cannot bear to look at her anymore. Sometimes I wish for the total annihilation of everything that exists, that all these ugliness be wiped out off the face of the earth and then everything starts anew. Beautiful fresh flowers, green surroundings, air so fresh and clean it feels as if with every breath another year is added to your life. And when you look up there are no airplanes and helicopters and electrical wires, only the trees and their leaves and the birds. The ground your standing on is nothing but soil, not dead cement. But who am I kidding? Such things will never ever happen for the simple reason that the parasite that came from the west has infested us so thoroughly that any attempt at authenticity is an attempt to create something out of nothing, an impossibility, a futility.
Everywhere there is this feeling of sickness and death. Everywhere hypocrisy reigns for behind the smiles and the beauty are liposuctions and botox injections and breast augmentations and old people want to look young and young children they want to grow old fast and start having sex at thirteen years of age and the great herd of mindless zombies, simply follow the same stupid road followed by generations upon generations of their ancestors who worshipped the same gods and deities. Nothing ever changes in this place. It just decays and dies, no, it does not even die. It's like an ugly old vain rich woman who because she wants to preserve whatever is left of her youthfulness goes through great lengths like injecting her bloodstream with formaline and mercury and other heavy metals just so the fake suppleness of her mutated white skin is retained. Why can't she just fucking die!
There is nothing here but the same feeling of helplessness that people feel everywhere. Where the awakened ones with pure hearts and even purer intentions cannot survive in this toxic environment of apathy and moral callousness. Everyone is busy, so busy minding their own business, so busy getting rich and powerful and successful and complete. Everyone wants to be fucking complete. Stupid fucks. Me, I just want to blow up all the goddamn government buildings that infest the country. All I want is the simple dream of seeing all of these goddamn spawns of satan politicians hanged and quartered and their mansions and imported automobiles blown up with dynamite, then if a stick still remains upright, that too is to be burned down. And then when not a trace of them is left, the soil that their mansions were once built on will be sprinkled with salt so that nothing will ever grow out of that godforsaken soil. These people, these benevolent assholes, paternalistic self-serving liars and hypocrites, these good-for-nothing lowlives, worse than the most disgusting tapeworm that you can think of, these are the leaders of this Goddamn Filipino Nation and these fuckers they have the ability, they constantly claim in the news, of speaking to GOD. These heartless creatures with no morality whatsoever, grown fat and pale by the suffering of people, these narrow-minded pigs, they think, they breathe nothing but thoughts of staying in power.
May they all suffer an eternity in hell.
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