The Long Futile Journey to Ixtlan

We can always return to where we have come from; like a homecoming of an expatriate to his fatherland, of a college student to his old hometown, of a son to his ancestral home. But the question is: Is the coming back coming back to the same place, to the same old place?

Most probably, yes; save from aged faces of acquaintances and some physical changes in the streets where most likely a building or a house or store has been built here and there to replace the old ones. But the place is the same old memorable place.

This we expect and believe to be true.

But in Carlos Castaneda’s Journey to Ixtlan: Lessons of Don Juan, this is not the case.

The name of writer Carlos Castaneda rings a special tone in my ears. I have heard of him, as far back as college days, for his more familiar work The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge. I have been fascinated by stories of how he recorded his mystical encounter with the use of peyote, which can give you a thirteen-hour-long hallucinatory experience.

Nevertheless, there is none of that adventurousness in trying peyote in Journey to Ixtlan. If there ever was, it is rare and only through suspicious suggestive hints by Castaneda.

Instead, Journey to Ixtlan deals with the initiation of Carlos Castaneda as an apprentice under Don Juan Matus, a Yaqui Indian, to sorcery.

Castaneda, under the guidance of Don Juan, undergoes different stages of achieving the ring of power to stop the world. Don Juan, who never runs out of reason to laugh of what he sees as idiocy and simple mindedness of Castaneda, is one weird of an old man. To start, he thinks the world talks to him; say, when he declares something and the kettle whistles, he would say the kettle is agreeing with him.

When one is able to stop the world (and this Castaneda is able to achieve and through his words: I saw the ‘lines of the world’… the lines were constant and were superimposed on or were coming through everything in the surroundings. I turned around and examined an extraordinary new world) it only validates one of the teachings of Don Juan that “the world is stupendous, awesome, mysterious, unfathomable.”

Don Juan teaches that a sorcerer is a warrior; though this does not mean warrior against evil per se, but a warrior against those who also know sorcery and with the intent to harm you. And when one is learning sorcery, there is always a ready worthy opponent that will wrestle you to teach you the greatest and painful lesson of sorcery.

Yet, the greatest and painful lesson of sorcery is not exclusively bound to sorcerers. It is also true to regular thinking people like you and me.

So what is the lesson then?

Even if the whole book is full of instances where Don Juan doubles up and sometimes kicks in the air as he laughs his old mystic man’s gaiety don’t be misled that he’s a happy chap. Knowing a lot is a tragedy and one cannot help in the end to see the world as one comic reality. Yet, deep within the heart, there is a sad nostalgia for the old world because being a sorcerer is faced with the fact that he can no longer return to his old place. After the debacle with the worthy opponent that throws him several mountains away, he can never return again. Every place from then on is part of a long futile journey to go home.

For us regular people, the worthy opponent can come to us through enormous personal problems. The knowledge and wisdom and experience and everything that we have seen throughout the process can lead us for the shedding of our old self, for a re-birth. And from then on, our life will be a long journey to go back to our old understanding of the world.

Thinking about this, I cannot deny that Journey to Ixtlan is the poignant life of a sorcerer and those who have achieved a higher understanding of the world we live in. It is lonely out there sitting on the top of the mountain; the wind is harsh and it is severely cold.

And even if you reached your old country, your old hometown, your old place, it is never been the same old one but a different one. Consciously or unconsciously you try to go home but you know that it is only an endless journey since you have known and seen and felt and understood a lot already.

And from then on, we take our own journey to Ixtlan.

Dizzy Learning

The itch is still there to describe and narrate a descriptive bodily position we usually find ourselves in. The energy to say that this experience is something to take note and from that create an essay (or a story) all from a subjective point of view is still there.

But for sometime now, the itch has somehow begun to falter on its pre-destined course of eventual failure. Yes, I call my life-long effort of wanting to say what I know about this world as something doomed from the very beginning. In the first place, I talk more about wanting to write something than writing that damned thing. I’m more of a worrier anxious that time is ticking away and I still have to start somewhere (as an ardent believer used to say ‘kulang lang praxis’). I guess that would sum up my effort in becoming a ‘real’ writer.

Somehow, during that time I died. Or rather I was dead in the conventional logic of how the world judges the inaction. The big term ‘Purpose in Life’ and lifelong ‘Dream’ suddenly came into a halt; stopped by the nature of inaction that produces nothing for the practical world.

Yet, with all humility, I learned a lot during that inactivity. My mind or consciousness or self or ego or whatever you would call it, just expanded (shrunk?) that I could not describe will surgical precision the experience. My attempt to describe it is that it gave me a new vantage place where to see the world and the universe within. Previous preconditioned idea and beliefs have been challenged and obliterated, asking for a brand new beginning.

Though I could hardly say that I learned ever basics that I should know, the tidbits of knowledge about what ‘real’ is is too much for my intellect to churn in. Probably, I failed to empty myself that the water that have been pouring in just spill out inevitably. I could not contain it, sad to say.

Right now, I still can not say whether I will be back on my previous journey of becoming a ‘real’ writer. A lot have been learned and experienced on taking the refuge of the shore and just watch the river that I had been (and still) drifting along run its course.

I can see now the people whom I used to share the same dream and what kind of dream or purpose in life we vigorously pursued. I can see with a clearer perception where it is leading to. I also see, probably even hear, those people whom I shared the ‘Dreams’ muttered in disapproval of my action or inaction.

Learning is a painful thing.

While I’m overwhelmed because of all the learning that I’m getting, it is good to thing that there is Lil Feather (though whom I know does not fully in accord with my study and practice) beside me , wherein in her lap I could rest, rest my tired eyes and body; and say ‘higa lang ako, maya pa flight mo.’

Concerns of the Present

The first month of this year is almost over. I never really subscribe to New Year Resolutions since most of the times, by this time, they are all forgotten and everything is back to the old ways. Nevertheless, I think each day should be treated as a beginning, a fresh start. Old or recent fallbacks and mistakes should be considered a past. Something that one should let go and treated as an experience. If there is something to learn from them, then use this if you want. Failures of the past should not define your present. Even triumph for that matter. Since life is ever changing both failures and triumph is a mere concept of the past. If you are tied to it, you will just get frustrated when things are not going good at the present. So the present is more important.

 

 I remember my literary idol, Hemingway. He had all his triumphs and achievements, and some failures on women. But who knows what happened during the autumn of his years, he blew himself up with a shot gun. Next in mind is George Eastman of Kodak. He struggled to be a millionaire, but when he was already on the top, he experienced the loneliness bestowed on him by his stature; same way with the other billionaires narrated by the author of Rich Dad Poor Dad. Is the culprit their attachment to the past? Or to the future? Or inability to cope with the present?

 

Be still and do not let the winds of life blow you anywhere. There’s joy in your being since the beginning. (Drat! My readings of Buddhism is showing already and I did I get it right? But somewhere out there, the word praxis is reverberating and telling me that I should practice it. lol)

 

Nevertheless, there are a lot of things to do. My finances are in trouble. My work is not good. My actions are not skillful. A lot of mistakes. But this is a fresh start. These are the concern of the present.  

Freedom from Systematical Realities

Most of the times we are engrossed with the all the activities we are experiencing in this world that we forget to observe objectively even the most superficial facts that govern our realities. We are completely hooked in our tasks, relationships and other concerns that we end up as mere reactors to these life experiences. There is a tendency to look life according relatively on how they are presented to us. We base then that the true reality is what we experienced. What is outside our experience is not true and worse what we experienced is only the truth which we hold deeply in our consciousness.

Nevertheless, consider this. A corporation management in pursuit of maximum production from its workers designed a system wherein they can track the productivity rate of their workers. If the corporation for example is in the data processing business, it has installed a software wherein it can count the keystrokes of its employees. More than that, the management is raising the quota of production of every worker every time the worker meets the quota. This is for maximum production management applied by the company or firm.

More or less, the outcome of this looking from the vantage point of the worker is a stressful demand of his job. The workers can suffer health problems because of the management style being employed on them. But the sad part of this, the workers can only get a blurry idea of how the management is manipulating the situation with the goal of maximizing the company’s production.

The management, educated on the corporate psychology of how people behave in work, is using this knowledge to their advantage. They have a clear sight of the system of how to motivate, manipulate, lead and control their employees. This is unknown to the common worker but half-understood by those with keen awareness.

What’s the point of this example?

This is only partially to show that there is a system in every field of endeavor, physical and psychological realities that everyday we are experiencing. Those who have a higher understanding of any particular system can use it to their advantage to get what they want. Another point, and this is the main point really here, is that there is a system in ever aspects of our everyday life. Whatever this system is, undiscovered or known, is just there and we are merely, most of the times, reacting to them.

Going back to the example given above, the workers are burying themselves to work to meet the expectation of the management. Unknown to them, the management are only practicing how to get the most out of their employees using their understanding of corporate psychology. Where the workers end up in this setup is mere automatons reacting to the bidding of the management.

As far as there are systems to everything, take the usual reaction of a bereaved widow. If she is strong willed, she would vent her loneliness with anger around her. If she is weak-willed, she may just drown herself in her own sorrow.

To shortcut this discussion, let us just observe that the governing system of any field can be formally studied in universities. If one wants to study the behavior of a demented person, he can study psychiatry. If structure of building and the likes, engineering. And so forth.

It is emphasized then that there is a system to everything. Nevertheless, in terms of man’s ability to free himself from the trap of being merely reacting against every experience that he encounters in everyday life, be it in a workplace or his community or family setting, he must keep his awareness to these realities.

What he should avoid then is how to be an automaton that all he does is react to things. If he can put himself in a position where he can only observe how things run without bias, then there will be an opportunity for him to gain wisdom from his experiences. What more, he will never be a mere robot whose reaction is ruled by ignorance; but rather by wisdom and clear comprehension.

Christmas Vacation in Lil Feather's Hometown

Go. It's has been a fast paced three weeks in Tacloban to be with Lil Feather (and that three weeks will end two days from now. It's already four and a half hours before the year ends and Lil Feather is lying on the bed by my side as I write this; the firecrackers keep on with their revelry yell outside sporadically.) This visit was planned months before and there had been a lot of hassle about the financial aspect but nevertheless after all the drama had died down, I boarded my flight going to Tacloban last 17th.

Staying in Tacloban with Lil Feather definitely casts a spell on me and I would not say that we don't have our own dramatic times with each other. Nevertheless, here's the promised pics we took during the past couple of weeks. The pics speak for itself. (Langya! kababangabanga ko lang sa hon ko while writing this. Mainit ulo. lol. (hindi na pala at inedit pa ko...lol)


Posing at the cam while lying on the grass of MacArthur Park. Change style of posing.

Another pose.

I'm the paparazzi here. Lil Feather wanders at MacArthur Park without her knowing that I was taking a pic of her. Nice candid shot.

McArthur behind my back. Ehehehe nasa Leyte na talaga ako.


Ang sarap ng sinigang sa Andok's. Wala neto sa Manila. Pangit ang Jolibee at MacDo. Andoks ang putok dito sa Tacloban
First couple of nights in Tacloban. Downed a couple of Red Horse already.
Here's a pic taken while riding the pedicab to Lil Feather's grandmother's house in dulag. Concrete, machine and nature.


It's Lil Feather and me having a chit chat at the porch of Nanay's house.
It's nanay caught by the rain.
It's me and lil feather having a noche buena talk with Nanay. Red Horse included in the menu.

Picnic at the beach before plunging into the sea. Kakay, Lil Feather, me, Vanessa, RicRic and Leigh at the middle. Kainan na!

Heavenly god! Heaven Leigh was howling after long hours at the sea.


A little posing before plunging into the water.




This is the pic that I love to show. Me and Lil Feather amidst the sea waves at the MacArthur beach. The waves are big and strong. Kung sa Manila to signal number 3 na to.


With the bayaws having a bath at the backyard after having been in the beach.

Eto ang reality check. Kailangan maglaba magtapos maggala ng todo :d. Laba dami laba ngo.


After every story there's a mark in time about this visit. This pic summarizes everything that happened here in Tacloban. Yurigligoric and Lil Feather. Together, having a nice morning talk and coffee at dulag. Soon this will be lolo ern and lola doris. That was their time.

It's Christmas

Five hours from now and it is already Christmas. Been busy since the last several days since I arrived in Tacloban (though I’m writing this in one of the town of Leyte called Dulag because this is where the grandmother of Lil Feather lives.) This is the first time that I will be spending Christmas outside Metro Manila and away from my family. Instead I’m spending it with the family of Lil Feather. Gonna post some of the pictures we took here in the coming days.

Anyway, merry Christmas to all.

The Red Pill

"You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland and I’ll show you how deep the rabbit hole is."
The Matrix

Flexing Some Muscles a la Farina

I wish I can write this in one let go like I used to do; tipsy with sleepy eyes, bottles of strong beer scattered on the floor, the industrial electric fan whirring beside me in a never ending cycle and the speaker of my headset singing in anguish about a lost father. Mind has been sharpened a little bit by correct practice and body posture yet still feeling the debilitating effect of some bad habit. Nevertheless, will strut and grin a la Farina, looking around in a sly look on how the world has moved without this crut noticing it. Oh, yes, satori in Cavite for a very long period of time. But who’s gonna believe it anyway. Kerouac knew the dharma but died drunk in some musky room somewhere far from the Big Sur. Yes, the Big Sur; a very long time ago. The moment I lay my hands on it, I voraciously read it inside the bus, glancing from time to time at the couple of passenger across my seat anticipating whether the guy would swallow his girlfriend while they kiss and make out as what I read somewhere Zapra wrote in her column. Dharma Bums. Where the hell is that book? Oh, forgot. Just read it in two sittings in Powerbooks in its old location along Arnaiz Ave. Read a hell of a lot of books there. Discovered also Calvino during that time while several of the domesticated poseurs ran their trade to get the attention of specialized people. (Drat! A whole gang would curse and slam my face straight against the concrete wall for using the term – I will never finish my thesis but I’m trying to learn how to read and write again so be there when Infinite Worlds, or what the hell the book will be named, will be launched or just see me at my deathbed please.) So where am I now? Sonofabitch! It really took a toll on me. No more Kerouac yakking here like a mad dog but a slowed down (mental slow down?) trying to catch the spirit of the humid air pervading inside my room. Two cigarettes with far-in-between puffs just to get my head focus and get this practice going like a good riff!!! Okay, okay. I’m already hallucinating. I just saw a flicker of light went off at my right side as I balance myself on my seat. Lil Feather is already here. (Finished or not finished, pass your failed papers. :-D)

Simply Lil Feather

The picture speaks for itself. The loose strands of hair connotes life while the sepia theme exudes the aroma of sentimental past. Just look at the innocent pili-shaped eyes; its a view of the perfect beauty of the soul.

Monologue sa YM

roger mexico: ang dami ko ng buzz sa yo kanina, tapos umalis ako sa upuan ko para makipagkwentuhan kay shie, tulog ka pa siguro nun. bka one pa magigcing. so upo muna ako dun, usap kay shie. tapos, mdyo pagod din kasi si shie sa gala, pumunta ko sa harap ng pc. nabigla kasi me buzz ka. isa lang. wala na.
roger mexico: so ginawa ko nagbuzz din ako. baka gcing ka na, me ginagawa lang. pero di ka sumagot. wala. nakakabibinging katahimikan. tapos ginawa ko buzz ko ulit. madami. e kaso kada isang buzz magiintay ka ata ng sampung segundo. bale mga fifteen minutes or more, buzz ng buzz ako. yung interval nun sinasabayan ko ng pagsindi ng sigarilyo at pagtunga sa libreng red horse ko. maraming beses na ganun.
roger mexico: minsan sa kaiintay ko na pwede na magbuzz, pindot ng pindot ako ng mouse. parang walang katapusan. basta pipindot na pipindot lang. tapos un nga bigla na lang mag bubuzz. ayun, napuno ko na buong window ng ym kakabuzz di ka pa rin nagrereply. nagbuzz ka lang isa pero ako sandamukal na ata. mula siguro kaninang alas diyes naka trenta ata ako. pero tulog ka pa rin. di ko alam. basta un. wala pa ring reply.
roger mexico: eto sisindi na naman ako ng yosi.
roger mexico: naubos ko na ata tong isang kaha.
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
roger mexico: parang tula pala ko magsulat sa tagalog. parang college writer. ung nangangapa ng istilo ng pagsusulat. iba nga ang pagsusulat sa english kesa sa tagalog/pilipino. pero sabi nila mas maeexpress mo daw ang sarili mo sa tagalog. pero ewan ko rin. sanay na ko sa english e. di na nga lang nagsusulat nitong mga nakalipas na taon. puros pera lang ang iniisip para magsulat. nasabi ko ata sa blog ko yun na bilib ako sa mga kumikita sa pagsusulat pero iba ung gusto ko e. pero nitong mga nakaraang buwan mdyo nagbago na rin pagtingin ko sa hinahabol kong istilo ng pagsusulat. parang wala ng saysay sa kin ang magsulat. kaya nga nasabi ko na siguro kailangan ko burahin yung mga natutunan ko dati. na di rin naman talaga mahalaga sa malalim na pag intindi kung maging successful writer ako. wala na ring
roger mexico: silbi ang mga alam ko at natutunan sa buhay. oo sasabay pa rin ako, pero di na siguro katulad noon. siguro magsusulat pa rin ako. pero alam ko na na balang araw nawawalang saysay din ang mga iyon. kasi paulit ulit rin naman kasi. kasi ano ba ang tinatalakay ng mga kwento, di ba dapat me conflict? e kaso di na ko medyo naniniwala sa kahalagahan ng conflict e. sabi ko nga mga drama lang sa buhay yun. yoko na nga magdrama e, tapos magsusulat pa ko ng mga drama ng buhay na di naman talaga makakatulong sa mga magbabasa ng isusulat ko. kasi me blema na nga sila, aaliwin ko pa sila ng panibagong blema.
roger mexico: parang ano yun e usapan ng mga college students kung me diyos o wala, o kung totoo bang me diyos o wala. pero sa dulo rin naman wala naman maitutulong o mababago sa kanila sa paguusap o pag dedebate ng kung meron ngang diyos. magiging mabuting tao ba sila kung me diyos o magiging masama kung wala. kasi pwede naman wlang diyos o di pinaguusapan ang diyos pero mabuting tao. meron naman naniniwala sa diyos pero sobrang itim naman ng budhi. pero etong mga sinasabi ko parang wala na ring saysay e. kasi iba na nakikita ko e.
roger mexico: sa pag aaral ko rin tinitibag yung mga paniniwala ko nun. alam ko me ibang dimesion. sabi nga ng mga physicist merong 11 dimensions, pero tayo apat lang alam natin. tatlong nga lang talga kung tutuusin kasi yung pang-apat yung time-space dimension na sinabi ni einstein di pa rin maintindihan ng nakararami. sa bale nasa three dimesions palang alam natin. e me eleven nga, so kung baga marami pa tayong di alam o di kayang ipaliwanag. pero unti unti na rin nakukuhang idefine ng mga scientist yun.
roger mexico: pero eto ang nakakamangha, yung mga di maipaliwanag ng mga scientist ngayon o yung ngayon lang nila nakayang ipaliwanag naipaliwanag na at na-map-out na noon pang nakalipas na 2500 years ago. kakaelibs. pati mind structure alam, pati mind fields, galing.
roger mexico: e 2500 years ago pa un, pano nila nalaman un. ung ang tanong. galing e
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!
BUZZ!!!

Silence

I've been used writing endlessly here about whatever that comes into my mind during the process of my regular practice. Yet, as I take a break, it occurs to me that there is bliss in silence. It is like silent rejoicing of life and just the mere stillness to experience the universe of form. It is a dive deep down the tumultuous surface of an ocean -- to the very abyss of peaceful joy.

False Alarm

The celebration for life is too soon. It's a false alarm. Negative. Meaning there's nothing. Nada. Nada. Nada.

On Children

It's been a while since I posted something here. There have been a lot of developments in my life though seeing that there is a virtue or wisdom in practicing action through inaction I took my time doing a lot of things by doing nothing.

Nevertheless, I cannot find any other fitting poetic lines from mine that this poem by Khalil Gibran says. Fit for what is Now, the moment. Lil Feather, love you both. :-). +!!!!! na talaga?

On Children
Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Lil Feather and YuriGligoric: A Week in the City

The previous week was one heaven of a hectic time of experience. If I would describe all the events that transpired with my Lil Feather here in the city, compressed it in one poetic phrase to catch all the euphoric and intense emotions to finally say that long due words of promises to be realized, it would be like a gem gleaming with myriad of hues spanning six long years of long distance digital love affair speckled with unadulterated romance and fights during short visits to each other.

And I’m really getting poetic here. :-)

Here’s what Lil Feather’s Olympus digital camera caught when we abandoned taking the MRT at Trinoma going to Makati and elbowed our way through the crowd to take a cab instead.

After paying a visit to my library Powerbooks at Greenbelt and spending the day at the mall here's some more pics taken after the long talks and walks.


And another one, with my 'aura' caught by the camera.

Then here's Lil Feather at the airport terminal II wanting a good massage after a busy day at NHA. Dang! What a nice shot. It looks like Frank Capa took this shot. Perfect shot and perfect subject.
What is celebration then without a visit to a restaurant. Here's Lil Feather with me, with her HP Pavilion on the table at Kenny Roger's MOA. Wow! Yaman ng hon ko... hehehe. Her mom took the pic and that caught me flat-footed since I just wore a t-shirt na arbor ko lang. She said I should wear something formal. Arg!
Since I've already mentioned her mom. Here are they with me taking the shot with Lil Feather's Olympus digital cam. (Pampalakas...hehe)
More pics in my next post... I'm getting the hang of this posting pics in my blog. Hon, padala mo by LBC ung cam mo... hehehe.

My Picks

If there is something most fulfilling from the tasks that I did today for my personal blog, this is it: to promote the books that I cherish most.

For those who are regular readers of this blog, probably you are wondering who is this Ignacio Padilla whom I love to say I would kill someday (I think he is still in Spain fulfilling his role as an ambassador for Mexico.) Well, he is the writer of Shadow without a Name – a book I read in one sitting in Powerbooks several years ago. The effect of his marvelous crafted short and succinct narrative still lingers in my mind. This writer writes more about countries he has read in books than his native country Mexico. Yet, it can not be doubted the writing skills he showed in his works deserves him to be the next in line after the likes of Carlos Fuentes and Gabo. (Just talking about him, envelopes me already with this urge to get a new page and start yakking like Kerouac and start my own novel.)

Talking about Gabo, a rather new selection of books are presented in my Picks. There is only one book among these three (or four?) that I still have to read: Marquez: Tales Beyond Solitude. I don’t know whether this is the second installment already of the trilogy of his autobiography. I have read already his Live to Tell the Tale – the supposed first installment. The rest that I’m promoting here are books that are part already of my collection and blueprint.

Of course, who would forget Carlos Castaneda? A favorite writer of mine, though I’m sad that he is more known as a promoter of drug use to achieve wisdom than what he actually prescribes. I still have to read these books. And probably, I would be one of the first who will purchase these books straight from my Picks.

I also picked Don Miguel Ruiz’s Four Agreements. This book, though short of going beyond why the four agreements that he states in the books are necessities to see the truth, it is still invaluable for common people who wish personal freedom and get the stance of a warrior in this so domesticated world we are in.

I cannot emphasize more that the books in my Picks are solid collection to speak of. I’m just happy and excited that these books graced my blog.

Drat!!! I forgot to include Kerouac's On the Road. Nevermind. As soon as My Picks is changed, his will be included. Oh, surely the Subterraneans will also be there.

Earn by Blogging

Since I’m in the mode of promoting everything that has something to do with blogging and webhosting, I recently found a good way on making bucks out of this hobby everybody is all agog with for the last several years now. The most common question that every individual involved in online activities is how can he squeeze money from what he does on the Internet.

There have been thousands of articles circulating on the World Wide Web trying to answer this question. I myself have stumbled on different remedies offered by those who have been for sometime working in the net.

There are of course big deals of making money online by selling products and services. There are too many writing opportunities that await those who are inclined to make bucks by being commissioned to write web copies and articles and even academic papers for some companies and students.

Now for those who simply enjoy making a post on their blogs, the answer to the question of money seems remote. Nevertheless, pure bloggers need not despair from this seemingly obvious reality.

There is a company who promises to solve this problem for you. This is payperpost. Bloggers now have the opportunity to be paid by merely posting something on their sites.

Check again the cut ads (the whole picture just wouldn’t fit in my sidebar window) and visit their site. Go ahead, there is no harm in trying to be financially-motivated every now and then.

Happy blogging.

Web Hosting for Bloggers and Traditional Companies Alike

I’m thinking that there are many professional bloggers out there who are entertaining the idea of setting up, finally, a site of their own. They most probably have able to create a niche for their thoughts in the blogosphere. They in all likelihood have built and are now enjoying a relative good traffic for their blogs. They are pondering that the next probable and feasible step to take now is to get a domain on the internet which they can truly say they own.

To address this need – and probably demand – I put up several enticing web host providers in this personal blog. From this array of web hosting firms they can choose the best that will suit their needs.

Take note also that there are web host providers here that are best for serious business companies taking the benefits and potential of having an online site for selling their products. These entities can also use the list to pick what web hosting provider suits their e-commerce needs.

Just look at the left side of this window and take a good look at the animated links to these web hosts companies. It does not hurt to shop around. So just try to get a glimpse of what they offer.

I myself will take this step anytime soon. Provided I know already how to transfer the money from my bank account (which is empty right now…lol) to Paypal to facilitate the payment to my chosen web host.

Revisited: Vigilante

They have been going on like this for several hours now. He in mad pursuit of the other man who leads him circling around, into the intricacies of rush-hour traffic along EDSA and the boulevard to the dreariness and filth along the road beneath the LRT tracks, to the maze-like streets of the Manila Metropolis. Blaring horns, shimmying motor cars, passengers sweating profusely waiting for the vehicles to move on with eyes fixed nowhere, with the heat of carbon monoxide fumes mixed in mélange under an overcast sky. Everything is a damned vicious cycle of frustrated pursuit. Whenever he would run at an accelerated speed good enough to collar the other man, the latter showing slowness in its pace, when opportunity stares at him in the face, when an outstretched hands could grab the other man by the shoulder, pull him to a stop, or thrust him, aikido style, the other man's momentum flinging himself to stumble, it is just then that there happens an automatic reversal in their speed, inversely proportionate; as his speed plummets the other man gains speed. It is as if everything were scripted, controlled, written and directed by an invisible hand, and the specter could be hiding somewhere behind the mass of gray clouds above. A couple of times he has lost sight of the other man, and each time he would dart, a great jump, onto corrugated iron roofs of houses and top decks of buildings, reconnoitering under the bleary, dim sky, always spotting the other man far ahead, towering a hundred feet over miniature houses and buildings. The moment he spots the other man, the moment all things around the other man start to swell centrifugally, hiding the latter from his view once more. But by then, he knows already where the other man is, and on again the damned pursuit. This time the other man has led him to a dimly lighted asphalted street, barren of cars and plying jeepneys, and sparse with people. Night and darkness has enveloped the city; the sky's hue pitch black. Along the side street, an old white-haired Chinese businessman stands behind his two sons pulling down the metal shutters of their cheap recording store. The old man turns around, and gives him a death-like stare, mocking and sarcastic. The other man has slipped into one of the narrow alleys. He follows and finds the path leads to a wet and dry market. He catches a glimpse of the other man, across the closed stalls, veering toward one the narrow aisles. With the time gap between him and the other man, the other man could have had managed to get away and escape his sight, totally leaving him, but why is the other man run like as if goosing him, as if the other man, though running away, were making sure he does not lose sight of him. With his service .45 caliber pistol cocked now, he sprints along the market aisles carpeted by mud to where the other man has run. He ends up at the back entrance of the market, opening to a cramped, crowded squatter residential area, where children, men and women squatted on the gutters, huddled in groups and giggling in a devilish grin. The other man is nowhere in sight. He scans the direction the other could have gone, but what attracted him is the wake in the middle of the narrow street, the brass-colored coffin lies at the center. The yellow-green canvas perched on top, covers it from a soft evening drizzle. He strides toward the coffin, as if magnetized by it, as if his questions could be answered with what lies in it. He peers cautiously at the coffin. His balls tightens, prostate aches in pain, as he sees himself, or what could be his clone, lying prostrate in it; blanched, mouth agape that shows a stiff tongue, and has the smell of --- Death.

Pacman's Punch that did it

This entry concerning the recent demolition job by Manny Pacquiao to defeat David Diaz seems late. It is also a late post to state the euphoria regarding the post-fight party by Pacman with KG and the rest of the 2008 NBA Champions Boston Celtics. The statistics on how many people watched Pacquiao and the Celtics celebrated on YouTube is enough to state the obvious.

What really concerns me is the reporting done on the fight which I read on several sites. I myself watched the fight so basically I can distinguish who has the real knowledge regarding boxing. What surprised me really is how several old sport writers named the punch that sent Diaz kissing the canvas. One said it was a left jab. Another a left straight. While most got it right when they write a left hook. I’m just wondering where on earth do these sports writers came from who said it was a left jab or a left straight.

Anyway for me, a more descriptive, literary description of the punch would be: a short left snap-hook punch. (Put a wide grin here, a la Farina.)

Kerouac’s On the Road

Back in school, reading was considered an activity for geeks and outcasts. But that changed for me after an accidental discovery of a copy of Jack Kerouac’s On the Road on my cousin’s bookshelf full of computer books. On the Road is an adrenalin rush of unadulterated yakking by Kerouac, written in two weeks while high on benzendrine pills.

Who was there before the hipsters? Beatniks and their pack of adventure-driven contemporaries roaring to get themselves a taste of travel, pure air, what it means to be living — what life is all about. On the Road is a good travel companion just in case you want a kick of that same adrenalin rush, almost as good as hitting the road yourself.

Note: Of course, those who are regular readers of this blog know that I did not find On the Road on my cousin's bookshelves. I got the book after four years of waiting for it to be available in the bookstores, especially in Powerbooks. Nevertheless, this post is something I've ghost-written for dethroner.com under the name of mike mons which I told my middle-man should be changed to yuri at least. Unfortunately, I did not get any pay for the work.