Taxes

(this essay was written at around November-December 2006 and was originally published in the 6th issue (released February 2007) of my hardcore-punk/personal fanzine, Incidental Afterthought. This version is "slightly" different to what I had put in IA#6..Anyway....Why put this shit here? I just felt tremendously compelled to do so...and oh, this piece is dedicated to Filipino politicians.)

Taxes are a fucking pain in the ass. Getting my salary - after taxes - during payday is one of my most frustrating days in a month. And what do I, or should I say we, the taxpayers, get out of this fucking burden? None. Shit, not even a small fucking credit. Case in point: a renovation in a public place, say, a park. There are many places here in Manila that are renovated like shit but once it's finished, what will one see? A fucking tarpaulin with a note saying, "this is where your taxes go." FUCK the motherfucker who ordered to put it there, fuck them sons of bitches. Why can't they just give direct credit to taxpayers? Worst, why say it in a sarcastic tone? Fuck them all.

It would have been better if the note read, "this project/renovation was done entirely with tax-payers money." Instead, one will see the aforementioned "this is where your taxes go" note and a huge dumb-ass fucking photo of the politician who "orchestrated" the renovation of the place and more often than not, a note below the stupid photo will read, "this project was done with the efforts of Mayor Shitface Asswipe or Councilor Cretin." Fuck that shit, man. Done with the efforts of a rich shithead? Come on, whose money was used to finance the project? My money. Our money. The taxpayers' money. Our efforts.

Who orchestrated who, motherfuckers?

I remember reading an essay of Conrado De Quiros, perhaps the greatest newspaper writer in the Philippines in the 2000's; the essay said (though I don't quote him verbatim) that the best non-violent protest a working member (i.e. me, you, most of us…) of society can make against a corrupt president/government is by not paying taxes. That would be so fucking effective and beneficial to the average working taxpayer. Why? Then the money used by Bullshit Politicians (thank you, Propagandhi) for their extravagant personal expenses will run out and their uselessness will be exposed.

So the next time you see a tarpaulin with a fucking bloated Adobe-blasted photo of a filthy politician in a renovated public place with the note "this is where your taxes go" bullshit on it, it's alright to feel betrayed and fucked-over, but be proud (if you're a taxpayer) because your money was used for a beneficial public project, even if a rich useless piece of shit gets the credit…

Fervently Stolid

"Everyone makes one mistake / One more time for old time's sake / One more time before the feeling fades / One that's born of memories / One more bruise you gave to me / One more test just how much can I take? / You're not the one, but you're the only one / Who can make me feel like this"
- The One, Foo Fighters

The migraines are all I have got. Fucking mental goads. They slowly mindfuck me and the effects are well written all over my face. All the time. But as I've said, them migraines are all I've got. They don't give me inspiring or positive or encouraging bullshit. They give me the ugly truth. They are the living reminders that I am fucked up but by being fucked up, I am still....well, fucked up, big time.

Then again, it's a moot point, an argument not worth supporting. For someone who has an IQ of 67, I did something extraordinary today. I've decided that the two sides of my brain need to have a meeting, an important huddle to straighten shit out. They need to brainstorm. They need to agree that what I want isn't what I need but somehow I badly fucking want to believe that I need the one I can't have, even if I am aware what I'm feeling is really misleading, imbecilic, and utterly brainless.

An astral projection gone the way of an aneurysm.

When a tree falls in the forest then levitates but there's no one to see it, does it really matter? When words form in your head and blurt out from your mouth and land on uninterested ears, does it matter? Was the ending more important than the show itself? That's a trick question, actually. It's like the chicken-egg question; your answer only leads to more questions. And arguments.

So does a great start compensate for a lousy and abrupt ending?

Maybe.

Could be.

Clonk. Clonk. THUMP. That was my left brain clobbering my right brain.

Quote

"Tequila is the Brown Man's conspiracy to bring the White Man down." - Andy O'Brien, during a semi-chaotic binge on the wee hours of June 15, 2007...some hours before my final interview for my current job/company.

Lust For Coffee

It's been pretty fucking weird lately. Scorching hot temperature at daytime only to fucking rain heavily at night. Absurd. It's like an inside joke by an imaginary God, one that only He can understand.

The Dunkin Donuts on Taft Avenue in Manila, the one across the Philippine General Hospital, is the best place to get brewed coffee (tolerable) and coupla donuts at a ridiculously cheap price (35.00 pesos) any fucking time; however, most importantly, it's about 3,500 footsteps away from my apartment, pretty near by my walking standards.

Midnight, May 26. It's raining, hard. I haven't eaten anything since, like, fucking forever. Of course, I am pissed. I have been unemployed for 2 months and when you're broke, money seems to multiply its value by the hundreds. Good thing I am used to long-distance walking; commuting seems like a fairy tale privilege when you're fucking broke. Tonight, I find myself in Caloocan City, about an hour's jeepney commute-ride away from Manila. I flag a jeepney and wallowed in its temporary respite from the cold and wetness of the heavy downpour.

30 minutes or so later, I finally arrive at the Dunkin Donuts across the PGH. I have a hundred pesos, which was actually coupla hundred a day ago. My friend Albert Repeater paid half of his debt to me recently and now, I am at the mercy of my last dough. I ordered a cup of coffee, regular size, and two chocolate donuts. I tried - again - to become a vegetarian the week before but it seems that I still won't be able to swore off dairy shit. My financial situation painfully made it crystal clear.

I work my way on the first donut. It tasted like a buffet serving in a diplomat's house party. The coffee served like a mental tranquilizer. It was perfect. Given the pouring condition outside, the coffee tasted something impossible to describe, something beyond words could fathom. I finish the donut and start on the second one. My cup was 1/4 less coffee now, but thankfully, it's still hot. I finish the second donut. It felt unbelievably good.

Then reality stung again. I was broke but somehow, I had to go on.

To pound on shit.

HARD.

I slowly drank the coffee and savored it lustfully. I finished it in about 8 minutes.

It's now half past midnight. My favorite time of the day. The city outside is still being ravaged by the furious and merciless rain. Somehow, my anger dissipated. To this day, it never ceases to amaze me on what a hot cup of coffee can do to one's erratic fucking mood.

Spider Man 3 a.k.a. crap (except for the Venom parts)

When Hollywood feeds the CGI-bloated "movie-goers" all over the world, more often than not, the end result, no matter how stupidly and intelectually offensive it is (i.e. "Hulk," the one with Eric Banana), is being regarded as, gawd, good.

2007 saw another good example of this. Spider Man 3. I knew I was going to expect a CGI-fuckfest with this one when I went to see it. So why did I went? One word: Venom.

I didn't like the fucking thing, not one bit except when Venom's parts were shown. I like Venom. And I hate this fucking movie. The plot sucks, the CGI is eye-sore inducing and the fucking actors sucked, big time.

I wonder what makes people (producers) create expensive pieces of shit like this. What if the money spent making this film was used instead in helping dirt poor countries (like Africa, Afghanistan, etc.), then...you get my drift.

I hate(d) this fucking piece of shit. You wanna see a good film? Go see "Notes On A Scandal," starring Judi Dench and Cate Blanchett and you'll see that a good film DOES NOT FUCKING NEED computer shite enhancements to be GOOD, it needs GOOD actors.

Miami Heat

The 2007 NBA Playoffs saw the reigning champs get swept by the Chicago Bulls. WTF happend?

Your guess is as good as mine.