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Showing posts from December, 2007

The Year the Saint Broke the Wheel


It was a year like any other and a year like no other.

Just like last year: I was still without a full-time job; I still labored in my seventh solitude; went through the standard line-up of vacations from the start of the year till its end; burned my money on books and beer; went out with the same people; again got fat at midyear thereon; revived old dreams and saw them once again crash into pieces before my eyes; loved, lost, loved, lost; despaired; rebirth; death.

Eternal recurrence of the same--but with a difference. This time around, I knew everything was still going to recur or I did hope everything to repeat itself; and when you have developed that sense of how the same things come and go albeit in different guises, you no more find the march of time boring and vain than you welcome it like an expected guest.

Some might say that such an "outlook" spells a lack of hope for better things, a lack of faith, or in a word, pessimism. To be sure, that I know and wish that the s…

The Legend of the Other King Who Came too Early

Waiting for new stars

At the end of "The Madman" in The Gay Science Nietzsche writes in exasperation:
"I come too early,” he said. "I am not yet at the right time. This prodigious event is still on its way, and is traveling--it has not yet reached men's ears. Lightning and thunder need time, the light of the stars needs time, deeds need time, even after they are done, to be seen and heard. This deed is as yet further from them than the furthest star - and yet they have done it themselves!”
To arrive too early: initially and for the most part this means to come at a time when the important event which the coming came for has not yet come. Or it means that regardless of the preparations made and the anticipations felt for and of the event, it is to come to the admission that one can only prepare and anticipate and never willfully start the commencement of what comes. Or simpler, to arrive too early is the same as to not have arrived at all. In a word, to arrive ea…

The End of Philosophy

In the end it must be as it has always been:
great things are for the great,
abysses for the profound,
shudders and delicacies for the refined,
and, in sum,
all rare things for the rare.


The waiting has ended. 'Tis finished.

Enter a new light.

NY: On Sports and Fitness


Serious games. I have the highest respects for sportsmen. They are the ones who know how to live this petty life! Not only because they discovered the secret that life is a game--that all too -often said phrase nowise always misunderstood--but because they separate themselves from the rest by also knowing that such games must be played seriously. But that doesn't preclude games from being fun--on the contrary. Games become more entertaining for the player and spectator when they are played to heart: nothing is more delightful than seeing grown men playing with balls like their lives depended on it!

Competition does not mean the will to annihilate or embarrass or overpower the other player; it means summoning from yourself all that strength and focus to play the game as it should be played. The other competitor is just a mirror or a wall or a shadow: it could be any other--imagined or real. But what matters is whether or not you can overcome yourself and all your weaknesses not on…

NY: On Thinking


Fatigue, n. The condition of a philosopher after having considered human wisdom and virtue. (Ambrose Bierce)


On second winds. My only experience of a second wind is waking up from a long nap in the afternoon. Unalloyed and pure thinking comes with the coming of the wind.


On why it is harder to contemplate than to act. Why is it that the harder the thought, the more pleasurable it is to think? Not only do easy thinkers or writers bore me--they also make me tired more quickly and more sleepy. But the hard ones! They keep me up or make me make one more cup of coffee or make me sit in my chair longer; perhaps it is because I find them more entertaining. No philosopher has made me laugh more than Schopenhauer or Nietzsche.

But aside from that I love the abstract more than the real and the concept more than the thing itself. Not that I relish thinking about ideas but perhaps because I find the real too dirty and thus too unreal. Thus I have never had any interest in law and politics and g…

Notes from the Yellowground: On Women


On Manners. Whatever happened to women saying thank you? I have been noticing this recently and the more I see it, I have come to the conclusion that not only men but women have been becoming ungrateful when it comes to the smallest things--which translate to the biggest things. For instance: whenever I open or hold the door for women that I do not know in coffee shops or in other places, they do not acknowledge my gesture. Or when a lady asks if she can have a light and I do not just hand over the lighter but go out of my way to light her cigarette myself, the lady does not even say anything after--making me retreat or walk back with wonder as to what happened: Did she just assume that all men would be at her beck and call and would wait for her to summon them like slaves? I think I know why such women can be such snobs: because they have fallen prey into the belief that men no longer do anything for women without vested interests, that is, men can no longer be gentlemen anymore. So…

Notes from the Yellowground II


This is the third straight night I have had dinner in the house; the second night this week that I have not had a drink. Must be some kind of career high for me.

And dear reader, I hope you do not mind that this is the second such page where I just ramble and rant and type away without either blinking or thinking: this is an experiment, you see--an experiment for myself so that I may see one day how I write when I write in the way that everybody else writes; whether I also sound as bad or worse; whether I may one day find humor in my words or hate myself more than I already do; whether I can be honest to myself or remain a hypocrite like everybody else. But why postpone such knowing and judging to a future time, a time when this experiment shall be assessed?--because I do not read what I write; I get sick of it--like the way a chef does not eat what he prepared.

I give you a hint, dear reader, as how to read me in this naked way: read it aloud, read it proud--aloud like a madman singin…

Notes from the Yellowground

So this is how it looks to be home at night. Not bad.

Tonight is rest the liver night. Which strikes me as odd because on Mondays I usually drink out with the Monday is the New Friday Group composed of my remaining high school friends; or if we do not have a group meeting, you will find me in my second home, my happy place in Libis. What's with all these italicized words?--I hate italicization: because most use them to stress a point whereas the point is to be subtle in writing and let the reader find the point! Well, just the same, tonight I am home. And I cleaned out my closet.

Not my closet, really. Just the computer area and the study. I finally found the time to set-up the computers and printers in the newly-arranged second-floor work area. What's with these dashes, again? They are like the cables that I hate. I just have to say. They are today's eyesores--did someone say wireless? Yes, we have WIFI but you cannot do without the computer, printer, USB, extension, power,…

A Love Letter Unread

What if truth were a woman--what then?

You will never know that you saved me.

I was about to leave when you arrived. The story of my life. The trouble with hello is goodbye.

And, oh, how I wanted to stay. I asked the God if it were proper--if it were not too rash or too childish if I stay. I do not do such things, you see; I am as shy as a rose that does not want to be seen smiling. But too long have I waited, too long. And caution neither makes a hero nor a lover.

I admit: I stayed around because of you. I do not wish to say that I followed you as you gracefully walked past every shelf or turned corners like an angel--did you touch the ground? I cannot remember.

A vision--an eclipse of my heart. I stayed because my absent heart sought your silent presence. My despair yearned for the possibility of hope that you bring.

'Tis no matter to explain or to apologize. Some events change us not because they fall into plac…

The Lazarus Cometh

What a trash / To annihilate each decade.
Sylvia Plath, "Lady Lazarus"

It is not about resurrecting. It is a matter of dying.

Because to rise is easy: it is just forcing yourself against the resistance of gravity, holding on to that friction, willing your way up naturally.

But to fall is another physics. You have to befriend gravity--entrust your life to it--and see where it takes you (deeper, deeper, deeper). This fall, if it be a true fall and not merely a slip or an accident, must be done with faith. Faith in what? Faith in finding that inevitable support and ground where you can finally rest. Like the rock, all things wish to find their resting place and there stay for all eternity. This longing for eternity: no longer physics but already metaphysics.

Rising, like living, is just too much trouble. It betrays the selfishness that rears its ugly head in all your goodness and love--all for show. And you know that to be selfish is difficult: it goes against the intentionality of …

The Rock, the Sinner, the Devil and the Saint

by Nina Simone

Oh sinnerman, where you gonna run to
Sinnerman, where you gonna run to
Where you gunna run to
All on that day

Well, I run to the rock
Please hide me, I run to the rock
Please hide me, I run to the rock
Please hide me, lord
All on that day

Well, the rock cried out
I can't hide you, the rock cried out
I can't hide you, the rock cried out
I ain't gonna hide you, god
All on that day

I said rock, what's a matter with you rock
Don't you see I need you rock
Don't let down
All on that day

So I run to the river
It was bleedin', I run to the sea
It was bleedin', I run to the sea
It was bleedin'
All on that day

So I run to the river
It was boilin', I run to the sea
It was boilin', I run to the sea
It was boilin'
All on that day

So I run to the lord
Please help me, lord
Dont you see me prayin'
Dont you see me down here prayin'

But the lord said
Go to the devil, the lord said
Go to the devil
He said go to the devil
All on that day

So I ran to the devil
He w…