The Mail Box

[pussycatdoll]

Ang saya mong kasama kahit nuknukan ka ng "kulit"! Sana maulit muli balang araw. Ang hirap lang kasi ngayon, e. Pareho tayong wala sa timing. Hindi bale, pag napadpad ako ulit diyan sa inyo, lalabas ulit tayo, at tignan na lang natin kung hanggang saan tayo hahantong.

 

Ingat ka lagi, kaibigan!

[LostCommand]

Feb - 1975 - in the hinterland

 

You are forever young.

 

(deleting post) - cloak and dagger, cover and camouflage, true colours not to show,

 

LC

Edited January 28, 2007 by LostCommand

[LostCommand]

In this entire complex, crown jewel and cornerstone of our business in this country, there are about 400 contracted staff, and about 250 rank and file and officers. And there are less than 10 persons here who can outrank me. Of which half would be off-site at any given time. Do not be deceived by my young face and my crewcut.

 

If anytime I fancy I should decide to swagger into the plant with dated-looking Ray-Bans, brown calf-high leather boots, fitted firejacket, faded jeans, and original decade-old company ID, unpolished, unshaven, and uncaring, it is because I want to. If you do not like that, well, I do not like you. And if I do not like you, you will not be around for very long. My fingers reach even from afar. Especially to middle-aged men of lesser rank than mine. How do you like to be assigned to Zamboanga, you know, ala Charlie D?

 

Now you know me.

 

Who are you? Who the hell are you?

 

LC

Edited January 21, 2007 by LostCommand

[iwalkalone]

ikaw...tumahan ka na...sabi nga ng mom ko nung nabubuhay pa sya...never cry over spilled milk

 

ikaw naman labs...kumilos ka na...late ka na...mababawasan nanaman pang date natin nyan eh...pano na yung jacuzzi natin?

 

ako...mag log out ka na...tumigil ka na rin kaka download para sa sims mo...ubos na nga memory ng pc mo eh...sira ka talaga...okey na yan...yosi lang naman hanap mo diba?....tama na yan...maglinis ka na ng lungga mo...dami mo pang huhugasan...haha...

 

i think you're slowly getting there....slowly finding the peace that was there before...i hope you never lose track...just... just hang on..hold on.....makakabalik ka rin sa dati....pa unti-unti...

[Barenaked-NoMre]

Wow!

 

The LONG wait was well WORTH it ...

 

The job's challenging.

 

My boss(es) are just firing at me from all directions.

 

I can handle it.

 

That's what my mind mapping and multi-tasking is for ... ;-P

 

Cool!

 

[chipmaker]

old man,

 

it was great to see you again today. it's been what? more than two months since we've last seen each other? you look good. the eyebags are still there, and it seems there are more whites than grays in your hair now, but the aura! looks like the weight of two planets have been lifted off from your shoulders.

 

things have changed since you've left. a lot. everybody's touting their buzzwords. process. change. indicators. the six of us, your grandchildren, have been silent witnesses to the organizational carnage. this will pass, i say to my peers. this will pass. old man, you've taught us well. i will never forget what you taught us. keep your head low, but make sure you can still see what's going on.

 

it's already 1:03 in the morning. a couple of more hours until we begin how we'll plan to bring our paths together again. i look forward to breakfast with you later, and more to our trip to china next week.

 

like i've told you before, even before this carnage happened, my loyalty rests with you.

[Wyld]

 

Para sa yo.

 

Dalawang kahon ng tsokolate. Natatanging alaala na minsan, sumagi ka sa aking buhay.

Di ko makuhang buksan ang kahon. Di ko makuhang pilasin ang magandang balot.

Di ko makuhang kagatin, lasapin, namnamin.

Katakataka yan... dahil alam naman ng lahat na di maaring lumipas ang araw na di nadadantayan ng tsokolate ang aking mga labi.

 

Bakit nga kaya hanggang ngayon ay nasa magandang supot pa din ang mga tsokolateng bigay mo.

Bakit kaya nakapanghihinayang buksan ... di ko magawa.

Di kaya dahil alam kong maaring iyon na ang huling alaala mo sa akin.

Di kaya dahil alam kong ...

 

Ewan.

Hindi ko na alam ano ang alam ko.

Sana bago humulas ang tsokolate, bago mawala ang tamis...

Sana makuha ko syang kagatin, lasapin, namnamin.

 

Sana.

 

-Ako pa din.

[missmanners]

last night i decided to walk to work. it's not a long walk. but it's not the easiest one. there's an uphill that turned out harder than it looks... and of course, the traffic which spewed pollution in all directions. i had felt i needed to walk. i've been feeling i need to walk a lot nowadays. instead of being burdened by my reliance on my car, now i feel like i can move about without it. i don't know where this motivation is coming from. or maybe it's just my restlessness metamorphosing?

 

maybe it's escape. a futile one. i tried to escape but i can't. i've cleaned out my house, my car. rearranged everything i could. formed new habits. let go of the ones that were too painful. even made new friends. took up a hobby. anything, everything. but it continues to hurt.

 

the hurt doesn't even come from the betrayal anymore. it comes from the loss.

[willow_boy]

Kami na ang bahala sa "kanila".

Edited January 23, 2007 by willow_boy

[David Aames]

Nanahimik na ako, ano ba naman out of no where, para kang mushroom na bigla na lang ulit susulpot pagkatapos ng 2 dekada. Madami nang nagbago sa atin, may anak ka na walang asawa, hiwalay naman ako hano ba nangyari?! Anak ng pitong kuba naman, ang sarap ng walang iniisip na personal masaya na ako at puro trabaho na lang naiisip ko tapos eto ka ngayon nangangamusta at sinasabi mong hiniwalayan mo tatay ng anak mo?! Eh hindi ko naman alam in the first place na nag kaanak ka na pala! Tapos tatanungin mo ako if i ever married ade oo alangan namang intayin kita eh bigla ka na lang nawala at nde na nagparamdam tapos babalik ka after all these years?!

 

Masaya na ako, alam ko maganda ka pa rin, kahit ilang viagra pa ibigay mo sa kin nde na ata ako maaakit sayo tulad ng dati dahil nagsawa na ako sa totoo lang. Ewan ko its hard to get a hard on lately even if the view's so hot it drives 20 year olds wild and galloping with their penises at hand. Pardon my french

 

Hay! ayokong sumigaw ayokong matawa at nag text ka sana talaga nde ka na nagparamdam, dahil ikaw na rin minsan nagsabi sa kin, "I got no reason para magparamdam sayo." Bullshit ka tapos eto ka nagpaparamdam?! Manigas kang mag starbucks mag isa mo, tapos ko na at nakuha ko na ung planner ko kaya neknek mo!

[KristinLavransdatr]

the former president of my university has just paid me a visit. asking to learn from me. how cool can that be! it was amazingly surreal. he at MY office.

 

he asked me about my professors in college and he told me bits and pieces about them. that my favorite teacher was his technical and speech writer (as he was not a good writer). that professor Y, one of my teachers, was responsible in making him unpopular in the university. etc. etc. oh, man!

 

that he is proud of me. that i've come this far. oh, man!

 

and i was starstruck. such brilliance and intelligence!

 

i was humbled that he asked questions, questions that are as basic as my daily chore. and he listened like a child learning things for the first time.

 

nothing can be better than this. not even sex.

[Mirage_hankvoyager]

Im soooo pissed off with two persons right now!! Wanna go home!!

[spongebobby]

there you are. still with your exaggerated sense of self-importance. kawawa ka naman.

 

yours is the story of the princess and the pea. you are fiona the princess and your brain is the pea.

Edited January 25, 2007 by spongebobby

[Wyld]

Litte Miss NutCase:

 

Its funny where a few clicks of a mouse button can bring me. And the wonders it can help me discover.

 

So. Youre still taking potshots at me huh? LOL, girl between you and me, with a straight face, I can tell you who does not have her head screwed on straight.

 

Gollybanana, if I were to recount each and every false story you ever told people about you and your life... it would make a pretty sad telenovela. If I were to recount each time you said you were gonna off yourself... or each time you told a lie that was so blatant it was laughable, id be recounting between now and Easter (of next year). I know stuff about you that you wont ever imagine I knew.

 

So if I were you, id be very careful. Very very careful. Im not pissed... yet. Pray it stays that way.

 

-W

 

[KristinLavransdatr]

that i'm the queen bitch of the universe is flattering. thanks, m--! but save old movie lines to lower grade hags of the cosmos.

 

and yes, my self-worth is worth me. if your hate is my worth to you, so be it. you are not as worthless as you think you are. look, i even spare a few moments to look your way, lest you die without my donut-centavo attention.

 

how do you express ecstasy? i don't know. but this is how i express mine: thoughtless sentences, poor english, bad and uncreative, pathetically cliche'd expressions in paragraphs i disowned the moment i read them the next time.

 

happiness thinks not. envy eats ones stomach. with bloodshot eyes behind green monster's eyeballs. and your sockets kiss the ground because your ass defies or is beyond any form of kissing.

 

and oh, why don't you just eat my shorts?

Edited January 26, 2007 by KristinLavransdatr

[spongebobby]

hmmm. my words seem to have affected an unintended and unexpected subject. this warrants an apology.

 

dear princess fiona,

 

i'm sorry i should've known you're far beyond compare. yes you are fat. yes you are green. during daytime, though you're a treat to be seen.

 

what's that--i should've thought of donkey? you're mean. no, definitely not. am not calling anyone an arse.

 

and i'm really sorry. you with the gift of true love deserves better. you chose your hubby over charming, remember? and please give my regards to shrek. tell him that he should give the krabby patties a try. it may even help you have kids. the world is not green enough, you know.

 

all the best,

spongie

 

ps when will you join nickstudio? jimmy neutron is such a dork--he won't lend me his proton blaster!

[not your ordinary girl09]

its time im letting you go......

[willow_boy]

It's hard living when one is not in his natural habitat.

Edited January 26, 2007 by willow_boy

[KristinLavransdatr]

i don't apologize for all that's happening well this way. i don't apologize for shamelessly saying it so. i believe i deserve to call spade a spade, ass as ass. you shameful, ungrateful imperfection, you! be thankful that you breathe - still. i am. and when i am given more than fresh air, i get ecstatic and tell, nay shout to the world about it. bad english or not.

 

your life must have been a lonely routine of minutes and hours and days. that you've forgotten to see both the beautiful and the ugly. the ugly that makes the beautiful one great reason to celebrate. and how do you celebrate it? do you lie? do you just keep it to yourself? thinking -- oh, people, might think badly of me... i should...ah...shut up.

 

no, you don't keep it to yourself. you splash drainage water on other people's parade. because your life lately has been nowhere but under a cloud, covered in dust. tsk!

Edited January 27, 2007 by KristinLavransdatr

[willow_boy]

D, (Summer of '87)

 

Crazy,

I'm crazy for feeling so lonely

I'm crazy,

Crazy for feeling so blue.

I knew

You'd love me as long as you wanted

And then someday

You'd leave me for somebody new.

 

Worry,

Why do I let myself worry?

Wond'ring,

What in the world did I do?

Crazy

For thinking that my love could hold you

I'm crazy for trying

And crazy for crying

And I'm crazy for loving you.

 

Crazy

For thinking that my love could hold you;

I'm crazy for trying

And crazy for crying

And I'm crazy for loving you.

[Wyld]

Little Miss NutCase...

 

Etong piso bumili ka ng buhay ng di ka nakikibuhay sa buhay ng me buhay.

 

Isa ka talagang batikang nutcase. LOL.

 

Pathetic.

 

-W

[LostCommand]

We are off to the ancient historic city next week, older than even Manila; those pimps our bosses have decided it is time for us to again service these black gold bloated customers, who are in trouble once more. And call upon us as usual.

 

I however do not agree to deliver them the cutting edge subtle technology we ourselves would have instinctively desired, as hard-core engineers, to solve their serious operating issues most efficiently. For they are a government company and have other bottomlines, and need other solutions less subtle.

 

We'll give them the 1970's solution. Fully manual control. Daily monitoring using pen and paper logsheets. Direct management intervention everywhere. Rigid check and balance system. Daily sign off on work instructions. More staff necessarily employed; strength found in ever enlarging delegations. Rigid command and control. Clumsy. Bureaucratic. Sounds familiar? That's because that is how governments run.

 

That is how governments are comfortable.

 

The odd gifted ones among them are spread thin. And they may be wide readers, but their depths are likely/necessarily spread shallow. They do not know what the written words those tech manuals and management books were trying to tell them, but merely regurgitate facts they have read, in better form perhaps, but mere regurgitation and no added value. So we will quietly dumb down our solution to the 70's level. And they will praise us for directness! We will use indirect parables to describe it, and they may praise us for wisdom!

 

Ah, the masses...

 

With this solution, there will be inefficencies. They will react more slowly. They will be incapable of rapid movement, to take advantage of commercial developments. But this low tech solution will also prevent them from making many serious mistakes. And that is the first bottomline, really; to stop them from making further serious mistakes.

 

Ah, the masses...

 

You are right, this is not an engineering solution, this is a management one. But, we are managers too, are we not? Engineers can do management, at least easier than managers can do engineering. Much easier.

 

You are right, years later they may complain to us that they were not given the latest tech, but really, had we given them the automated system, they would have kept themselves lazy to the point that they would not have even done basic reality checks, relying blindly instead on deux ex machina to keep their operations going. They would not have absorbed the subtle technology well, or even at all, and they would be even worse off than the blundering rabble they are today.

 

They wouldn't even know they were in trouble until that moment all their expensive machinery unaccountably crashes to melted ruins, harvesting many souls with it.

 

So we start them from the hardship, and only later move them to the subtle. It is all about evolving. What is best for them now, may not be what they want now. But that solution is what they need, so we inflict it on them. In the same way that we teach our children the simple truth, before the subtler truths. They will appreciate us too, someday.

 

Perhaps, the challenge to us with this client is not to inflict sea-changes, but merely to re-start and hasten their evolution. Without missing the necessary steps. Talk to my countrymen, trying to get unstuck in their evolution.

 

And finally, you are right again. We are ultimately helping our own competition sharpen their swords. And they may... nay, they will, use these swords against us someday. So you ask, why would our bosses send us out to improve the lot of our very own opponents?

 

For that, mi amigo, I have no clear answer. Perhaps, you and I, and our bosses, are also evolving?

 

"Ah, you masses...."

 

 

LC

[chiquezee]

Dear Peter,

 

I write you with the intent of quelling the disturbance that you are feeling, and have not intended to hide, rather have expressed over and over again. I do not understand why you need to be bewildered by what you are beginning to discover. I do not know why you even take the time to bother, only to fume in disappointment and perhaps, disdain. But I am sparing a few precious moments to address you for I do not want to hear anymore how astonished and affected you apparently are …

 

You do not know me. You do not know where from I may be coming. You know not a single bit about me except that which I allow you, and the rest to see. How much of it is actually true, or how much is embellished, if at all, to protect identities? You do not even have the slightest idea. Where does the figures begin to take form and when are the prose unsullied and naked? You cannot say. You have no capacity to determine, much less discern. For I remain who I am only to me. You do not know me.

 

If I wish to remain incognito and feel comfortable under the guise of shadows and enjoy a masquerade, what is it to you? Why are you bothered by the fact that I am apparently not turning out to be what you thought I was? Or am I really not? Even that, you can only surmise based on the images you yourself created. If at all, you are forgetting the only thing you know about me. I am a writer. I create worlds and let people move in them. I create myself, too.

 

I am a writer and I cannot be confined to somebody’s perceptions, definitely not yours. Do not limit me to expectations for I am a rebellious soul whose natural instinct is to turn left when everybody is turning right. Call it my utter loyalty to creativity, or perhaps, my disdain for the usual. I have often chosen to like lilac when somebody tells me they like red, for I choose not to be conformed to the majority. Liking red, as much as the others is not something I choose to accept. And to change my favors is simply being true to myself.

 

Do not even speak to me of your dead poets and writers whose words, in the end, are but quotes that will fly away with the wind and shall not be remembered anymore, lest I begin to tell you of the prophets of old whose words carry life and death and are attested to by the very fact of reality that surrounds us today. Then you will find yourself with nothing. Let us not get to that unfortunate circumstance. Preserve yourself.

 

Do not narrate to me litanies of names of people who are only as good as we want to perceive or romanticize them to be. Nor about their library of literature no matter how immortal, for what good do they do to you if you remain ignorant to the only Writing that banishes to dust every masterpiece ever written? Do their words bring life and salvation? Do your novelists and philosophers turn hearts into flesh, or harden the same? Tell me how much you gain in life by brandishing about the styles and substance of one writer from another? Or that by trying to impress people with how much you have read, be it as much as those that are in the Smithsonian library, you have uncovered the only truth you need to know to sustain your breath to eternity. I dare challenge you for I am a writer myself, and I can only write so much, and in the end, return to dust. I do not share your passion, though I appreciate them. There are essays that are far more immortal than what you wave to the ignorant. They are, in fact, divine.

 

Words, what are they, but there are words that will never pass away. There are promises that have long withstood seasons and kingdoms. Those, I hold on to. But you do not know that, for you do not know me.

 

You are forgetting, I am a writer, and that is the only thing you need to know.

 

No, Peter, you do not know about my passions and the reason why I strive to wake up everyday with a song in my heart. You do not know what I do every morning at the first tweak of consciousness. You do not know the last thing I do at night until sleep catches up with me. You do not know what I do in between, as I go through the day.

 

You have no idea what my heart’s desires are, nor what can be preoccupying my thoughts as I traverse through the fast lane of life, or what catches up with me when I slow down.

 

You do not know for what I kneel and bow my spirit, and travail in anguish until heaven opens its gates and finally extend a hand to dip some water onto my lips to quench the excruciating thirst.

 

You do not know the principles I live by, nor the values I stand for. You have not been able to look through me to know of my dreams and secrets. Nor have you heard of my confessions to know my sins.

 

You do not know what I do and what I do best. You know not my strengths and the weaknesses that render me inutile at times. Nor of what impresses me and leave me overwhelmed.

 

You do not know how much I can love, and how much I will give up for the people I love.

Or what brings tears to my eyes and what can make me smile.

What moves me and what passes me by unnoticed.

You do not know how I feel, what I feel.

 

You do not know my voice and will not recognize me though I stand under your nose.

How long is my hair? Of what color?

And my eyes, how intense are they?

My skin, is it fair? Is it flawed?

Do I move with much grace, or am I rigid and calculated?

 

You do not know about what I know, or even how I think.

About the paths I walk nor the places I visit.

About the languages I speak and the people I talk to.

Or the food I take and the air I breathe.

 

No, you do not know me nor of what I write or who I write about. No one but myself knows who I am. In the long run, I may even be a stranger to myself. Who will know, and when will we know, really? Only the potter who molds the clay can hold a claim to that. Not you, and not soon for you. Maybe even never, for you. But what does it matter? I remain who I am regardless of what you think or do not think. What you know or do not know does not change the fact of who I am.

 

Nothing comes to your mind about the details of the daily battles I wage against principalities for you to abhor the thought that I pick up sword like I pick up my spoon. You do not even know if I am more comfortable with chopsticks, than silverwares. (Or what battles I choose, what weapon I use, or how I prefer to die, for that matter.) You know not about the pleasure I take of seeing tulips and violets and fluttering butterflies for you to conclude that I cannot appreciate the gardens that the minstrel plucks the strings of his guitars for. You cannot know me or claim to know me simply by waiting upon the manifestation of my inspiration. How much of me is in them, you cannot tell.

 

You have no idea of the marathons I speak of, whether true or figurative, for I remain an image to you. A movie in the making. A novel in drafts. A song inked in crude staff. I have no flesh, not even a bone, for you to even conclude that there was none before, nor none below, of arrogance, or humility; of guilt or repentance; of anger or forgiveness; of caterpillars or dragons; of hymns or chants; of water or fire. You do not know me for you to judge me. Do not make that mistake lest you fall in a quagmire of quicksand where every effort to free yourself sinks you deeper.

 

You have not heard of the war I fight, how many victories I celebrate and how many defeats I grieve. You have not heard of the hurdles I jump, to win the race before everybody does. You do not know how fast I can run. You have no inkling of the drive that pushes me, nor what weighs my spirit down. You are clueless. Do not attempt to pretend that you can pass judgment on me. It is clear, you cannot.

 

Therefore, Peter, it is futile for you to be implying your distaste for the image you gathered, that which I did not even attempt to project. I write for my own selfish reason, and not for any soul in this forsaken corner. Just as much as I do not bother much about how others wish to make themselves known. I do not waste my time for I know better than to pick up words here and there and form a mirage that will disappear as rain falls down on the desert.

 

You may find yourself forever in pursuit and you do not even know what you are chasing. Tragic, that will be.

 

My intention, dear Peter, is not appease you or make you feel you have been vindicated. Only, like I said from the very beginning, that I wish to quell the disturbance you feel.

 

I shall not try to comfort you and tell you that I shall once again speak of melodic echoes and the spectrum of the rainbow. I will, when I want to. When the world I choose to create shall require of grasshoppers and dragonflies and dewdrops and tinkling jewels.

 

I shall also write of matters of interest to me, which may vary widely.

 

I shall write when I want to relive certain worlds, such as of pacing and over striding, and the discipline of rhythm and motion, of tartans and spikes, of winning and stumbling, perhaps.

 

I shall write, when I feel the urge to, of the ruins of Athens and the paved walks of Manhattan, and the rivers of Venice, and the Alps that I can only take a fleeting glimpse of. Or of whose hands I shook and what palaces I have been to, beside whom did I seat and have dinner with.

 

I shall write with intensity, when I wish to, and speak of how many dead bodies I have seen and the stench that never has left my senses, and has left an imprint in my adulterated mind.

 

I will write theories and philosophies when I feel the inspiration to, whether or not I believe in them or simply want to negate them.

 

All these, and more, I will write about when I choose to, not for you, nor anybody, but for myself. Goodness, what do I care about what other people think when I remain under the shadow of a chickee name? I care only to be known by the people who already knows me, and who strive to know me better. In that case, I shall strive to make myself known, too. Even then, what they perceive of me does not and cannot change an iota of truth of who I am and how I know myself. The potter holds exclusive claim to that.

 

Peter, it is utterly vain. It is useless. You do not have to feel anything towards me or what I write about. Spare yourself the burden and the sentiments that may perhaps be draining a bit of energy from you, robbing you of a minute of happiness, or a second of peace.

 

For you do not know me, and never will.

 

 

I remain,

C.

Edited January 28, 2007 by chiquezee

[chiquezee]

A -

 

Its not as bad as it looks. It could have been worse. Take me for instance, half-deprived, burnt on one side (flip me over!), they lead me to the water, but they do not let me drink. They bring me to bed, but they do not let me sleep. Such is not your case.

 

All will be well. It takes a faith as small as a mustard seed to move mountains.

 

Trust is such a rarity these days.

 

- C

[chiquezee]

Today, this hour, its been three months. Friends said I should take some time off, allow myself to wallow in a little bit of depression, and celebrate humanity. But that's not what you would have wanted. That is why I have not stopped going about my days as if it were the same.

 

Ten years ago, when one of us decided to stop fighting, I learned that there was such a thing as irresponsible death. Those whose hair where white with wisdom said that an untimely demise, of destiny not being fulfilled, was a careless irresponsibility. I wanted to say the same of you. I wanted to rush to where they said you were, shake you, and scream to your face that you could have been more careful because you knew there were so much more we needed to do. But I just went in my hotel room, flicked on the lights and looked around me as if to search for answers to questions I dared not ask. I could do nothing.

 

I could do nothing until now. How many times have I felt the urge to bawl and tear my clothes and put on sack cloth and pour ash upon my head in lamentation? How many times have I attempted to sit still and pull out from deep inside me a bucket of bitter anguish? I cannot. I begged the Lord to help me mourn over my loss, but I escape at the first sign of answer.

 

Even today, I cannot tell of what I really feel. You were the fourth, Iris. And the pain it brings is indescribable that I find no strength to even embrace it.

 

Why were you in a rush? There was no reason to, it was over for that day. As a matter of fact, the moment they told me about it, I was already wrapping up and sorting files in folders. You were supposed to be three hours away from your little darling...

 

They didn't want to tell me how tragic it was, but I put the pieces together. There was no escaping the sickle. Breath is fleeting, indeed. With us one time, gone the next. Who am I to challenge the author of your story?

 

One day, I shall collapse where ever I am and cry. I need to let it out one time. But not yet now. I will, for sure.

 

I remember the first time we sat together at the lobby of Waldorf Astoria in New York, seven years ago, at high noon. I will not forget the soft chuckle so common to you, as I count pennies to send a post card home. If I can send you a postcard now, to tell you what I feel, maybe I would... Then you'd laugh at the thought.

 

You shall be remembered, as you wish to be.

 

You are sorely missed by this one.