149 Bonifacio

"Kung ayaw mong alipinin, huwag kang kumilos na parang alipin"

-Caiingat Kayo, 1893

Taun-taon nalang ginugunita ang kaarawan ni atapang atao Andres Bonifacio, pero hanggang ngayon di pa rin naiintindihan ng kalakhan ng mga Pilipino ang tunay na diwa ng rebolusyong pinangunahan niya.

Ang rebolusyong 1896 o ang rebolusyon ng KKK (Kataas-taasan Kagalang-galang na Katipunan ng mga Anak ng Bayan) ang kauna-unahang kilusang naglayon ng pambansang demokrasya at pagkatapos ay magtatag ng  isang malayang gobyernong pamumunuan ng mga kapwa Indio. Sila rin ang kauna-unahang organisasyong pambansang tumangan ng armas para palayain ang Pilipinas mula sa mga Espanyol. 

Ang kaibahan ng KKK sa mga kilusang itinayo ng ibang mga nag-rebelde laban sa mga Espanyol tulad nila Diego Silang, Hermano Pule, Huseng Sisiw atbp. ay ang kanilang mga layunin, ang mga kilusang nabanggit ay naglayon lamang na labanan ang mga Espanyol, walang depinidong tunguhin pero mabigat ang pinaghugutan ng kanilang pag-aalsa, tulad ni Diego Silang, ang pinuno ng pinakamatagal na himagsikang naitala sa kasaysayan ng Pilipinas. Naghimagsik si Diego Silang sa kadahilanang ayaw ipina-libing sa Kristyanong paraan ang kanyang kapatid na nagpakamatay ng mga prayle, pero 'di tulad ni Bonifacio na nakita ang pagsasamantala ng mga Kastila sa mas malawak na aspeto, na ang lahat ng mga Indio sa lahat ng sulok ng Pilipinas ay napagsasamantalahan kaya't dapat magrebolusyon.

May ilang pagkakapareha din ngunit malaki ang pagkakaiba ng Kilusang Repormista nila Rizal, Del Pilar at Jaena sa KKK. Ang kilusang Propaganda ay naglayong magpasok ng mga esensyal na reporma tulad ng pagkakaroon ng kinatawan ng Pilipinas sa Spanish Cortes at ang pagkakaroon ng sekularisasyon sa mga parokya ng Pilipinas, ibig sabihin, payagang maging ganap na pari ang mga Pilipino. Pag-susulat at paglalathala ng mga sulatin ang pangunahing pamamaraan ng mga Propagandista.

Ang KKK ang nagbuo ng isang pambansang himagsikan na pumukaw sa mga rebeldeng naglunsad na ng kanilang malilitt na insureksyon sa iba't ibang dako ng bansa.

Mahalagang gunitain ang araw ng rebolusyonartong si Bonifacio, mahalagang maintindihan kung bakit mayroong nagpapatuloy ng kultura ng militansya, sa lansangan man o sa kabundukan.

Lumalakas ang kilusang rebolusyonaryo dahil lumalala ang pagsasamantala, dumarami ang nagiging militante dahil puro kagaguhan ang itinututo sa ating mga paaralan mga institusyon. 

Ang rebolusyon ni Bonifacio ay hindi nagtagumpay dahil inagaw ito ng mga Amerikano nangg ipagbili tayo ng mga Kastila sa mga ito. 

Ang rebolusyong sinimulan ay Bonifacio ay nagpapatuloy at nagsisilbing inspirasyon sa mga modernong katipunero. 

Origins of perspectives

 “Do not fear to be eccentric in opinion, for every opinion now accepted was once eccentric.” 
-Bertrand Russell

The idea is this, people starts talking when they think they know what they saying.

I think people don't know shit about anything.

They just pretend to, you know, just like the actors you see in the cinemas.

A script, some production designs and some pretty convincing emotions, you have a show.

The better they portray it, the better the show is, but, they were never original, they're just a copy of a copy of a copy somewhere, sometime.

They would just like other people to think that what they are doing is something new.

In fact, we are all just actors,  portraying our role in this slowly decaying world.

I myself never felt original, well, at least before, when I thought my ideas were pure and unsullied.

Now, that they had been polluted by what I call "everyday peopleness" and "shared dispositions", I can no longer say that my thoughts are pure, maybe the emotion that I get from it is pure, but never the thoughts.

Let me tell you the story about it.

I can make magnificent stories, stories not about people but about certain energies, energies that me myself cannot understand most of the time. I project them using words, spontaneity was the language and it was never dull and stale.

---

"There was an elephant on the face of a Phd.Professor, Acuna I think was his last name, He always wears a tie, always uptight and never straightforward about things, always using idioms to convey what he means, the elephant turned into a moon crater when a girl looked at me in the eye. It turned into a moon crater which crawled down to his neck and then punctured his lungs, which later on caused him his life. The crater was alive."

---

They were always aesthetically imaginative and colorful, they were always bright and never simple, available anytime I need them, not that I needed them, they were just there, waiting to be told.

There was also a time when words were not the exact means to express these energies. 

Then I knew about a struggle, I heard their voices, clamoring for something different, something original. 

That was the time I found out that even I was never original, the energies that I once thought cannot be put into words are now in clear, simple words aligned with the motion of defiance and revolt, the words swayed and danced in the tone of rightful violence. This was a major epiphany, one that happens rarely, for some, never.

I took refuge with words and ideas, they were like friends who are connected so deeply and dearly that when the former leaves, the latter would be left dry and unsaid.

They seldom came after the epiphany, but when they do, they pour. I use to think of them as colorful balls from a pool ball, you know, the one that you use to play in amusement parks. They usually come in bright, blissful colors, yeah sometimes dark and brutal, but I don't really care about their descriptions, as long as they come. After all, these words are not from me, they are just words, copied, reprinted and then copied again, century after century, civilization after civilization, they are just products of the collective effort of human folly to satisfy their eternal urge to be understood.

I guess that's why people write books, to be understood, to convert their tiny little ideas into words which can penetrate, destroy or rebuild a soul.

Now that my idea of being original was annihilated, I can now write. 

I now realize that the idea of being original was erroneous, that's why it disturbed me to the core.

Now, I can peacefully write about manufactured, mass-produced lies, now I can write about things that only exists in my head, now I can write about the characters within the confine of my profanity, now, I can write about the tower of babel and how it ruined humanity, I can now write about my ego and how it complicated a lot of things in my life.

Finally, I can write.

We are all wankers

Amelie, 2001

Books are like women. 

They both have introductions, body and endings. 

You can put them down once you get bored or tired of it, pick up another one and enjoy a different story then get back to the one you didn't finish, that is if you can still find it, you know, sometimes you misplace things. 

All of them has their own distinct endings, some tragic, some blissful, some mundane, some just ends without you noticing it, no periods, no exclamation points, no commas, no nothing. 

Their story need not to be neither mysterious nor conventional, they just need to have a story. 

They need not to be neither complex nor dense, again they just need to have a story.

You get fascinated for a time and then be bored as hell.

The more interesting their story gets, the more you get involved.

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“Live the full life of the mind, exhilarated by new ideas, intoxicated by the romance of the unusual.” 

-Ernest Hemingway

Quick, let's go down deep the rabbit hole!

A Filipino being executed during the Filipino-American war

We are your most creative, passionate, militant youth, clamoring for significant change and the installation of a just and peaceful society.

We are your sharpest youth, aimed at you, fascist fucks who always can try to control us.

We are your youth, disgusted of how this country is runned by crooks and fancy-clothed thieves.

We are your most intelligent youth, we see through your tricks and we will never bow down to your modern stupidity.

       I call on the names of our revolutionary ancestors,

Andres Bonifacio

 Emilio Jacinto

Macario Sakay

Diego Silang

Armando Teng

May your revolutionary spirit touch the hearts and minds of the rest of our youth who has been misled, fooled and abused by the system for a very long time. 

Social classes in the Philippines represented using a triangle

Our line is clear, 1896 is a continuing resistance against the system.

May we always be ready to defend our line, no matter what, no matter how. 

May we pierce the hearts of our naturally fierce youth.

Our nation is still suffering from the same social illnesses which surfaced a hundred years ago, and in order for us to fully understand why we are standing right here, right now, and where will we be standing a hundred years from now, we must in minimum respect the noble struggle of our Filipino patriots and in maximum, join and contribute to our people's struggle.

This is an open invitation for all the disgusted, fooled and abused youth of today,

It is saddening to tell you that you've been lied to all your life, you've been a fool for a while, and they will keep you fooled until they can. 

 

So, take the red pill and let's all go down deep the rabbit hole and stay in wonderland.

The Brain and the Supremo of the Revolution

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I was there, in a room with two people including myself and a half-dead woman in a white dress.

I didn't know how to start. She was bleeding and I didn't know what to do.

I was waiting for her to say something just to know if she's still alive.

Was I dreaming all these years? Am I awake right now? Is this the consequence for the sins I've done? Why am I here? Am I really here, I mean physically. Those were the questions I needed to answer, but instead, I was confronted by another set of questions.

She was lying in a sofa. a red one with a lighter shade on the right side, it is the one that you can comfortably sit on, the one that eats you, her head was lying on the left side and a pillowat the end of her foot.

She was horribly still, like a tree in a far away land, but unlike trees, she doesn't resemble to life. She was too beautiful to be dead, I said to myself. Well, is she?

I was holding on my thoughts of her, how she chewed her food, how she thought laziness is next to godliness, and how she complicatedly thought about random things she cannot express in words, no definite language she can use to express, fake affections in a very sympathetic way, how she told me stories about the final reality, emotions, natural common sense, happiness and the ambush of her own shadowy thoughts.

I didn't want to panic, I thought if I was calm, She would just twitch, wake up or do something, just do something to debunk my belief that she is dead. There was no fear in me, it was just restlessness.

I decided to sit right in front of her, to appreciate the beauty of her physique, I stared at her, like a writer staring at nothing for a very long time. I felt her lips by only looking at it, her hair, long, healthy and black covered her bosom along with her white, bloody dress. I kissed her, yes, I kissed her eyes using my mind and in my thoughts I was conversing with her.  

I torched a cigarette and reached for the table in front of me to pour myself a drink, I wanted to slap her in the face, to wake her up, to ask her questions about my questions, about the thoughts I've thought of a long time ago.  

My nerves were restless before the drink, ah! the drink, it was vodka, whiskey, cognac, I was not sure. The first two was fast, I needed it, and then it hit me, that numb-blank feeling. I wanted the feeling to stay, I could use it to think, to not exaggerate the situation. I needed to be blank, to be numb then to be blank again, I poured another full glass, now I was sure it was Vodka, the cheap one. 

For a moment I wandered about a pig, my old dimmed thoughts about a pig came into surface, a pig who has to write a poem, a thick pink pig with mud all over, and I asked her, does a pig mind if I sit and snore beside him? 

Then I was calm, the sound of metal clicking from a metronome filled in my ears. "This is the kind of thinking and atmosphere I need right now", I said, I was literally producing sound for those words while she remained perfectly still, lying in her red sofa with her white dress.

I needed time to think. I needed time time to wander about the thoughts that slowly but surely grows on me. Just like you, I cannot dig my thoughts whenever I want to, in an instant, they were gone, but they grow, I am sure of it, it is not necessary for me to learn it, however, I feel every grain of it, they are inside a sack, some of them too dead to be picked and touched, some of them morbid and indefinite, all of them, I feel them, I eat them, I finish them. No mater what, I finish them.

The fact is I am in a room, with two people including my self, remembering all my proper and improper thoughts, squablerring about dimly-witted ideas inside and outside my domain.

Now I can see what is happening, there is something really interesting, a thing peculiar for me, a process which teaches me how not to necessarily live, but how to think and cling on a thought for a certain period of time, there it is, my thought, in the air, shading the darkly colored room which I am sharing a with a half-dead, horribly still woman in a white dress.

The room suddenly became thick, it turned into a form of an insulting scenario, like a puzzle I've been trying to solve for weeks, my thoughts had vanished but the numb-blank feeling was still there.

I bit my hand, I bit it until it bled, just to confirm my belief that I am alive. 

I was raided by the sting of my own bite. 

I was there, in a room with two people including myself and a half-dead woman in a white dress.

Sa ika-labing isang palapag, may berdugo.

Nakatayo siya  sa gitna ng isang silid, may mga numero sa magkabilang dingding.

   

12  13  14  15  16

  6    7    8   10  11

 1    2    3    4    5

Masikip.

 Mabigat.

Amoy lupa at may kakaibang sangsang ang hangin sa loob ng silid.

Nagbabanggaan ang kanilang mga siko.

Hindi naguusap at tila may hinihintay.

1

Pagbukas ng bakal na pinto ay bumungad sa kanya ang isang hardin, may puno at mga kunehong nagtatalunan sa damuhan. 

May babaeng kumakanta sa gitna nito na mala-Etta James ang boses, hindi niya maintindihan ang kanta ngunit alam niya ang tono dahil narinig niya na ito sa isang inuman, hindi niya rin maaninag ang mukha ng babae, ang alam niya lang ay kulay puti ang kanyang suot na parang balabal ang istilo.

Amoy bagong gupit na damo ang paligid na may kahalong kakaibang lansa, marahil dahil sa mga isdang naglalangoy sa pond na nasulyapan niya bago tuluyang magsara ang pinto.

Walang bumaba sa unang bukas ng bakal na pinto.

3

Pagkasara ng pinto ay may nagsalita, "may lighter ka diyan?"

Napansin niyang may tumutulong itim na likido sa pinto, tila ba durang nahaluan ng upos at langis. Malapot.

Pakiramdam niya'y gumagalaw ang silid ngunit hindi siya sigurado kung gumagalaw ba talaga ito, bukod sa bahagyang lindol na nararamdaman niya ay wala na siyang ibang patunay na gumagalaw nga ito.

Bumukas uli ang bakal na pinto.

Tumambad sa kanya ang saku-sakong patay na uwak, walang dugo, ngunit alam niyang patay ang mga ito. Daan-libong balahibo ang nagkalat sa lupang tila namumula hindi dahil sa dugo kundi dahil sa malamlam na sikat na araw.

"Dito na tayo." Maliit ang boses ng isang lalaki. sabay silang bumaba ng dalawa niya pang kasama, naghahalakhakan habang niyayapakan ang ulo ng mga nagkalat na uwak.

Sumara ang pinto.

11

"Mga putang ina niyo!" "Mga gago kayo!" 

Sa pangatlong palapag, may berdugo, itim ang suot, may kalawit at laslas ang pangang tinahi ng maruming sinulid.

Sa mga nangamatay, padadalhan ang mga kalaguyo ninyo ng isang timbang tubig at imbitasyon naman para sa inyong libing, iuukit ito sa  lapidang kasing laki ng piso, ito'y ipadadala sa inyong mga magulang at kaanak.

Sabay tapon ng Rosas.                                                        

                                                     

Double Dead. Redundant. Redundant.

Patay-sindi ang ilaw, di niya maaninag kung sino ang nagsasayaw. luminga linga at sinipat kung may makakkakita sa kanya bago sya pumasok sa silid ng bukod tanging kaligayahan niya sa buhay.

Umupo siya at tinawag ang weyter.

"Beer nga, yung malamig ha."

Nagsindi ng sigarilyo.

Kinulayan ng yellow at green na ilaw ang usok na kanyang ibinubuga. Inaabangan niya ang tanging pantasya niya sa buhay, ang dalagitang lingguhan kung magsayaw sa club.

Umiiba ng puwesto ng upo para mas maging kumportable sa panunuoring main event mamaya.

Pagdating ng serbesa ay agad niya itong ibinuhos sa baso, sabay dagdag ng yelo.

Ako si Andoy, mahilig akong tumingin sa suso at ang paborito kong kulay ay berde, dahil sabi nila, ito ang pinakamayamang kulay sa lahat, puno ng buhay at siksik ng sustansya, parang suso, nakapagbibigay ng buhay sa mga sanggol at nakapag bibigay naman ng ligaya sa mga hindi na sanggol.

Dahan-dahang lumabas ang pinakaaabangan ni Andoy, ang kanyang legs ang nauna. 

Aminin mo man o hindi, talaga namang bastos ang lipunan.

Si Ding-dong Dantes daw ang dapat tularan ng mga kabataan, gwapo, artista at higit sa lahat, gwapo.

Huwag daw tularan sina Lean Alejandro, Edgar Jopson at Cris Hugo na nagbuwis ng buhay dahil sa kanilang prinsipyo't paninindigan, at nagisip di lamanng para sa kanilang mga sarili. Sabagay, kung hindi naman nakikita ng mga kabataan ang kabayanihan at pilisopiyang gumabay sa kanila, malabong gayahin o di kaya'y pagtuunan ng pansin ang mga ito.

Sa mga kababaihan naman daw ay si Marian Rivera dahil sa kanyang mala-sutlang kutis at magandang mga mata. Huwag daw sina Lorena Barros o di kaya'y si Maita Gomez na hanggang sa huling hininga ay nagsilbi sa masa.

Huwag daw silang tularan dahil sila'y nangamatay ng dilat, at isa pa, di naman daw makakain ang prinsipyo, pera ang kailangan ng tao.

Pera.

Dahil lahat ay nabibili nito, tulad ng kaibigan, asawa, o di kaya'y kaligayahan at kagandahan.

Kung wala kang pera at ipinanganak kang pangit (ayon sa lipunan mo), hindi mo mabibili ang mga produktong lubhang mahalaga at esensyal sa pagiging tao.

Sa mga komersyal sa TV, sasabihin nilang lahat para bilhin mo ang kanilang produktong pampaganda. Noong unang panahon, sabi ng mga taong may balat ng tupa sa ulo, "Beauty emanates from symmetry", wala silang nabanggit tungkol sa kulay, tangos o racial origins, nasa symmetry daw ang kagandahan, oo nga, ang sagwa naman ng taong morena tapos maputi ang kili-kili. Dati, nauso yug chin chan su na laging bitbit ng kasambahay namin, amputi ng mukha niya tapos yung leeg niya puro banil, ang sagwa, kasi hindi pantay.

Isang matinding halimbawa ay iyong Face-feet soap commercial nuong 70's na pinagbidahan ni Susan Roces, ang eksena: Amorsolo ang background, naka-tuwalya lang at habang naka-upo sa isang antigong upuang kulay puti, gamit ang kaniyang mapang-akit at makalag-lag na brip na boses, binigkas niya ang pamososng islogan ng produkto,

"Face-feet lotion, ang lotion na di lang para sa mukha at sa paa, kundi para din sa mga mukhang paa"

Di ko alam kung bakit sabik na sabik ang mga tao sa mga ganitong klaseng produkto, di ko maintidihan ang konsepto ng kagandahan para sa maraming tao, ang buhok na kulot, iniistreyt, ang buhok na unat, kinukulot. Wala akong problema sa pabago-bagong isip, ang akin lang, kung gusto mong mag mukhang walis tambo ang buhok mo para masabing nakasunod ka sa uso o gusto mo lang talagang magmukhang tanga, wag mo nalang sanang i-broadcast ito sa pamamagitan ng twitter, facebook atbp. at itago mo nalang sa iyong sarili.

Nagsimula na ang main event.

Mabagal at malibog ang sayaw ni Alice (di niya tunay na pangalan), siya ang bida sa club na iyon, siya ang dahilan ng pagtayo ng tatlumpu hanggang limampung titi ng kalalakihan sa nasabing club.

Habang iniinom niya ang serbesa ay tuloy ang sayaw ni Alice, unit-unting tinaggal ang unang saplot.

Tatlong patong yata ang damit niya noong gabing iyon, isa daw iyon sa istilo ni Alice, pampa-gana sa mga manunood.

   

Una, tatanggalin ng iyong lipunan ang kakayanan mong mag-isip para sa iyong sarili.

Ipakikilala niya sa iyo ang relihiyon, konserbatibong edukasyon, gobyerno at kung anu-ano pang institusyong magkakahon sa iyong mga malayang ideya.

Ang relihiyon, lalo na sa ating bansa ay isang konseptong hindi pinagiisipan, ibinibigay ito sa iyo pagkapanganak mo nang walang paliwanag, ni ha, ni ho. Sa birth ceritficate, mayroong puwang na kailangang punan ng iyong mga magulang na magtatakda ng iyong paniniwalaan sa mga sususnod na taon, "Roman Catholic" (Kristyano ka na kahit hindi mo pa alam na ang mga Romano nuong unang panahon ay mahilig sa party at orgy.) at doon magsisimula ang paglalakbay mo bilang isang bulag na taga-sunod sa mga kwento ni Lola Basyang. Parang, maniwala ka nalang, wala namang mawawala sa iyo.

Sa paaralan naman, 'di ko maintindihan noon kung bakit itinuturo ang mga aralin gamit ang lenggwaheng Ingles. Hindi naman natin ito ginagamit kapag tayo'y nakikipaglaro sa ating mga kaibigan, hindi natin sinasabi sa mga kalaro nating "Hey, you are stepping on my holen, that's a violation of our rules! Let's start over!", ang sinasabi natin ay "Maduga ka, inaapakan mo ang holen ko, ulitan!", kapag naman pinapagalitan tayo ng nanay natin noon, hindi naman niya sinasabing "You sick little bastard, you broke the vase again! Lie down!", ang sinasabi niya'y "Naku, nabasag mo nanaman ang vase! Dapa!", yun kasi ang lengwaheng naiintindihan natin, yun ang nakagisnan.

Sabi nga ni Bienvenido Lumbera, isang national artist na minsang nagbigay ng talk sa aming university, "Ang pinaka epektibong pamamaraan ng pagtuturo ng isang bagay o konsepto sa isang bata ay sa pamamagitan ng paggamit ng lenggwaheng lubos na naiintindihan ng bata, kung ilonggo ang bata, dapat ay turuaan muna siya ng mga batayang konsepto sa salitang ilonggo, kung ilokano naman ay ganun din, nang sa gayon ay hindi malito at hindi agad makalimutan ang inaral.

Kaya siguro hindi ko masyadong na "grasp" ang esensya ng  matematika nuong high-school dahil bukod sa ingles ang gamit na lenggwahe, karamihan ng mga math teachers ay terror, kung hindi matabang nakakatakot, seksing nakakatakot kaya kung napunta sayo ang una, takot kang pagaralan ito, kung ang pangalawa naman ay sisilipan mo nalang sa pamamagitan ng salamin sa sapatos.

Walang masama sa pagtuturo gamit ang wikang Ingles, minsan lang kasi mahirap gamitin ang lenggwaheng hindi mo naman nakasanayang gamitin, kumbaga, walang praktikalidad, maganda ang subject pero mali ang approach.

Sa paniwala ko, ang edukasyon at dunong ay kinakailangang may praktikalidad, hindi lang minememorize, hindi lang inuulit ulit at pagkatapos ay tapos na, 'di umuunlad.

Malapit na sa kalagitnaan ang kanta, dahan-dahang hinuhubad ni Alice ang pangalawang saplot, tila ba nanunukso pa at ibinabalik balik sa tuwing makakakuha ng positibong reaksyon sa mga manonood. Itim ang bra niya, pula naman ang sa ibaba, may mga sumisipol at ang iba naman ay tuloy sa pag-lagok ng alak habang pinagpipiyestahan ng tingin ang makinis niyang katawan. Amoy usok ang paligid at panaka-nakang may dumaraang weyter sa harap ni Andoy. Nakalahati niya na ang inorder na beer at nakaka-dalawang yosi na rin. Naisip niyang kung may pera lamang siya ay iteteybol nya ang pantasyang si Alice, ngunit construction worker lamang siya, wala mang pamilya ay gipit pa rin sa pera, kaya't mata nalang ang pararausin niya.

Pangalawa, tatanggalin o di kaya'y palalabnawin ng lipunana ang kakayanan mong mag isip ng kritikal.

Ipapakain niya sayo ang sandamakmak na balita ng patayan, lokohan, kuchabahan at karahasan, karahasang bunga ng kamangmangan at tuwirang kapabayaan ng lipunan.

Kapag nanunood ka ng balita, tila ba ayaw kang palabasin ng bahay ng mga reporter, parang gusto ka laging takutin sa mga balitang inihahatid nila, nakakatakot na nga ang boses, nakakatakot pa ang balita, double dead, redundant, redundant. Puro petty-crimes at kalokohan ng small time na sindikato ang ibinabalita, kaya karamihan ng masa, takot pumunta sa ganito, takot mamili duon, dahil sabi ng balita, delikado. Hindi ibinabalita ang kalokohan ng mga makapangyarihang pamilya, pulitiko at berdugo, kung ibalita man, fabricated, kutakotakot na palabok at cover-up ang natitira sa masa.

Bakit sa ibang bansa, oo ibinabalita din nila ang patayan at iba pang klase ng karahasan, pero hindi iyong ang laging main event, dito kasi sa atin parang main event lagi ang patayan, minsan nga naiisip ko na may confetti pang nalalaglag habang ibinabalita ang isang patayan sa Tundo,

"And for our main event, isang lalaki, pinagtataga ang kapitbahay dahil sa alitan tungkol kay Paquiao!" tapos tumutugtog ang kantang what a wonderful world ni Louis Armstrong.

Yun kasi ang binibili ng mga manonood, ganun kasi ang lebel ng mga masang Pilipino, natutuwa sa balitang hindi sila kasangkot at bahagyang nakakatawa at totoong nakakatakot.

Kapag naman may massacre, ginagawan pa ng pelikula, yung Antipolo massacre na pinagbidahan ni Cesar Montano at Dawn Zulueta, 1996 yata yun, nakaka panindig ng balahibo ang mga eksena, si Carlo J. Caparaas ang direktor nun. Ang istorya ay sinapian si Cesar Montano ng demonyo dahil sa bolong ibinigay sa kanya ng isang matanda at pinagtataga ang buong pamilya.

Mahal talaga ng mga Pilipino ang salaitang karahasan, parte ito ng araw-araw nating buhay. Isa itong batas na tuwirang umiiral sa kanilang mundo. Yun lamang ay mali ang gamit ng karahasan sa atin, ginagamit ito ng kakaunti para takutin ang karamihan, dapat ay baliktad.

Sa Japan, ang balita ay parang eskwelahan ng mga mamamayan, sa balita nila pinadadaan kung paano maglaro ng basketball, soccer at kung anu-ano pa, ipinaliliwanang ang mga rules nito, ilan ang kailangang manlalaro at kung saan pwedeng laruin, ganun din ang mga ibang bagay na makakatulong sa pang araw araw na gawain, tulad ng paggawa ng walis na gawa sa mga disposable container o di kaya'y kung paano ka makakapag kape sa iyong bubong habang tirik na tirik ang araw, mga simpleng bagay na may paggagamitan, hindi nananakot, kundi nagtuturo ng kultura at pinagmulan.

Pero hindi rin naman puro karahasan ang mapapanood mo sa TV, mayroon ding kasiyahang mahigpit na nakatali sa pamimigay ng jacket, pera at CD. Oo, yun na nga ang tinutukoy ko, ang mga paborito nating palabas tuwing pananghalian, ang walang humpay na palakpakan at hiyawan dahil sa mga seksing babaeng may dalang kahon at sumasayaw na parang jelly ace ang katawan, sa ganyan sumikat sina Rochelle, Luningning at Milagring. Ipamumudmod ng mga host ang sangkaterbang premyo sa mga manunuod, at sasabihing ito ang kanilang serbisyo sa ating mamamayan.

Ang serbisyo ay hindi humihingi ng anumang kapalit.

Sa dami ng komersyal sa pagitan at sa mismong programa nila ay doble o triple pa ang kanilang kinikita kumpara sa kanilang ipinapamigay. Ang mga programang ito ay talaga namang mabisang daluyan ng konsumerismo na kung saan tinuturuan ang mga taong bilhin ang kanilang mga produkto dahil inindorso ng kanilang mga idolo.

Magandang panuorin, syempre, sino ba naman ang di matutuwa sa kantahan, sayawan at pamimigay ng pera? Ngunit ang ganitong tanawin ay talaga namang masakit sa mata. Naalala ko ang programang Wowowee sa ultra, 'di ko alm kung matatawa ako o malulungkot sa nabalitaan, parang sinabi ni Willie na "Oh halikayo, punta kayo dito, pipili ako ng sampu hanggang isandaang tao na sususpalpalan ko ng isang libo  hanggang isang milyon." Tapos yung mga tao syempre puntahan dahil sa hitsura ng ekonomiya natin na ang iba ay alikabok na lang ang kinakain araw-araw, malamang papatok ang ganoong gimik.

Naganap na nga't nagkagulo pa, stampede! Ilan ang namatay at marami ang nasaktan. Mukhang pera tuloy ang labas ng ating mga kababayan. Pero sa totoo lang, may ibang mga tao na umaasa talaga sa mga TV programs tulad ng nabanggit para sa kanilang kabuhayan, umaasang mabigyan ng 1/100000000000000 tyansang manalo.

Sa araw-araw nilang kinkaharap ang hirap at pag-iisip para masolusyunan ito, hindi na nila magawang mag-sisp ng kritikal at palalimin ang esensya ng kanilang buhay, dahil may balita sa umagang mananakot sayo at may programa naman sa gabing magpapatawa sa iyo.

Parang mind control lang. Pinapaikot ka ng pinapaikot habang ang kakaunti ay yumayaman ng sobra, at ang maliliit ay dahan dahang nilalamon ng kumunoy ng kahirapan.

Wala na silang pakialm dun dahil tinanggap na nilang iyon ang papel nila sa mundong ibabaw, ang manalo kahit minsan ng sandaang libo sa Willing willie o sa Eat Bulaga.

Ang pagsasamantala ay naging pagtulong sa kapwa, ang panlalamang ay naging serbisyo, ang tinapay ay naging bato, ang artista ay naging diyos mo, at ang sabihin nila ay laging tutoo. Ang bastos ay naging katanggap tanggap, ang salita ng mamamatay tao ay nagiging batas. Baliktad na nga ang mundo.

Pinalabnaw na ang mga depinisyon ng mga bagay at salita sa iyong lipunan dahil sa mga programang napanuod sa telebisyon.

Hubad na si Alice at todo-pokus na ang mga kalalakihan.

Bumubuga paminsan-minsan ang smoke machine sa stage, at tila sinasabayan si Alice ng mga ilaw na habang nagsasayaw ay bahagyang natatakpan ang suso ng usok na mabilis ding naglalaho. Tahimik na ang mga miron, di tulad nuong may saplot pa ang dalaga, titig na titig na sa utong at puke ang mga kalalakihan, iyon kasi ang binayaran nila, iyon ang dahilan ng pagpunta nila, ang makakita ng legs, utong at puke ng ibang babae, hindi sa asawa o sa syota nila. Nang umisplit si Alice ay medyo nakiliti ang diwa ni Andoy, inuumpisahan niya na ang pangalawang bote ng beer na inorder niya. Tumatakbo sa isip niya ang mga gusto niyang gawin kay Alice, mga marurumi at masasamang bagay. Ganun din ang iniisip ng mga katabi niya at halos lahat ng lalaki sa paligid niya. Enjoy na enjoy silang panuorin ang hubad at makinis na katawan ni Alice.

Sa gigil ng isang lalaki ay lumapit ito sa stage at tinangkang hawakan ang katawan ni Alice, pumalag siya at nagkagulo sa club, naghuramentado ang nagtangkang humawak kay Alice at biglang nag labas ng Baril, sundalo pala ito ng 154th Infantry Brigade. Mabilis ang mga sumunod na kaganapan, Unang pinutukan si Alice, dalawang tingga ang bumaon  dibdib ni Alice at pagkatapos ay walang habas na nagpaputok ng baril ang sundalo sa miron, agad na dumapa si Andoy at dahan dahang gumapang palabas ng club, naaninag nya ang labasan dahil sa mga pulang mga letrang ang sabi ay EXIT.

Narating ni Andoy ang labasan habang patuloy ang pagpapautok ng baril ng sundalo sa loob, agad siyang tumayo at kumaripas ng takbo, sa kaniyang pagtakbo ay biglang kumirot ang kanyang kaliwang dibdib. Napaupo siya at sinilip ang dibdib, naglawa ang dugo sa kanyang t-shirt na puti, nanghina at hindi alam ang gagawin, walang tao sa paligid at madilim...

Ang mga namumulat at nagpapasyang sumuway sa agos ng pagkawalang pakialam ay sinusuklian ng bala.

Ang mga naghahangad ng hustisyang panlipunan ay binubusalan o di kaya'y pinapakain ang busal at sabay puputukan ng M16 sa ulo.

Kamatayan ang kapalit ng pagnanais na mabago ang lipunang ginagalawan.

Silang mga pinatay, dinukot, tinortyur at ikinulong.

Silang mga hinarass at pinagtangkaan ang buhay at hinalughog ang bahay, silang mga walang litrato sa mga libro ng kasaysayang itinuturo sa mga konserbatibong paaralan.

Silang nagpakatatag sa oras ng ligalig, silang mga puspos na kumikilos.

Sa kanila.

Sa kanila natin utang ang mga progresibong patakarang ating natatamasa ngayon.

SA KILUSANG PAGGAWA; ang ocho oras na pagtatrabaho at break time, ang mga paid leaves at holiday, ang maka-taong kundisyon sa trabaho at ang pagtatakda ng minimum wage na sinusubukan pa rin nilang pataasin.

SA KILUSANG MAGSASAKA; ang pagpapataas ng presyo ng kalakal at pagpapababa ng usura, ang pagbibigay ng aral sa ating magsasaka kung paano pauunlarin ang produkto at praktika, at pagtatayo ng mga kooperatibang magsisilbing matibay na pundasyon para sa sosyalistang ekonomiya.

SA KILUSANG ESTUDYANTE;  ang pag-buo ng magna carta of student's rights at paglaban sa walang habas na pag-taas na matrikula at miscellaneous fees.

SA KILUSANG BURGIS; na naglalayong gawing pambansa ang mga esenyal na industriya tulad ng kuryente at tubig.

Sa kanila tayo dapat magpasalamat, silang hindi humihingi ng anumang pasasalamat o papuri.

Ang serbisyo nila'y hindi tinutumbasan ng kahit anong halaga ng salapi.

Silang hindi naghangad na mailagay ang mukha sa mga poster dahil sila'y nagpatayo ng basketball court o di kaya'y nagpa-liga o di kaya'y nagpakulay ng buhok.

Oras para makinig.

Iyan ang kanilang hinihingi sa bawat taong kanilang nakikilala, oras para pag-usapan at sabay intindihin ang pinagdadaanan ng nakakaraming tao sa Pilipinas.

Oras para pagusapan ang inilulunsad na rebolusyon sa kanayunan para mabago ang lipunan.

Ang lipunang nakagisnang bastos, marahas at puno ng pananankot.

Sa kanila tayo magpasalamat.

Sa mga taong nag-armas hindi para protektahan ang sariling pananim bagkus ay pananim ng iba.

Sa mga taong walang pagmamay-ari kundi ang kanilang prinsipyo't paninindigan.

Umaga na nang binawian si Andoy ng buhay.

Dinaan daanan lang siya ng mga tao sa pag akalang isa itong taong grasang duon natutulog.

Masaya siguro siyang namatay dahil napanuod niya ang pantasya ng kaniyang buhay.
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Truths are for dogs who eat lies

"We have abandoned our truth long time ago"

-Max Ernst

"So here's a casket for you, it doesn't matter now, truth is, you are going to die soon, I will have it personally delivered to you tomorrow morning, be ready to greet it with a smile."

                            ---                            

So, for the truth, there is a large variety of it:

my truth, your truth, his truth, her truth, and for the only, one truth, it doesn't exist.

---

There are no truths, only highly-intensified convictions and principles.

 

In this era of fancy-dressed thieves and mass produced lies, with banks robbing the people instead of doing what they are supposed to do, the only way to get a glimpse of the so called truth is by going with a spelunker and see how great the early humans did during their time.

There are a lot of pseudo-truths which often serves as your lullaby at night. 

We wake up everyday swimming with it, sleeping with it and even eating it. 

Admit it, lies are slowly becoming our personal truth.

Only highly principled ideas and highly intensified convictions can make your decisions and perspectives more alive and worth to live for.

As one adage says "A man who stands for nothing will fall for anything". 

---

There are no truths, only stories.

It makes up all of your experiences.
Your story can be your truth.

All concepts, be it good or bad are based on letters, which when combined produces a word then later on a sentence and then later on a story. 

The concept of truth is not as same as everybody else, it is something uniquely different from another.

One's truth can be shattered by an opinion or by a story that you overheard or by an article that you've read on the Internet or it can be shattered by your own imagination and creativity. 

One chooses something to accept it as his higher truth, welcoming it as an unknown visitor at first and then slowly putting effort to know his truth well,but at the other end of it, one's truth can remain unchanged for a long period of time, fossilized in his membrane only because he won't accept any higher truths.   

One day someone told you a story about economics. The word economics came from the Greek word "Oikonomia" which means "household management". The man said that economy is based on GDP and GNP and some other concepts a regular guy wouldn't understand, he further elaborated that when a country's GDP and GNP is high, the country is developed or at least developing, you believed it and accepted it as your truth. 

Later that day, you saw a line of hobos lying in front of a mall, you were very curios to know why they ended up sleeping in the streets, you approached them, asking your why's and how's:

"Mga iskwater kami sa Payatas nung 80's. Una, ni-relocate kami sa Rodriguez, tapos sa Malaria, diyan sa Perbyu, tapos sa Valenzuela, eh hindi naman kami mabubuhay dun, walang hanap-buhay, 'di maka-delehensya ng pagkain, at saka wala naman kaming kamag-anak dun, 'di katulad dito, nakakahinigi kami ng pagkain o kaya makakapalimos ang mga anak namin kapag wala na talaga, yang mga restawran na yan kahit basura na nila ayaw pang ibigay samin, itatapon na lang nga hindi pa ibigay sa amin, pagagalitan daw sila ng manager nila." Sabi niya. "Paano po sa pagtulog?" sabad ko, "Sa pagtulog? Dito na din! presko nga dito dahil me malaking exhaust fan, malamig pag gabi" sabay ngisi.

Bigla mong nalala ang napanood mong balita sa TV nuong nakaraang araw, sabi ni Noli de Castro:

"Sa ulo ng mga balita: "Nabalian ang kabayo ni Mikee Cojuanco na nagkakahalaga ng $2,000,000. Hindi na siya makakasali sa parating na Equestrian competition sa Olympics sa susunod na buwan." 

Habang naglalakad ka pauwi, naalala mo yung kwento tungkol sa ekonomiya, at sinabi mo sa iyong sarili,

"Kung ang salitang ekonomiks ay nangangahulugan ng pangangalaga ng isang bahay o pamilya at paglalaan ng sapat na badyet para sa mga pangangailangan ng bawat miyembro nito, ganito ang itsura ng ekonomiya natin:

Mayroong limang miyembro ang ating pamilya, isa sa mga kapatid natin ay natutulog sa isang malinis at kumportableng kwarto, may kuchon, unan, erkon, at kumot, busog at malusog habang ang isa pang kapatid ay sa labas ng ating bahay natutulog, walang unan, kumot, kuchon o anumang saplot sa katawan, gutom, at pagal ang katawan. Ang mga magulang natin ay masyadong busy sa pagaalaga sa una nating kapatid, binibilhan sya ng kung anu-anong luho at masarap lagi ang pagkain."

Stories are tools and at the same time, your truth. 

---

There are no truths, only interpretations.

 You interpret something using your own tools of understanding, you may have the same tools with someone, but you never get the same exact interpretation.

Colors, letters and sign-boards, those are some of the things you try to interpret everyday.

They say red means happiness or being happy, but when you are crossing a street and looking above the signs, it tells you to stop, a somehow negative notion.

The interpretation of colors may vary, it will depend on one's personal experiences.

Say for example, a child who saw his family massacred by someone, He saw blood dripping from his mom's forehead,making it his first significant encounter with the color, even though he has no idea that the color is called red, since then, every-time He sees the color, memories of the massacre always pops into his head, he relates the color with something gruesome. On the other hand, a child who's celebrating his birthday sees red everywhere because the theme of his birthday has to do something with the color, that child would have a more positive interpretation of the color, remembering his presents which was given to him whenever he sees the color. the other child may completely or partly interpret the given color differently.

When you interpret something, you activate your tools of understanding, your sub-conscious, the lessons you've learned at school, your past experiences and all the things that you saw in the past.

Your interpretation becomes your truth.

It is something not given to you.

It is something you learn, create, and dissect.

---

 "I love the things which will destroy me in the end"
-Sylvia Plath 

ARTISTS UNITE! You have nothing to lose but your minds.

Axel Pinpin at a gig somewhere in the province of Cavite

---

“Naryan ang kaibhan ng armas sa isang ideya. 

Ang sandata'y nakagigiba't pumapatay lamang; ang ideya'y nakagigiba't nakabubuo, pumapatay at bumubuhay.”

-Amado V. Hernandez(Mga ibong Mandaragit)

---

Armed with their politically charged lyrics, The Axel Pinpin Propaganda Machine is slowly taking-over the petty- bourgeoisie underground music scene, urging artists to fight the ruling system, literally.

With piercing lines of poetry as their bullets, backed up by solid rhythmical music as their guns and government policies, politicians and the corruption of the Filipino culture as their target, they left the State pleading for dear life right at that moment.

Their music is unsullied and one of the most innovative sound hitting the underground Metro today.

The Axel Pinpin Propaganda Machine will make your hearts and ears bleed, not because of blast-speed drums and squeals, but with their clear, significant and offensive lyrics.

Their music presents not only the crisis of the nation, but also solutions on how to smash the three basic problems of the Philippine society.

The event was held somewhere in the Province of Cavite.

In the middle of a death-core and trash metal scene, they demonstrated the wit of a true activist and mass organizer, through their lyrics, they dissected the ailments of Philippine society and presented it to the crowd as clear as possible.

They were the only slow beat band considering other band's blast-speeding drums and growls, only shows the respect of the scene for a band that truly propagates justice, organized violence and revolution.

The event was called Independencia.

The tactical offensive of the left-winged artists has has been launched.

Let’s supply them guns and ammunitions.

I Was Painting Vaginas In A Pitch Black Room When I Saw This Piece Of Literature

                       ---

        Then everything went pitch black.

             This is a heart-attack.

           No. This is Amelia Earhart.

        No. This is not your fucking heart.

          I wanted something stronger.

                   This wine, 

        which I've been raping all day 

      only makes me dizzy and uncomfortable.

             Image of a permanently 

               disfigured vagina         

              flashing in and out.

     Scenes of a woman beaten into submission 

     then skull fucked playing inside my head.

        She was pleading for her life.

                   She prayed.

    until there was nothing left to pray for. 

                      ---

There was my imagination conversing with me, sitting in a Victorian bench, telling me stories on how should I see things.

A door, a painting of Dali in it, "The fourth dimension" it says. 

A colorful kaleidoscopic view of a market I've seen somewhere in the province of Pampanga.

A poem from Poe narrating while seeing a window full of bloody corpses inside it, blood everywhere, mutilated arms, heads and torsos swamped the whole place.

                              ---

Then everything went pitch black, for the second time, now blacker.

                     ---

The sound of Poe's poem still playing, the doors are still there, though the painting had vanished, stolen by He himself Dr. Krakowski from the film "Be still, I am from Sodom."

A shadow of an 8mm video camera suddenly appeared in the frame, then a voice: 

"I will film it, I will film the process of your hysteria, until you succumb yourself with your own tongue!". 

                     ---

Then everything went pitch black, for the third time, now the blackest.

No words. 

I think I ate my tongue, I didn't succumb though.

"I'm a twat, something's gonna change, I know. I can feel it."

Parts of a dismembered body is always useful to hide the bones you've been hiding for a long time.

                Paranoia.

                       

                         Paranoia.

             

             Paranoia.

"Sleep young rascal, you are going to need some of it, this blackness will not be over soon." 

                     ---

Of Album Covers And Somber Hearts

Pretty plain, nothing seems interesting, no bright colors and nothing much is going on with this one, but this album included the best track they've ever recorded.

This is the album cover of Deftones named White pony, released in 2000.

They say white pony is the street name for cocaine.

Long ago I met someone named Toby, simple guy, always has his guitar by his side, plays it well, sharp facial features, deep voice, always thinks of what He says, seems normal on the outside but once engaged in a conversation, He will pour knowledge and understanding about the world, His world I should say, His sad and problematic world. 

This guy's pretty fucked up inside. 

He occasionally snorts cocaine and sometimes mixes Stilnox with his beverage, He prefers it with ice.

He never explained to me why he snorts that white substance, but based on his stories, His life is shitty and miserable, you can see it in his heavily eye-bagged eyes and tweaky lips, like a trace of something unpleasant and melancholic.

One day Toby parked his car somewhere, turned  the air-conditioning on and slept through his problematic life, breathed the freon which killed him later on. He slept through it.

Toby was the white pony.

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Dada influence in this one is completely evident because of the cut-out collages on the upper part of it,  it is a feast of both the famous and  the anonymous, you can see Edgar Allan Poe, Bob Dylan, and an unknown girl sitting on a man's lap.

The visuals are festive, but the title of the album is somehow gloomy.

Sally was 16 when I first met Her.

Smiling while she was approaching me, "do you have a lighter? I saw you smoking the other day". I was a university student back then, While I was reaching for my lighter she added, "do you wanna come and smoke with me?" I answered with a question, "do you have a cigarette for me?".

Two puffs, three puffs.

As tar and nicotine slowly wallows into my teeth, our conversation started.

She was wearing a colorful headband, one like them hippies used to wear in the 70's, a watch and some wires and knots to go with it, her dress was of like Mary Poppins' but in a good, laid-back way.

I find her artsy image very interesting at that moment. 

She was also wearing stilettos, but i know even if she was not, she was tall for her age.

She has something that is not common with most girls.

The peripherals of her glows whenever she smiles, the beauty of her youthfulness was pouring out of her eyes, it lit whenever she was about to say something, kind of like a fireworks display whenever something is about to start (or to end), a signal that she is going to say something and she wants you to shush and listen.

Our conversation went smoothly with some moments of silence to fill in the awkwardness we felt.

The beautiful strangeness of Sally comforted me the whole day.

I've come to know her more in the following months of the semester.

And as time passed by, I've come to know that Sally was a talker and She wants me to listen, everytime, anyhow, anywhere, everywhere.

After the mid-term exams, Sally and I were not only sharing cigarettes and stories.

Then the gloom inside her slowly took over.

At first it was crystal clear waters dripping out from her, like a faucet, then the water slowly turned dark with some rough, unpleasant particles in it.

She became uninterested and dull towards life, like a faucet, Her pipes was severely lacerated and damaged, the water sprayed everywhere like a gushing blood from a wound, and so as her thoughts.

A simple plumber cannot put a remedy to it.

I was the plumber yes, I tried to repair her, tried to connect the tubes inside her, hoping it would make the water clear again, but i was never good at repairing broken things, especially tubes.

Our conversation became perfunctory and most of the time, indifference is our topic.

I remember asking her to try and drop the loneliness, but it was like a voice inside a schizophrenic, tiny yet so powerful.

So, time came when i can no longer contain the loneliness she is carrying.

Sally has a somber heart. She was a member of the club.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pink Floyd released this compilation album in 1971.

Relics: An object having interest by reason of its age or its association with the past.

Old things. Old clock, old trumpets, old wood, old materials combined resembling to a ship.

I have an unexplainable delight whenever I see old things. They make me wonder about their story, especially old clocks, they gave old people the old time, the time when there was no technology to complicate things.

Grass, smell of fresh air and trees to give you shade when you need it.

The smell of old things brings me back good memories, like a sexual encounter with a woman, stupid things that I did with a friend, or a really funny joke.

I often  re-create my grandfather's childhood, his games, his experiences and choice of words.

The old world was quite different from the world that we live in today, it is simpler but more vivid, emotions were plain but true, not like those fabricated emotions seen in one of your social networking sites.

Conchita always speaks of the old world.

Whenever I'm talking to her, I feel like I am traveling into a different space and time continuum, a time where apple was a fruit.

She speaks of the purest sense of being free. Talks about simple joys, simple games, simple clothes, and simple emotions.

In the old world where character was not based by the likes you get in one of your networking sites, rather by the things that you do and contribute to the society.

She speaks of the nature of things and how they evolved.

Conchita was a relic, dug from the deepest layers of earth.

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This 28 tracked album is one of the few interesting things left in this planet.

Not like other fucking useless albums out there, the effort on this two disc album was monumental.

The album title doesn't say it all, this is not at all sad, well at least for me.

The vibe of this album cover is very astral and the color of it sends a strange kind of happiness to me.

They say Katie is dumb because of the following reasons:

1. She loves her cat more than Her smart-

   phone.

2. She prefers to listen to poetry-dub while 

   lying flat on her room's floor with no 

   clothes on instead of going out with her  

   friends who often goes out and party.

3. She doesn't believe in heaven nor hell.  

   She says that all these concepts were

   just products of the creativity of the 

   early pagans. "It is so perfect it cannot 

   exist" as She always puts it.

4. She has a humongous interest in things 

   which for some is eery and chaotic.

5. She overly reacts to the mundane, as if 

   it's her first time to experience

   something common and for some people, 

   uninteresting.

Katie loves to waste time thinking about things that don't matter, often smirks whenever something funny pops into her mind.

No one had ever understood Katie wholly, there's something in her which escapes whenever it notices someone or something approaching.

They say it has been like this since something macabre happened to her, but of course no one really  knew what exactly happened.

They say She was raped by her father, some say she is suffering from a mild case of litzsomania, others say she'd fabricated Her reality, where She has her own concepts and rules, some say she's just plain crazy.

Kant might was thinking about Katie when He was philosophizing about his theory about "The thing in itself". 

Whatever Her story is, we will never know. 

It is tucked in deep inside Her, where even one dare to enter cannot find nothing.

Katie is one of the few interesting things left in this planet.

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