So I Had A Reason To Die

     He worked hard. It’s been long, and almost too long for that matter, but finally after years of dedication to his task, after all the research, after all the trouble, chaos, ups, downs, and everything in between he had finally completed it. Some of them called him crazy, some of them called him a fool. He’d lost several lovers and loved ones to this tragically chaotic nightmare of a reality. He had lived through the loss of so much that he knew that life was no longer worth the wait. They’d grown tired to the death of hearing his troubles and sorrows. Was it too hard to lend an ear to a colleague, much more a lover, or a relative? All his loved ones had departed in various ways and now he was alone. Once more in the silence of his lips he screamed his mind, but not for long. What was the point of life, should he simply live without creating so much as a minute mark on humanity, much less his own loved ones? Soon it would be over. He needn’t wait long. Not for long.

     It was there, at last. A fully grown creature. It was so familiar that it surprised him to see the minuscule differences he had never seen before. He, himself, had scars now but this strange Figure that stood before him didn’t. It wasn’t alive long enough to live throughout the lonely hell he had been through, and hopefully It wouldn’t have to. It didn’t have loved ones just yet. No one to hurt and no one to hurt him, with the inborn human insensitivity. No one to lose and no one to lose him. Completed, and perfect, with all it’s imperfections and all it’s lack of grievances. It was hard finding a surrogate mother for this creature; this Figure. She’d have to give her own life to create this abomination of science and humanity.

He was surprised when she accepted his offer. Out of so many candidates he’d extended the offer to, including some of his closest friends, she was the only one who accepted. A distant acquaintance, not even a friend, would devote herself to his work. Grateful for it, he would take care of her; feed her, clothe her, and let her live around the lab for quite some time, until the birthing. A courtesy, at least, or so he would say. Just until the birthing, then she’d be gone. It started simply, the two of them consistently working around the laboratory; she helping him with whatever she could. She wasn’t a genius, but he didn’t need one. He just needed a surrogate. She’d often times cook for him as he furiously masturbated, collecting samples of himself for testing and improving. When he wasn’t masturbating, himself, he would have her do it in front of him, as to achieve the perfect combination of sperm and egg. She was religious with regards to her tasks. Then came the time and throughout the insemination, he held her hand. Soon enough, the months flew by, and he took care of her. Every nitty-gritty need and want, he provided. Before she’d die, it was only decent for him to at least make her life a little more happy. A courtesy, at least, or so he would say.

     She did, of course, die. Giving birth to a fully grown man wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do on the planet. Nevertheless, he took note of her efforts and sacrifices; meticulously jutted them down into his notebook. He did this because nobody loved him, enough, at least. Nobody cared, and he wanted to pass the bill up, to someone who he knew for sure, could handle things a lot better. That seemed a logical a reason as any. A few genetic tweaks solved this issue, although the allotted time it took for such was years. It was maddening. His funds which supposedly came from the University and Scientific Community, although meant to be devoted to science, were merely devoted to his own selfish pleasures. Not that this Figure was no feat of science but he had it all planned out. No one was to know what occurrences had truly transpired. They were merely going to be informed that the Project had failed, along with the surrogate mother. Soon this would be signed off as another top secret scientific failure under Government Files to be stashed away into the dark abyss of their storage, just as he was going to be, soon enough.

     It was almost finished. All he needed to do now.was to wake the Figure. Placing a hand on the It’s shoulder, he shook it a little, waking It from It’s preliminary slumber.
     “I made you. You already know this. You know what to do, and you know how I did this. You are me, and I am you, but I must leave this world, because there can only be one of us left. You know why I did this. A simple reason, a simple solution that took long to achieve. I made you, so I’d have a reason to die.”

     The Figure nodded, and took the scalpel from the nearby table. He smiled, a tear in his eye, as the Figure slit his throat. The blood gushed, soaking his lab coat. He knelt down, as the Figure held him in a bloodied embrace. The tiles were now covered with a puddle of life and death. The birth and demise simultaneously occurring. It was the magic of science.

Just before he drew and exhaled his last breath. The Figure spoke, a small set of sentences. Five to be exact. Just long enough for him to hear and understand It’s perspective on all of this. Just long enough for a quick lamentation before his departure.

“My dear Father, you have forgotten to see, that your supposed lack of love was merely life’s trickery. You failed to see, Father, that the love my Mother had for you was tremendous, such that, she would have given birth to you, yourself, sacrificing her life, if only, to please you. I know, dear Father, that this is a mistake that I will not make for you have born me well. I am your spawn, Father, I am you. Thank you.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling for the last and first time. The Figure stood up, soaked with the red life that his Father had neglected to appreciate. Looking around, It saw the predicament, and though It knew that there was someone out there to love It, It couldn’t help but cry for the loss of the man who loved himself too much, such that It was spawned out of hatred and contempt for this world; this reality. It lost the only man it would ever love. That was the It’s reality, and slowly, It began to slit It’s own throat. The blood once more filled It’s chest, It’s small piece of undergarment clothing, It’s legs, then the floor. It would all be over soon. It needn’t wait for too long. Not for long.

(c) Anachronic Works 2012

This One’s For You, Bobby

Glancing for a second at the analogue clock atop his dashboard, he returned his eyes to the road. Like most delivery truck drivers who would drive at 2 o’clock in the morning, he listened to the radio rather than entertaining himself with the silence from his dirty, old, abused, grey-white sock puppet that sat there in the passenger seat. Two buttons were stuck to the tip, with superglue, for eyes, and a crudely sewn smile right below them. It had been with him for ages, stuffed, and tied down on the open end.

A crusty man, he had a white beard and some sort of a cartoon beggar’s build with his small arms and small waistline. A red cap embraced the hair on his head, the type with a rainbow-coloured, net back. A pair of relatively oversized and overused jeans rested around his legs. His shirt was a large blue Ed Hardy, with the printed image of a woman caught in the middle of a provocative dance.

“Hard-core, or soft-core porn, eh, Bobby?” He asked the sock in his native tongue, partially quoting a song on the radio. He smiled calmly and chuckled to himself for being so bored. The song changed to something rather loud, he cursed in his distaste.

After a while his ears began to ache. He flicked off the radio. Silence filled the front cabin of the delivery truck. He frowned at the ever distant end of the road. The headlights were on and several other trucks were driving alongside him on the four lane highway. It was a long way to go to get up to Baguio, a subsequently modernized mountain city. He still hadn’t left Manila, and he had more or less six hours to go before reaching his destination, a quick nap, and a drive back down to Manila. These quick orders are verily, quite unfriendly to the delivery truck drivers.

“I thought so, buddy. I always knew you were one of those who liked that type of music.” He addressed the sock again in his native tongue as the wind rustled his long, white hair beneath the cap. The heat was intense in the city, especially since it was midsummer. The air was thick with the whispers of a slow death. The only consolation was that he was driving fast enough for the wind to cool off his face and change every split-second. He peered at the upcoming billboards that advertised useless products and for a second there, he forgot the road.

Returning his gaze to the immensely uninspiring road before him, he reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a 3 year old copy of an FHM magazine. His boredom led him to once more gaze at the beautiful women that lined the covers and inner pages. A figure emerged from his pants, creating a hill centred on the plains of his pants. The crevices with loose threads adjusted themselves accordingly. Dropping the magazine next to Bobby, he thought about how his life had always been going in the wrong direction. Every choice made was a mistake not worth making, and every major decision was a failure that couldn’t be solved. He lost everything he had and lives in his truck, the last of his possessions. Delivering these useless products was all he could do to stop starving. This time it was women’s underwear. Pulling out a cigarette from his soft pack of Marlboro Reds, as they would call it, he lit one and began smoking. His erection had barely subsided.

After finishing his cigarette, he began undoing his belt. It was time. He had to make it fast before the erection faded. With a wide grin that was seemingly hell-spawned, he unzipped his pants. His teeth were incomplete, and moist black spots lined the outside of the crevices where once there dwelled teeth. Pulling out his penis from beneath the tight cotton of his briefs, he transferred his gaze towards the sock and winked. His penis was hard, fully erect, though it hadn’t done that in so many years. He cackled towards the early morning sky, and adjusted in his seat, as if showing his penis off to the sock, that kept it’s eternal smile.

“This one’s for you, Bobby!” he shouted at the sock, again in his native tongue, as he stepped hard on the pedals, looking directly into the road.

Remembering his past with a boy named Bobby, he began stroking the back end of his penis. Bobby, his most beloved companion, had stuck with him through the worst times. Even when all his other friends had begun to call him “faggot”, Bobby was the one to push them all away and pull him aside. Bobby was the one to care for him when he cried over the loss of his first childhood crush during their grade-school years, Alexis. Bobby was the one to care for him as he cried over the loss of his second childhood crush and first male crush, Joey, who had dated Irene during their high-school years. That was when they parted ways, right after high-school. Bobby had gone to college. His family on the other hand was too poor to pay for tuition, and so he needed to work. No matter how hard Bobby’s exam was, the following day, Bobby would always call, just to check up. He was working but he always appreciated hearing Bobby’s voice. Even when he’d gone to rehab for taking shabu, a local drug similar to cocaine, Bobby was the only one who visited at the graduation and cared enough to buy chocolates and lunch for the occasion. He loved the bastard.

He remembered that one fateful night, 3 years after Bobby had graduated college, when he had finally summed up the courage to ask Bobby out to an actual dinner-date. He was so excited he chose his best clothes and put on his lipstick, tied his long hair, and readied himself 2 hours before actually having to leave his apartment. Bobby had left a message saying that he would meet him there at the restaurant. It was a hotel restaurant and he’d been saving up for so long that he nearly starved for that night. Just as he arrived at the restaurant, he saw Bobby, climbing out of his car. Bobby’s smile was heaven-sent, and he looked dashing. Alas, fate, as it would have, twisted lives and so a bus had crashed into Bobby and his car, pinning the two against the wall. He ran towards Bobby, but it was too late. Bobby’s head had been fractured open. Brains were all over the hood of the car. Blood dripped down towards the sidewalk canal and began flowing into the drain. He let out a gut-wrenching scream, but it couldn’t help; nothing could. It was too late.

He quit his job, and used the last of his money to pay for Bobby’s cremation, and the whole family was there. After everyone had left, he broke the lock of the frame that contained Bobby’s urn, and took the urn, spilling some ash as he went along. Having nowhere to turn, he ran to his truck and drove off into the far south. After months, he sold the urn for a low price, and kept Bobby’s ashes in one of his socks. He never went anywhere without it. He knew he never would. Looking back at the sock, a tear in his eye, he smiled, saying;

“This one’s for you, Bobby.” And he began masturbating over the sock. With each hard tug and each bead of sweat that fell, he imagined Bobby’s body. With each gasp for breath he imagined Bobby’s penis. The sock was still smiling, and he could see the smile on Bobby’s face that night they were supposed to date. It was as glorious as it was painful. He furiously shook his hand whilst keeping the other hand steady. He tried to keep his foot steady, as to not eliminate his chances of ever completing his quest. He closed his eyes hard, and his face began to wrinkle even more. Stretched in a somewhat frown of concentration, his hat gained the moisture from his head. His bony body, although physically tired was rejuvenated with the memorized image of Bobby in the common shower that time after physical education class. With a slight bit of semen emerging at the tip of his penis, he smiled a purely satisfied smile. He screamed as he came on the sock. He covered it with his very own human milky-white substance. It was a scream of joy, a scream of pain, a scream of anger, a scream of hate, a scream of bliss, a scream of lust, but mostly, a scream of love. Fate struck its final blow and he crashed the truck into the trees alongside the high-way. He bled to death with his face pressed against the sock, the mixture of blood and semen not disturbing him in the slightest. He smiled peacefully as the ambulance sirens wailed in the distance.

“This one’s for you, Bobby!”

(c) Anachronic Works 2012

3 Reasons Why Budoy Is A Counterproductive Television Show (Philippine Audience)

It has come to my attention that the TV show called “Budoy” on a local channel here in the Philippines called ABS-CBN (no correlation to CBN whatsoever, as of my knowledge), has garnered a great deal of popularity. From regular conversations, to watching the show every night it is available, to even vandalizing the tables of my University’s (University of the Philippines Los Baños) classrooms (I didn’t take the photo yet) with the astoundingly simple-yet-pleasing logo of the show (as seen in the opening photo for this article). Most talk that floats around where I study and in my circles of friends regarding this, are commonly reduced to mimicking the lead character, by the name of Budoy, when it comes to his linguistic wordplay. Now, I believe that there is a fine line between comedy or satire, and the actual thing that the satiric role suggests to criticize. The way I see it, people have been dancing around this as if it were a ballet performance. (Think Giselle, or any other ballet play, where they jump across the floorboards, tiptoeing as if it were actually beneficial to them to subject their toes to such harsh conditions.) This is why I have summed up 3 reasons as to why the show is rather counterproductive, in terms of the sarcastic scenario stated above. You can see the ABS-CBN Website’s page for Budoy, here.

Now before you go on telling me to watch it first, I already have (two or three times), and I still think that my reasons are legitimate. Take a read!

Reason 1: Television is a Medium for Knowledge

I personally don’t watch the show as often as I should, and almost despise the innate lack of grammar with the words he speaks. (No offense to the mentally challenged) It’s just that these things become infectious, and they are generally highly attractive to most commonplace people, thus allowing their minds to be manipulated in such a way that their grammar, instead of getting better through a very useful medium of communication, gets worse.

Herp Derp

“You may not know it, yet, but that’s a mind control device on his head.”

Television is a medium, and what do mediums do; they give off information, that’s what. If you knew how much horseshit mass media is feeding us, I doubt you’d want to shit your pants for a week. Maybe even ever again. Trying to find a needle in a haystack, substituted for truth in the lies respectively doesn’t do it justice. Trying to find that needle, in a mountain of shit; that sounds more apropos.

Horse Manure

“If you dig long enough, you can find the truth in there!”

If the television shows provided more educationally correct shows, then we would have less of a problem with our country’s innate lack of education for the children (which will hopefully solve our “corruption problem”). Since the children “are the future”, why not give them something to work with, rather than just grabbing the money and running, resulting in the catastrophe Peter Parker achieved in Spider Man 1?

Pfft...

“Dem robbers killz my uncle, but I haz powrz and cn pwnz yuz.”

Of course with the exception of the masses “pwning” the TV stations. Unless those bastards have hooked up DOTA to their database. That would be a totally different story.

Reason 2: Media Rules The World

It is the Age of Information, and more or less, everyone’s buying in on it. Ironically, this gave birth to one of the most idiotic generations humanity has ever seen, wherein people can’t even go outside to do a little exercise coz they’re reaching a new level on Skyrim. Either that or they’re waiting for their favourite TV soap opera to arrive. Or maybe some are just furiously masturbating to Next Top Model with Tyra Banks.

Skyrim

"WAAARGH!!! My burning hand and mythological creature educates you!!!"

Next Top Model

“Man, they’re so hot; I don’t even need to leave the house to exercise. I’ll just use my hand!” *fap fap fap*

The least those TV companies could do, would be to provide something educational. If they’re worried about ratings, then have all the channels carry the same intellectual background so that there will be no choice as to what stupidity the masses would prefer. They’d be forced to learn something new every time. Just think of it as Discovery Channel on every channel in your 100 station cable/satellite subscription; except with the option as to what you will learn.

Monkeys

“A new version of Humanity (2012.1.1) is available. Would you like to download it now?”

It’s almost a monopoly, anyway, so why not have the TV stations come to a decision that will help the future generations learn how to speak and communicate properly so that they may not have to go through the chaos that was The Tower of Babel in the Bible. (Just a reference, I am not religious, however I do enjoy reading the scriptures of various religions.) I’m just saying we need to grow the heck up as a race, stop thinking about ourselves, and save the generation that you claim are “the future” or the “brighter tomorrow”.

Reason 3: People Are Gullible

Going back to Budoy, it is said to be a wonderfully inspirational story. Although that may be true, people should be aware that this show is not meant to be re-enacted in everyday life. They should differentiate comedy or art altogether from reality. If they cannot find a way to let the viewers know this, then it is better off that they cancel the show altogether.

Nicolas Cage

“My boss just told me that I needed to work double shift on Christmas. I told him; ‘Fuck you!’”

If you want people to behave properly, then put proper TV shows on for everyone. Define what makes it artistic and what makes it comical, from the cold hard reality of life. People can hope and aspire to achieve a better life, but that doesn’t mean they have to do those bullshit things that happen in the movies/TV soap operas. That’s the whole reason why those poor folks keep living the way they do. They expect some “Prince Charming” or some “Wonderfully Placed Stroke of Sheer Luck” to arrive. What happens to them when it doesn’t? Nothing, and the TV stations make away with all that money.

I know it’s going to be very difficult to proceed with the aforementioned plan, but I mean, come on, at least Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men provided us with a sane interpretation of what would really happen to someone as odd as Budoy, or in the case of the book; Lenny, in the real world. (For those of you who don’t know, Lenny is shot in the head by his best friend as a form of mercy killing, since half the fucking town was out to kill the poor bastard.) If Steinbeck could do it, so can a big group of media-makers and talented people. Heck, even Forrest Gump contributed to a little bite of that reality sandwich.

Forrest Gump

“It’s not a sandwich, but it’ll do. I just hope nobody shoots me in the head.”

Although in spite of all of this, Budoy seems to be a heart-warming show, that, even though it causes such effects on children and the future generations, one can still appreciate the art involved with the simplistic love felt by the mentally challenged. Good day!

* This post shares only my thoughts and opinions on the show or any other mentioned form of TV/Movie media here.
** This post is meant for satiric purposes and not for offense to the show or any other mentioned form of TV/Movie media here.
*** This does not portray/represent the thoughts of all other critics on the show or any other mentioned form of TV/Movie media here.
**** This does not intend to badmouth the propagators and/or viewers of the shows mentioned.

***** Images are courtesy of Google Image Search.

****** This is just for fun, so just enjoy. Thanks!

(c) Anachronic Works 2011

Just for The Memory, Right on the Mark

Thanks to my friend “Kuya” Mark Madrona, I was able to post an article on his blog; “Right on the Mark”, which I doubt was coincidental, is the TOP Political Blog in the Philippines, so far. I am very much grateful for his assistance and help with me with regards to this blog, as well as his advice on political subjects.

Wonderfully consistent with current events that are mostly regarding politics, but branching out to so much more, “Kuya” Mark, has a blog that is very much worth reading and following. With straightforward wit and proper information he storms his way across the battlefield of this writing world with his essays. I wouldn’t be surprised if he, one day, wins a national award, or an international award, for that matter, for his works. What I do in entertainment (short stories/poems) he does thrice as well in his essays.

I am very much honored to have my work “Just for the Memory” featured in his blog.

Cheers, “Kuya” Mark!