Old album was deleted to make room for new pictures:

1. Shots from the Grand Alumni Reunion of St. Anthony Nova School, where I studied elementary.

2. Shots from my recent trip to Japan.

Enjoy!

You are one of the few out there whose wings are
truly ANGELIC. Selfless, powerful, and
divine, you are one blessed with a certain
cosmic grace. You are unequalled in
peacefulness, love, and beauty. As a Being of
Light your wings are massive and a soft white
or silver. Countless feathers grace them and
radiate the light within you for all the world
to see. You are a defender, protector, and
caretaker. Comforter of the weak and forgiver
of the wrong, chances are you are taken
advantage of once in awhile, maybe quite often.
But your innocence and wisdom sees the good in
everyone and so this mistreatment does not make
you colder. Merciful to the extreme, you will
try to help misguided souls find themselves and
peace. However not all Angelics allow
themselves to be gotten the better of - the
Seraphim for example will be driven to fighting
for the sake of Justice and protection of those
less powerful. Congratulations - and don't ever
change - the world needs more people like you.


*~*~*Claim Your Wings - Pics and Long Answers*~*~*
brought to you by Quizilla

It's at the UP Diliman, between Palma Hall and the Faculty Center

Brought to you by:



and


OMF Literature Inc.

This shirt has been calling out to me this past week, begging me to buy it. Written on it are three words that, I believe, hold the key to world peace, the end of hunger, the cure for cancer, that sort of stuff. It says:

girls are evil

Case in point:
This girl I know finally realizes that she actually likes this friend of mine, even love him, that is, after she rejected him. So she starts sending the usual girl-signals to the guy (he has moved on, in his own bungling way), reviving his long dead hopes. My poor friend falls for it, and begins the cycle anew.

I was not surprised when the girl made a u-turn the moment my friend expressed a renewed interest on her. She decided that no, she still ain't ready, for a relationship, that she doesn't want the guy after all. And so she brings him down, bigtime, for the nth time. What's new. And that's just one horror story in a bagful of horror stories.

In retrospect, I think girls aren't evil. Not really. Not on purpose. Just utterly confused most of the time.

I really like women who know what they want and work for it until they get it. Women who can focus on something and do everything within their power to see it through its conclusion.

I say, don't wait for things to come to you, to sweep you off your feet. I say, when you want something, grab it by the neck and shake it until it faints. To hell with culture. This holds true, I believe, for both genders, not men only.

Having said that, I think I'd still get the shirt.

It has been a maaaad, maaaad 7 days for me, since I returned. From the NAIA Baggage Claim Area, to Antipolo, to Rajah Matanda, to Eastwood, to UERM, and finally, last night, at the UP Faculty Center, for Anomaly 3. Madness. And I like it.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Last night, we played a so-so set. Then I got to watch moonstar88, one of the few local acts I absolutely adore. I asked my bandmates what High Beam can do so that we'd sound as good as them. Kel suggested that I start wearing plaid skirts, on the pretext that that I'm a Scotman. Have a trans-sexual operation even. Maybe if the band was female-fronted, we'd sound better.

What? And give up my goatee? Never!

I saw Ailene last night but she failed to give me a copy of her soundtrack, as she promised. But, true to my angelic wings, I have forgiven her. Forgiven, but not forgotten. I will nag you, Ailene, until you give me my 70 tracks of happy music. I saw friends I have sorely missed: Jang, Jam, Kat, Stef, Daph, Kuya Emil, Emanwel. Did I forget anyone? Things were happening so fast last night. Everything's a blur.

Then I finally got to meet Al, the great artistmonk, who's working on something that our small circle of geeks have been waiting for last few years: Summer Solstice. I met Deus (again?), and Mai, Daph's friend.

(Again.) Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

I'm taking vitamins, to keep my strength up. I still battle with insomnia at times. Oh how can I sleep when this energy that comes from God-knows-where is pumping! pumping! pumping! through my veins. I would scream, if I could, and if it would do me any good. I doubt if it could take the edge of this... I dunno what to call this.

No, I am not into any controlled substance. Full-cream milk is legal, last time I checked.

Wahoooo.

1. The Metro Manila Community Orchestra will be having a free gig at a church in Katipunan. I really want to go but i'm not yet decided. If you want to check this out with me, text me. Or better yet, call me. I'd love to hear your voice.

2. The gallery has been updated. A couple of old albums were deleted to make way for never-before-seen pictures from last night's Anomaly 3.

Enjhoy!

My parents named me after my dad's Scandinavian ship captain at the time of my birth. Little did they know the significance and their own foresight in naming me as such, for my name means warrior.

I chose my net name out of a whim, yet even that seems to be part of a bigger plan. A friend of mine revealed that the name wulfgar means wolf-spear.

I am only beginning to realize the weight, the responsibilty of bearing such names. Warrior-wolf-spear. My destiny.

Last night, I have finally installed my audio card into my PC, plus several tools for creating and manipulating digitized music or audio. I ran a frantic errand to SM Fairview, wearing the clothes I slept on, for a replacement cable. In the end, before the clock struck twelve, my home-studio was up-and-running.

For the past weeks I have been trying to think of a name for this fledging outfit, this mother-of-pearl. I wanted my studio's name to contain lycanthropic and psychotic elements, reflect strength and passion, among other things.

Last night, 07 February 2004, at around 12 o'clock, Howling Mad Music was born.

In truth, right now all I have is a multi-input soundcard. I still need to add a mixer and several good microphones, hopefully before the year ends. Plus lots and lots of cables. By next year, maybe I'll have a better monitor setup than what I have right now.

But I can start recording now, given an amp and a guitar. I can start creating music now. Howling Mad Music is young and hadicapped but not impotent.

My Fruity Loops sounds better. Hell, even winAmp sounds better now. I have Reason 2.5 bundled with the card, but I have yet to figure out how to use it. I need help. I'll try to look for people who know MIDI and get them to teach me.

Step aside, Daniel Bedingfield. Here I come.

Instructions: Choose a singer/band/musician and answer only in song titles or album titles by them:

Band of Choice: any band or artist I choose is fine for this q-thing (which I caught from artistmonk's blog.)

1. Are you male or female? The Man Who Sold the World, by David Bowie, as sung by Nirvana;

2. How old are you? 24 by Wolfgang;

3. Describe yourself: Da Ya Think I'm Sexy? by Rod Stewart; Ice Ice Baby by Vanilla Ice; Expect the Unexpected by Dog Eat Dog;

4. How do some people feel about you? Creep by Radiohead; Beautiful Stranger by Madonna; Larger than Life by The Backstreet Boys; I Go Crazy by Paul Davis;

5. How do you feel about yourself? Strong Enough by Sheryl Crow; Nothing to Prove by Goldfinger

6. Describe your ex: not applicable, but here goes: Nevermind album by Nirvana ;

7. Describe your views on significant others and crushes: Take my Breath Away by Emma Bunton;

8. Describe what you want: Aubrey by Bread; Fly Away by Lenny Kravitz; Disappear by Jars of Clay;

9. Describe how you live: What if I Stumble by DC Talk; Hooray Hooray, Its a Holy Holiday by Boney M.;

10. Describe how you love: I'll Never Break Your Heart by The Backstreet Boys; Sweet Surrender by Sarah McLachlan;

11. Share a few words of wisdom: No Woman, No Cry by Bob Marley, as sung by Boney M; Love is a Good Thing by Sheryl Crow;

It amuses me that, in this day and age, people still manage to underestimate me: coddled, pitied, gloated upon, hidden from, among a host of other things. Out of ignorance perhaps or, sadly, out of forgetfulness.

Poor old (eeek) wulfgar...

I could almost fall from my seat laughing. What a gas!

Really, I don't mind. I have never been into explaining myself. Why waste energy talking about being when I can just be?

I gotta fly.

A perfect way to cap an awesome night.

It never occured to me that a 200 meter walk can be fatal. But it can be, as I found out last night (or more accurately, early this morning).

I was walking on my way to my boarding house in Village B, half-asleep, zombie-like. It was 3AM and the lines 'Go! Go, Johnny, go! Go!' were playing in an infinite loop inside my head. Of course, I had my tiny spike with me, which I always hold in my hand whenever I walk alone as a precaution against being mugged. I am always ready to gouge out my attacker's eyes before I manage to get myself killed. Just give me an eye, and I can die. Never had the oppurtunity to use it though.

Then they came.

An owner-type jeep came along, with at least three passengers. One was standing at the back, yelling (take note: it's almost 3AM) from the top of his lungs: 'Pokey for presideeeent! Waaaaah! Pokey for presideeeent!'

Of course they're out of their minds!

It was impossible for them to ignore me, impossible for me to hide. I was the only one on the street at that time.

They slowed down as they approached me. The guy tried to get my attention, yelling, 'Psst! Huuuuuy!!' I tried to ignore them and went right on past but the jeep stopped. 'Huuuuuy!!'

I turned around with as much dignity as I can muster, my spike behind my back. Bahala na. The guy on the owner-type jeep looked at me and said, 'Pokey for president, ha?!' I nodded and went on my way. They moved on, thank God.

I felt adrenaline wash over me. I mean if it were just one guy, even three, I wouldn't have been that scared. But they have a friggin vehicle with them! What can my 2-inch spike do against that?

Suddenly, I heard the jeep behind me, approaching slowly. 'Oh God,' I prayed, 'I am in your Hands.'

Thankfully, the jeep ignored me this time. I think they dropped off the creep somewhere nearby. He's practically my neighbor.

Then I went on right home and drank my milk.

The Metro Manila Community Orchestra will be playing tomorrow night at the Quezon City Hall (I think), at 6PM. I believe it's open to the public. Check it out.

If you want take me with you, text me.

My brain is fried: infra_checkin; infra_checkout; check status of file in the info.Work file; recurse, recurse, recurse; traverse the directories; the output of the function should be of 'hash' type, containing all the directory paths and corresponding type (i.e. link, file, or directory); Enough, Eulo! Enough! Aargh!

I shall speak of more pleasant things.

I had a most interesting conversation with the artistmonk the other night. We talked about Clive Barker, Maria Makiling, Kuya Doods etc., and of course, music.

I have always thought of myself as pretty serious in my artcraft. I believed I was competent enough to call myself (albeit secretly) a rock god. Ugh.

How humbling it is, to meet someone like her!

Now I know how a star feels in the midst of the night sky, surrounded by others brighter than I. I am ashamed of myself.

That conversation shook me from my complacency. There's so much I need to do, and with so little time. I need to practice! practice! practice! and study! Immediately the next day I asked my boss if I could bring my guitar inside the office, to which he promptly replied: 'Musical instruments are not allowed in the Development Area.' Translation: NO. So much for plan A. Now to find plan B.

I am tempted to feel depressed and inadequate because of all this. Then I remembered that in one thing at least I beat her. I am definitely taller.

I stole from the thief once more. A word, this time around: craptastic.

She didn't really answer when I asked her what it meant. Perhaps she herself doesn't know. I think it's one of those words whose meaning shifts, depending on how you use it. Vague in the same class as sweet, OK, love, and other four-letter words.

We celebrated Kuya Val's birthday today with a movie marathon: Top Secret starring Val Kilmer with bad hair, then LOTR:The Two Towers Extended DVD version. It was a gas but I got a headache from too much laughing courtesy of Kilmer singing Skeet Surfin'. Craptastic.

I suspect that I have just passed through a nexus of sorts, a crossroads. I look at the rearview mirror and notice that I left a few things back there: dreams; nightmares; people-who-rode-with-me-but-have-to-take-a-different-road-from-then-on. I race on along the path and realize that I move at a different speed from others: some cannot keep up with me, some are leaving me behind. Yet the Road opens up wide, tantalizing me with promises of what awaits along the way. I see that I share it with other faces, some familiar, some new, all going my way too. I take a deep draught of the sweet wind as it rushes past me.

Now that's craptastic.

Ready. Sing.

Plunderer's Theme
(to the tune of Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious)

Pillage, rape, and loot, and burn, but all in moderation
If you do the things we say, then you'll soon rule the nation
Kill your foes and enemies and then kill your relations
Pillage, rape, and loot, and burn, but all in moderation

(ad nauseam)


My Favorite Drugs
(to the tune of My Favorite Things)

Reefers and roach clips and papers and rollers
Cocaine and procaine for twenty-year molars
Reds and peyote to work out your bugs
These are a few of my favorite drugs

Uppers and downers and methedrine freakout
Take some amphetamines, watch your brains leak out
Acid and mescaline pull out your plugs
These are a few of my favorite drugs

Backs that are perfect for carrying monkeys
Users of heroin, often called junkies
Methadone helps them to stop being thugs
Takes them off one of my favorite drugs

Chorus:
On a bad trip
When the cops come
When I lose my head
I simply take more of my favorite drugs
And then I'm not sad -- I'm dead

The worst kind of pimple is the one that grows inside the nostrils. It's hurts like a normal pimple, but you can't friggin' pick your nose. Never mind that you can't breathe because of booger build up. It just hurts too much. The inside of your nose itches like but you can't do a damn thing about it because an invisible menace is in the way.

Ahh the pain, the humanity of it all.

I went to the mall, intent on buying a new pair of jeans. I tried several shops but did not find a pair that I liked. I was considering buying a shirt instead when I came across this Incesticide CD by Nirvana. A true rarity.

I bought an audio installer cd last week. Fruity Loops Studio 4.0 was pasted on the label, among other useless stuff. I gleefully rushed home to try it out but I discovered that most loops weren't playing properly. I browsed the program files and found a directory named 'Project Bones.' It was empty.

Why on earth would a pirate neglect to include the files under a directory named Project Bones? I mean, if I had any file that I consider absolutely essential to whatever it is I'm doing, I'd probably put it under a directory named Project Bones. Sheez.

My only consolation is that Fruity Loops 4 is already in the hands of the bootleggers. I just need to hunt for the installer package that contains the full version of the stuff. Its friggin' craptastic.

Notice how some words are so fitting, so apt for its use, that its meaning can almost be grasped by a linguistic alien from the mere resonance of its enunciation: delirious. Delirious. Ahh.

It's hard, having a festering pimple inside your nostril.

I am slightly feverish, delirious even, from the moment I woke up. My nose is lopsided right now. Ugh. I would take antibiotics but I need to get a prescription for that and I'm too lazy. I could just ride this out but when, oh when, will the hurting stop? My officemates threaten to pinch my swollen nasal passage. I cringe and beg them to please spare me, here have a cookie instead. Yes that's better. Nice officemate. Now if you be nice to me the whole day I be giving you more treats like that one. You like that? Yes, yes, now scram.

I have two books I probably shouldn't be reading right now. One is Grendel by John Gardner. It tells of the story of Beowulf from the monster's point of view, at least until Beowulf rips his arm off and he dies, bleeding, surrounded by gloating bunny rabbits and owls and deer. Needless to say, Grendel was nuts. The other is On The Road by Jack Kerouac. Now that was one helluva ride. Dean Moriarty is insane. I love him. He knows time. Do you know time? Yass yass yass. Blow!

I wonder if insanity can be caught by reading about it, an osmotic process over which we have absolutely no control. I was texting nalani earlier. I was typing gibberish but she understands, I hope.

When oh when does the hurting stop?

Having a pimple inside your nostril is not all bad. At least it's invisible and you're spared the burden of answering silly questions like, "Uyy... sino yan?" ('who caused that' is the rough English translation).

I mean, if not for the fact that I have been writing about it in the past few days, no one would have guessed that I am bearing, with as much dignity as I can muster, this inescapable affliction for the moment. Perhaps an observant eye would notice that my nose is slighly distended, but even that can be easily dismissed as caused by bad genes or poor lighting.

Inner turmoils are invisible pimples inside your nostrils that fester and torment you until either of two things happen: you pop it and bleed it off (although as to how you are to accomplish this when the object is deep inside a nasal orifice, I have no clue) or you ride it out and let time heal the raging wound.

I can be a very dangerous man because I see more than what is usually visible to the naked eye. My true friends value this trait, the false ones vanish when they meet my gaze. I cannot blame them for not all can stand to be naked under another's scrutiny. I do not boast of this gift because it is mine only by God's grace, although I never hesitate to use it. I confess though that I sometimes wish that I'm a bit dumb and blind. This gift feels like a curse at times. There is such a thing as way too much information.

So how's my proverbial pimple lately? I have none at present. All I have is a literal one inside my nose and I will squeeze every bit of insight I can get from it. For now it is my will that my world revolve around my nose.
Look at me spin.

The pimple's gone. All is well with the world once more.

Yes, all-new site colors. I got sick of baby-blue. It was a tad feminine, yet it felt right when I first put up this site.

No longer.

One dreary night, sometime in August last year, I remember dumping on sweet old Kat. Something terrible happened that broke my heart and, thank God, she was there. Bitterness was pouring out of my guts. In my arrogance, I was lamenting the fact that God was giving me special treatment by throwing me in the midst of the most violent storms, hitting me with the hardest blows, and piercing me with the deepest wounds. I was complaining of how He refuses to grant me the simplest of petitions when He has all the power of creation at His fingertips.

I saw myself as the center of the whole universe. What an ego.

Thank God for His grace and mercy, for He does not punish us a we deserve, inspite of our pride and utter foolishness. In His impeccable timing He freed me from all that was holding me back and keeping me from soaring. Now that I fly do not grudge Him the delay, if it is even proper to call it that.

Damn, it was worth it, every single moment drenched in blood, sweat, and tears. He really does know what's best.

I am a man reborn. It feels strange, this blending of old and unfamiliar elements inside. Oh yes, I am not the same, for who shall pass through Fire and remain unscathed?

I know I will lose more than I can imagine as I shed off my old skin. Yet loss is a remote concept in my mind right now, when my God is filling my cup to the brim. I say, good riddance to all.

I have already thanked You, dear Father, but not nearly enough. There are no words.

I haven't felt like this in a while.

I made a substantial withdrawal last Tuesday night. The ATM deducted the amount from my savings but didn't spit out the cash. Result: (technical) bankruptcy on a non-working holiday. Penniless. I am a pauper once more, at least until tomorrow (it's payday, wahoo!).

So I spent a perfectly wonderful holiday locked inside my room, watching CSI Season 2 until my eyes popped. I didn't bother to bathe since I won't be seeing anyone of signifigance (my family will love me however I smell). I foraged for food around the house in between episodes. Just like old times.

The best things in life are free.

* * *
I have with me a bag of sweets and chocolates intended for Daph et. al. If the package is not claimed by next week I will forfeit their claim on the grounds of lack of interest. I hope they take their own sweet time.