Will you please

lend me the spade?

I have discovered

flowers in your garden:

beautiful but bent.

I can help them.

No, my son.

Leave them as they are.

Watch and they'll find

the hand of the sun.

Touch and you've just

defiled all the warmth

of something so beautiful.

Destined are you

to have such defiance?

My son, I think not.

*for my beloved blockmates.

Operation Birthday. Three weeks before her birthday, nag-request itong kabarkada ko na itago na lang natin sa pangalang Sabon na sana ay i-set-up namin siya sa kanyang crush na si Birthday Gift.

Sige, pagbigyan. Magaling ako magtahi ng mga eksena at ng mga iskema. Bata pa lang ako nararamdaman ko na may kalalagyan sa organized crime ang utak ko. ( ^_^ )

Phase 1: Blueprint. Kailangan muna ng script. At kahit nabigyan ako ng tatlong linggong palugit, nabuo ko lang ito noong madaling araw bago ang birthday ni Sabon. Kung may paboritong one-liner si Prof. Avecilla (sikat na terror prof/attorney sa Maskom) na "what Avecilla wants, Avecilla gets," hindi naman siguro papatalo ang aking "what Bambam crams, Bambam gets."

Phase 2: Breakdown. Hindi keri ang solo flight sa OB kaya dapat may kakamping Production Crew. Ni-relay ko sa iba pang mga kaibigan sa Inner Cirque namin ang details ng OB Script.

>> "Dahil si Sabon mismo ang nag-request ng OB, hindi na siya ma-su-surprise. Pero kailangan pa rin ng element of suspense. Mag-inarte tayong lahat na hindi na tuloy ang OB pag magkita-kita tayong lahat ng lunchbreak. At mag-sorry nang mag-sorry."

>> "Magkaklase si Sabon at si Handog sa isang three-hour afternoon class. Pero kailangan separate-lives sila sa pagpunta sa rendezvous point after dismissal. So we will have two delegations. I will be the director and oversee the action through text. You, Roroport, make sure Sabon will go to rendezvous point. You, Mother Roxie, make sure Handog will go too."

>> "Kunyari may kakatagpuing business contact si Sabon for the Beloved Org at sasamahan siya ni Roroport. Kunyari naman kailangan ng alalay ni Mother Roxie para sa kanyang mga mabibigat na babasahin kaya isasama si Handog."

>> "Siguradong magkikita rin yang dalawang yan doon. Dapat masigurong mag-me-merienda sila, bahala na kung anong mangyari matapos. Pero siyempre, exit muna kayong mga field workers."

Phase 3: Clockwork. Sobrang follow-up ang ginawa ko sa aming dalawang field workers na sina Roroport at Mother Roxie��kung nasaan na sila o kung may problema ba. Nagtago kami ng aking Assistant Director na si Xui sa isang mataong bookstore at doon ay text kami nang text sa lahat ng kasabwat. Para walang sablay.

Dapat unang dumating sina Sabon. 1 message received: andito na kami! --roroport. Check. Maya-maya dumatingg na sina Mother Roxie at Handog. 1 message received: sabihan mo na lang kami kung kailan papasok. Basta andito na kami. --mother roxie. Check uli. Pero kailangan talaga siguro umeksena ang Murphy's Law (if something will go wrong, it will.) Nawalan ng signal ang sim card ko kaya hindi ako makatanggap ng feedback. Siguro sa sobrang plantsado ng script ko, sa sim card ko na lang nagparamdam si Murphy.

Phase 4: Main Event. Biglang lumihis ang plano. Hindi na kami maka-reply at nagkita na ang Sabon at ang Handog nang mas maaga sa inaasahan. Na-rattle itong si Sabon at sinundan ang um-exit na si Roroport sa aming kuta sa bookstore. Nagbalak pa kami magtago, pero huli na.

Ngunit hindi pa nag-register kay Sabon na ito ang OB na ni-request niya. Sinabi niyang inaaya siyang mag-merienda ni Mother Roxie at Handog kaya hindi na raw niya ito palalampasin. Kami na lang daw mag-abang dun sa business contact.

"Iha, walang business contact. This is OB. It's happening."

And in an instant, Sabon turned into a Tarsier. Priceless.

The Marathon Man has been running endlessly since yesterday. There were better things to do than run, but he must; he's lost. Just maybe, running around in circles will bring him order and direction.

The Marksman.

And I guess the Marathon Man did get something out of it. Running along those circles, he stumbled across an Archer who is so powerful with the bow and arrow that the Marathon Man himself approached her, got one of her arrows and stabbed it in his own feet. The Archer busily disappeared in a blink of an eye, while the Marathon Man fell on his knees��to blush.

The encounter appeared to have drugged the Marathon Man for a whole day, but surprisingly it wore off when he went home to stop running and to catch some sleep. Seemingly, there was a reason why he stabbed the arrow in the feet and not the chest. Off he went to sleep.

Ground-breaking.

The Marathon Man woke up the other day to find himself in a garden full of bent flowers. He knew this; the same garden his old caretaker safeguarded for so long from her grandchildren who wanted to help straighten these flowers. The garden is still intact. The grandchildren must have decided not to meddle at all.

The Marathon Man hated these flowers. He thinks it's improper for these flowers to grow; this garden should have been a playfield for him and his friends, the grandchildren of the old caretaker. But he didn't uproot these flowers one by one... for they were alive. He just kept on applying herbicides, day in, day out, thinking they would just die out quietly.

A complete wipeout could not be achieved. The remaining stalks must have been genuine afterall.

One calm afternoon, when all the flowers were sleeping under the sun, he surprisingly found himself in the garden. He swore he could have not forgiven himself if he had totally destroyed something so beautiful. Here, he felt peace. Here, he knew there is no other place he would want to be. Here, he knew there is nothing more he would ask for. He has always wanted to protect this place.

And off went the Marathon Man, for he must keep on running and running and running and running...

This is spontaneous combustion, I guess. So it passes for a decent DISH entry. I haven't blogged for eleven days...

I remember Christmas of 2003. It was the beginning of SMART's Pasaload and a high school classmate fooled me into thinking that it was I who will gain load and not that classmate. Next time, I may return the favor to that classmate, but most definitely, I'll be keen not to ask Pasaload from you; you're not Smart. And spare me that joke of yours that you're smart and pretty... don't rub it in.

Some homes for the deaf and the mute don't use sign language as their primary means of communication. Rather, they read what the mouth says: how the mouth opens or closes to speak out syllables. I find it amusing. We were five rows apart; I wonder if you did get it. What if I said "could knock" or "goot rack?" Apparently, you did. Or maybe my vision just made it look far. I'm buying a pair or glasses��or I'll just watch your squad's routine in front of the television next time.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was not overhyped if I were to be asked. I still believe Snape is a good guy. And next time, don't ask me spoiler questions, I'll answer you poker-faced.

Over the weekend and the SONA, I could have written a litany of political views and happenings. Rather, I had this crazy thought that I missed someone. Fool's gold.

I'm out like this entry's subject.

Foreword

Archives

And I Shall
Call Myself...

Raindrops

Influx

Face-offs:
2nd Edition