June 21-27 Edition
May 4 2014
It's really funny. Just when I've to the point where material acquisitions don't matter to me, I realized that buying a tablet is a good idea.
What appeals to me is that I can watch, and take notes at my own leisure, the videos of my spiritual mentors like Wayne Dyer. I was tuned in again to Wayne's Every Day Wisdom earlier.
Forgiveness, he says, is an act of self love. You forgive those who hurt you not because you love them, but because you love yourself. It means you respect yourself too much to let negativity corrupt your being.
Learning to let go is a way of honoring your being. If people judge you, it's a reflection of their character, not yours. A heart full of love cannot spread hatred. You can't get apple juice from an orange. You can only give what you have.
I found a bit of solace away from the maddening crowd. I got a piece of crinkle biscuit and a mango shake for dinner in a quiet corner of I.T. Park.
I didn't go to Bantayan Island though today I uploaded my amateur short film Crossing Lapu Lapu.
I shot it as a record of my travels. It's my own movie postcard.
Crossing Lapu Lapu
A Film By Huggybear
One of my idols is Michelangelo Antonioni.
The legendary Italian filmmaker is the inspiration for my latest camera technique in my evolving style. .
I want the scene to convey what words don't and what the mind wants to see.
The end part of Antonioni's L'eclisse (The Eclipse) is a great influence in my passion for making movies. There's something magical in capturing a fleeting moment in time and giving it immortality on celluloid
A Film By Michelangelo Antonioni
On this day a week ago, I spent a quiet weekend just reading books.
One of them is about the works of The Coen brothers, Joel and Ethan.
I like how the Coens evoked the feel of Barton Fink. I can relate to the protagonist: a writer battling with his personal demons.
A Film By Joel and Ethan Coen
I seldom suffer from this so-called writer's block. I could imagine how frustrating that must feel.
Of course, there are times when I don't feel like writing. But it always comes back. Always does.
I try to avoid prostituting my writing by not working as a staff writer. I tried that once and it was the most constipating hell I went through. Never, ever again. I'll write only what I want to write.
Today, my fiction anthology, Johnnybee: The Stories & Short Novels of Jonathan Aquino, got published in ebook by Smashwords.
I shared excerpts instead of writing a blurb.
“You deaf or something?” she roared.
“Ah, yeah, look who’s talking, yo!”said Blue, gesturing hiphop.
I looked – glared – at him again.
"Hey you!” the Ice Queen was jabbing her finger at my left nipple.
I looked back at her.
“She can’t see us, Johnnybee,” White said.
I looked at him in wonder.
“STOP SPINNING YOUR HEAD LIKE A FREAKING ROOSTER!” screamed the Ice Queen.
The Huggybear Show
"The soul comes back in another body, like, a robber comes back as a fox?”
“No. A robber comes back as a victim.”
“How come I don’t remember my past lives?”
“It is all in the mind.”
“So how do you get out of this merry-go-round?” asked Huggybear.
“Ye must become perfect.”
“Is it? It is like solving a crosswords puzzle, Huggybear. Sometimes, thou art right, sometimes thou art wrong. Sometimes ye face a blank. But ye still go on,” said Leon.
“Trial and error?”
“Yes. The scientific method. If ye persevere, ye will come to a place where every letter just falls into place. Suddenly, thou art gazing at what was not there before. But if ye really think about it, it has been there all along,” said the Angel Leon.
They Call Him Legion
"The structure evokes visions of Spaniards, horse-drawn carriages and ancient souls. Even the pavement outside was cobbled, mute witnesses to the footsteps of time. On a large cross on the altar, a life-size statue of the Son of Man gazes across the empty pews with an air of unfathomable sadness, for the redemption of souls is but a myth. And from the walls can be heard the lamentations of those drowning in the fires of Hell for all eternity. The only illuminations in this forbidding place are candelabras discreetly placed in recessed corners. The darkness seem to have a life of it’s own: an amorphous entity, breathing, as if in anticipation for a primitive ritual..."
A Thousand Summers
"I was sitting on the lifeboats at the top deck as the ship began to move. No money can buy my joy. White foams around us, the water churns as we head to the open sea. A short while later, I was at the highest point in front, the sea breeze embracing me like a lover, unseen lands beckoning. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that I would spend the rest of my life this way..."
A childhood friend texted at four past midnight, just like the title of the Stephen King book I read years ago. My friend is now working as a caregiver for his aunt who was paralyzed with stroke. His cousins are not paying him.
"Bro, if you need help, just tell me," I texted back. "I try to avoid giving advice unless it's asked. So I'll just pretend you're asking for it. Here it is: you have to avoid being dependent on people who take you granted. Those people you work for are treating you like a servant and they justify not paying you because you're their relative. I'm not saying they're abusing you. But that's what I'm saying."
I sent my reply but I got an error message. Apparently I've run out of prepaid load. What's weird is that he got it. I looked at my Sent box. Nothing. That's spooky. To think that I was tuned in to the paranormal radio show Kasindak Sindak half an hour before that. I caught the show's last segment, where they're reading text messages and giving the meaning of dreams. I was really curious where they get their interpretations because I don't believe in dream dictionaries. There's a couple of ghost stories and requests for future topics from listeners. My Sent-Unsent text gives me the willies. But I got my message across.