served fresh from the forest floor

  • lunatics' fringe
  • Rommel hates paparazzi, while Wol can't decide what her best angle is
  • earth-toned dreams
  • Burrito Kat



nothing affects me again… is this hormonal or

nothing affects me again… is this hormonal or the cycle of things?

answers, i need you now.


what are you that urge me to take pen and strike the heart of paper until it bleeds words, flows thoughts, and screams ideas?

touching base

and suddenly I’m thirty two.

if i were an infrastructure, the City Engineering Department would be inspecting me for stability at this time. they’d want to know if my trusses and beams can still support the tons of concrete coating my steel beams and iron railings. they’d want to known if my rooms, nooks, crannies, attics, basements, and cellars are still fit for habitation. and i’d probably need a touch-up of paint on my facade, as well as some repairs on the plumbing and the ventilation. i’d give myself an “acceptable” for these criteria.

so i’ve roamed. but i didn’t go far. i took the advice of one sage and i explored my neighborhood like a tourist would. the interval spanned the last post i left here at the Cafe until yesterday. i found the experience interesting. and it did help me set my priorities almost straight. then the muse started bothering my conscience again that i should be doing some emptying online. whatever that empyting is.

maybe it’s just me, but i feel that the world is sheathed in anger. i feel that wrathful heat pulsing through the day, through the places i’ve explored, through the news i see and hear. i see it in the interactions of people around me. peace has suddenly become more expensive than a canister of Beluga caviar. or am i wrong about the price quote?

oh, thirty two.

here we go. another notch etched on the pillar of life.


this post needs prozac

Ever so slowly the realization dawns on me. I am now merely going on autopilot.

Call me narcissistic. It’s OK. What’s not OK is realizing that I threw away my compunction to write more than a year ago. And along with it my desire to live and to laugh and to love. Such shriveled shell. It’s where I find myself right now.

I tell people to soar, spread their wings and let their feathered appendages touch all possibilities. But I don’t buy that sort of natter for myself.

Busy. I pretend to be that. But what I’m actually doing is escaping. Digging a hole to China. Or to other geographical locations. I’m an ostrich. Flightless and constantly getting sand in my eyes. My power of speed (from zero to Mach 3) is useless on a plain where I can be a target even from 2 miles away.

You’d think that I only post stuff here when things are a mess in my personal life. Well, you’re not really off tangent on that one.

If I crash this plane now, who’d pick up the pieces? Would I smell like grilled pork tenders when the fuselage goes up in flames and I failed to bail out in time? Who knows? Who cares, even?

evilcon 2011

(Lotsa pictures lifted from the Monkey Keeper’s album and Jae’s album)

“Madam, I have been looking for a person who disliked gravy all my life: let us swear eternal friendship.”
~Sydney Smith, English writer  (1771-1845)


EvilCon 2011 ended with resounding success, expanding waistlines, and the fuzzy warmth of friendship rekindled.

If you wish to know (I’m telling anyway), the proprietress of the Broken Coffee Cafe is one-third of a group that also consists of the Monkey Keeper and Super JJ. It is a long-standing tradition in our group each year to meet for EvilCon. The annual EvilCon is a harmless gathering that aims to resurrect the Age of Tyranny and to aid our trio’s rise to power as Overlords of the Universe.

In relation to the quote above (the gravy has nothing to do with it, though), the EvilDoers finally met this year after numerous cancellations of our plans to reconvene and plot world domination.

But nobody has to get nervous yet that the world will soon be ruled over by three beings with varying degrees of insanity because we never got our plans off the drawing board. The food, drink, and company effectively sidetracked us from our original goal previously mentioned.

The Venue

There is an eating establishment in Dumaguete called Moooooon Cafe. It actually has three O’s only, but since the management has taken liberty in doing the misspelling, I’m amping it up just a notch. By the way,  it’s pronounced as “moon,” as in the silvery orb that hangs over earth’s night sky in a 28-day cycle.

We chose the location for its ambiance and the fact that it was closer to civilization compared with our initial choice for the meeting place. It is one place in the city where I got a “New Orleans” vibe, despite the fact that Moooooon Cafe has a Mexican theme. This branch of the lunatics’ cafe (I mean that in a good way) was at Silliman Avenue and was the perfect venue for hatching evil plans and the ordinary occasion of meeting up with special friends.

Beber a Su Propio Riesgo

Or, roughly put, “Drink at your own risk.” Mooon Cafe has an extensive selection of beverages.

Here’s Jae doing a photo op with the drinks menu:

Here’s the Monkey Keeper posing for Victoria Secret with the drinks menu:

Here’s yours truly… Unlike my friends, I am seriously studying what to order for drinks. After all, I am such a drunkard didn’t want to end up with a pitcher of sewage silt to go with our Mexican dishes.

In the end, we decided on a Sun Cooler. The menu’s description said it has mango, watermelon, oranges, calamansi, grenadine, and a splash of vodka. I think the splash had to be equal to the volume of water you get after a ten-wheeler drives through a mud puddle at the side of the road. It completely drenches you. And I suspect that the Sun Cooler was also laced with anesthetic (just some thought). Anyways, after the first glass, we seriously needed more ice to dilute the substance. And the succeeding glasses made my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth. But can you believe it? I was sooo happy and had a smile plastered on my face the whole night.

Los Alimentos (The Food)

What to order? Mexican, of course! But at this point, I still debated the merits between having a burrito and a taco.

In the end, we had lots of cheese-laden food! All the cheesy goodness was slathered in our quesadillas and on the pizza and burrito and taco; it was more than enough to make my lactose intolerance enzyme weep, pack its bags, and move in with my serotonin.

Here’s Jae wrestling with her second taco:


The meal ended.

As ever, the Monkey Keeper is not without her gadgetry. I think in this picture she’s Tweeting or sending an SMS to someone saying that she’s at a Prayer Meeting. Notice, though, that a slice of pizza lay uneaten. The pizza had the odd consistency of teething rubber so I will not recommend it if you happen to drop by the Lunatics’ Cafe, Dear Reader (not unless you really fancy having a teething-rubber pizza – or a pizza-flavored teething rubber, as might be the case – every once in a while).

I rue the time when the Sun Cooler became extinct. Besides, I was seeing double by then.

More Photos from My Friends’ Cameras

Just to show you, Dear Reader, that we all had a great time last night, here is a couple more pictures of our trio during EvilCon. 1 disembodied head = 1 EvilConner:

Funny how little was said during the entire meal but we still went home feeling better than we had in months. The warm, fuzzy feeling still lingered when I woke up this morning, and I found myself smiling all the way to work today. Till next year, guys! I miss you already.

(L-R) the Monkey Keeper, Yours Truly, and Super Joe Bokie

critters at home

While on the subject of critters at home, i’m posting a photo of Wol the dog and one of our cats, Rommel. They’re best friends.

Rommel hates paparazzi, while Wol can't decide what her best angle is

just another morning in the tropical jungle (featuring Wol)

This morning I found Wol lurking among the bushes. I wasn’t glad to see her at the side of the road hiding among brown weeds and dying lanzones seedlings.

Wol is no beauty. Her facial features reminded me of a horse that once kicked me on the arm. Her eyes protruded from their sockets, as if they regret being part of her anatomy. She has a severe underbite – a row of cracked teeth poised precariously on her lower jaw and stuck out from her gray lips… a demented homeowner’s picket fence. She waddled when she walked, an odd gait that raised her right hip with each swing of her leg. Her hair was the color of moldy straw, and was often caked with the detritus of dead things that she came across in her walks. She loved rolling over roadkill, cow dung, and other highly pungent canine eau de parfum.

She might get hit by a passing motorcycle (or, worse, a careering dump truck carrying fresh produce from the farms a little way yonder our house) that’s why I wasn’t happy seeing her today. Anyway, it wasn’t usual for her to be out roaming by the road. Usually, she just sat at the shed where we parked our motorcycles, contented with harassing the cats or playing catch-the-tail-of-the-clueless-dog. But something must have pulled her to investigate her surroundings. I tried shooing her off. Her attention was somewhere else though… took no notice of me at all as I backed my motorcycle that Tata parked earlier at the roadside.

Wol looked alert, protruding eyes more ready to pop out of the sockets any minute, nostrils flared in interest, ears cocked in the direction of the road that wound its way farther up the mountain. Then, as I made a first unsuccessful attempt at kick starting the motorcycle to life (which just sputtered and belched thick smoke from the antediluvian engine), I saw something huge and brown barreling down from the direction where Wol was looking.

The brown blur quickly became the hulking shape of a great wolf dog. It was as big as a baby killer whale. A baby killer whale with four legs that ended in claws that I only see on When Animals Attack specials. Its hackles bristled and its mouth was wide open, displaying an awesome collection of knife-sharp teeth. It was headed my way.

I tried starting the motorcycle again. And again. And again. But the engine only gave a helpless sputter. Someone in my head was yammering omigod, omigod… you’re gonna die… you’re gonna be eaten by a werewolf… no one will find your remains… they will bury an empty casket… omigod…hope it does not have rabies…hope it’s vegetarian…

Canis familiaris humongous was  now just three feet away from where I stood trapped on the motorcycle that – Fate would have it – also didn’t have a kickstand.

[Random thoughts at this point: If I just let the bike go and run, I might damage the motorcycle and do without transport to Camp for several weeks until I could find money for repairs (that’s it if I were still alive by then). But can I outrun the werewolf? Wouldn’t it magically transform into a hunky guy who has great disdain for t-shirts? Would I see winged people playing with harps when I die? Which funeral parlor provides the best service?]

The beast closed in, and I could already hear the rumblings from its mighty chest.

I braced for the worst. Being mauled by a wild animal on a lonely forest road is stuff from which nightmares come.

Inches away from me now… I could see the strands of the creature’s bristling fur. Then, without changing speed, the big monster dog veered away from me and headed towards Wol. I braced my heart against the certainty that my dog will be brutally murdered this morning. But the mauling that I expected and dreaded didn’t happen. When the dog saw Wol, his snarl transformed into a goofy smile, his hackles became smooth fur, and his powerful tail wagged like a deranged flag waver took possession of it.

Wol pretended to ignore the now obviously smitten stray and walked daintily out of the withered bushes. She looked my way and seemed to wink and say, “Coast’s clear, mum… the eagle has landed,” or some such blather.

The motorcycle’s engine mercifully came to life on my next attack on the kick starter. As I clanked down from that lonely mountain road, I saw the  big dog running to and fro in front of my Wol, enticing her to play.


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