KaBoratan

Puro kagaguhan ang Borat, pero kakabagan ka sa kaka-halakhak. Si Sacha Baron Cohen ang gumanap na reporter mula sa bansang Kazakhstan, si Borat Sagdiyev, na pumunta sa America para gumawa ng documentary tungkol sa kultura. Panay kabastusan at kalokohan, pero mapapaisip ka rin ng malalim dahil ini-examine nito kung ano ang mga attitudes na acceptable at hindi sa magkaibang kultura. Grabe, kakaiba itong pelikulang ito.

Nakakatawa rin ang guesting niya kanina sa Leno (in-character pa rin siya), nag-extend yung segment niya hanggang kay Martha Stewart, at nasapawan pa niya ito.

Panoorin ninyo ang movie sa Nov. 22!

Sprawling Synaptic Squigglings

The mind realigns itself for the waking world.

I feel fine, generally, but now I’m hungry for something salty and heavy, maybe something with cheese and bread, and I’m reminded of how it was back in the nineties, when value meals became depressing, when money was a holy grail, not that it isn’t now, but anyway, I was mistaken for a whore a few times, not that there’s anything wrong with that, because I probably looked like a directionless mallrat, even though I always went to the bookstore and read away like it was my personal library, singling out books that I wanted to buy, but always waiting for a sale so that I could buy them, and I would read them later while eating a fleeting, sickening burger combo, but you were there with me, your thoughts were leaping off the page and encouraged the voices in my head, voices that needed to say their piece before they held their peace, and I felt hungry again, and I wondered if there was something to eat at home, because I can only do the things I can, and I respect the whores because they don’t seem to whine, and they have the guts to stomach whatever it was they needed to do to eat.

The body knows.

Trying to make sense of the world was never easy, I discovered long ago, and I count myself lucky because others have it worse, although that doesn’t make my complaints less valid, and I do feel sometimes that I’ve been here before, that I, like everyone else, didn’t exactly ask to be born, that’s why I wonder about birthdays, but since I’m here, I’ve nothing but gratitude for those who make my stay memorable, who make me glad I’m alive, but clichés aside, I sometimes stand back and look at what’s happening, and yes, I do feel blessed, like I found my place and purpose for now, but I still keep wishing that people talked about things more, that parents listened to their children more, that children were more aware of their parents’ imperfections, that people didn’t judge others while brandishing their gods, that things were easier, because the world is harsh from time to time, that healthy food didn’t look and taste like crap.

Ooh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.

The whirling becomes addictive, and we take time to know each other again, and again, and again, techno playing, pulsating, pounding in my head, hands and flesh moving on instinct, and I wonder if married people ever fantasize about things that they can’t have anymore, or are having behind their spouses’ backs, the hot non-committal bed-buddy activities that you think about every few minutes, and you daydream about doing it with everyone you like, the heaving, licking, clasping and whatever else, and I wonder if other people think this way, and I wonder how you look underneath your clothes, even when I’ve seen it before in my dreams, and you’re so hot, and I’m so stoked, and you’re doing it like a star, like it was your calling, because boys do fall in love, love moves in strange ways, it was a rainy night, I’ve been waiting hours for this, and you just live for that connection, that release, that magic moment, that rapid beating of the heart, that heavy breathing, the well-timed bursting and moaning to the heavens before our happily locked bodies go limp.