The Sandman's heart Desires...
For those who might be wondering why of recent I only post grayscale photos, it is because I can't see colors that good. The author can't so he might as well give his readers the same paralizing experience (cue in evil laughter here). By my color blindness, of course, I am over exaggerating a bit in professing its being grave beyond redemption. It is not that I cannot see any color. I still do. I can distinguish all hues under natural white light. It's only under those artificial-cum-halogen-cum-incandescent-cum-fluorescent ones that my optical sensors get screwed up. Maybe bioluminiscence would do, too, if only I could find anywhere with enough fireflies lighting up a wide area to test the almost probable allegation on. Screw up my perception of colors, I meant.
Give me a violet and I may tell you it's blue. Give me green and I may say yellow if it is on the lighter shade and blue if it is of dark hue. Give me maroon and I tell you it's gray. Blue and, still, it's gray but of a lighter shade than my maroon-gray. I could almost always swear that Midnight blue looks black. Only red remains to be red. Such is my dilemma. It will thus be yours for as long as you are on this site. My site. The greyscale-with-hints-of-red-and-flecks-of-blue blogsite.
This being a non-conventional post where I only intend to rant, I'll tell you three features that I only recently put in place.
First on the list is disableing the shoutbox feature because I don't want surprise messages popping up in the event that I have again pimped my site via Friendster's bulletin board or several Yahoo! Groups and some readers have unsuspectingly clicked on the link in the message body thereby them ending up here and that they may like to say something opinionated after reading something I wrote which is, hopefully, thought provoking if not heartfeltly entertaining. Got a comment on my post? Put it directly onto post. Got something personal? Sent me an SMS.
Second is the featured music section on the sidebar. I intend to replace the music as I deem it proper which, for now, is weekly or whenever I want to share something I consider as non-mainstream but equally attention worthy. The genre may vary depending on my state of mind or the music file's availability so don't be surprised that in the past week I had on Celtic and it suddenly shifts to acid rock in the next. It is nothing structured which coul thus make it totally disappear in time so tune in while it is still here.
Third, enforcing comment moderation. That way, I'll have full control of everything that happens on this site. It is, after all, my realm and this is how I intend to tend it. Period. For now.
As a closure on the title and image featured in this post: I have been eyeing the Vertigo Sandman Manga statuette for a while now over at the DC Comics site. It does not come cheap with an almost $90 price tag. It being of limited production might spell its under-availability even in the US but I'll still try my luck with a four-leaf clover poised on my forehead chakra to resemble a bindu but with a much more potent goodluck power for reinforcement. I'm planning on dropping by and asking the kindly owner at Druid's Keep, a comicbook store at Magallanes , to try to get me one since I have not seen its likeness anywhere around here yet and I heard from a fellow comicbook collector friend (whose collection differs in range and quantity from mine by several thousand miles. His being on the lead, of course) that the owner could be requested to do a get-me-a-comicbook-or-a-comicbook-character-statue favor and that he'll most brobably oblige (which is really good for the business, owner-man. Keep the top notch customer service up!). I want it. I want it so bad that I know I'll have it. Soon.
Besides, I like the idea of having Sandman's name poised close to Desire's, them clashing like the opposite poles of a magnet whenever their paths crossed, or so it was told. It's like a promise of some chaotic aftermath for all of us to observe expectantly with a bucket-full of greasy butter-and-salt coated popcorn in one hand and a large cup of ice-cold soda in the other.
As for me being the Sandman, ask Omar (aka Wolverine because I could have sworn I once saw adamantium claws come out of his fists when he once did the routinary chest-out-arms-bent action Wolverine does, complete with facial contortion) and Peewee (aka Nevada, Rain Harper, and Death. All physical characteristics of any of these characters are ironically devoid of her own, believe me). They started the coinage (sorry for the lack of currently available term in my vocabulary bank in lieu of coinage. When I bought the said bank, it did not come with an upgrade-to-later-and-more-current-versions-for-free feature. Again, my sincerest apologies). And I love it!
The crone, the healer
Her name is spoken in hushed tones in small social circles. I have heard of recounts of successful personal experiences with the woman who lived in a shabby old hut in the midst of a vast rice plantation. Crone-like with frail but gentle old hands.
Like most healers in the province, I got wind of a particularly good one by word of mouth. I probed more about her with some of the old folks in our neighborhood and it did not take me long to get her name (or what it was she used to go by at that time). I repeated it non-stop, in a loop at the back of my mind just so I do not forget should I go on my quest to find the legendary healer.
With a P50 note in my pocket, some more loose change for bus fare, and the name of an intersection in a suburban part of a southern island that could easily be accessed by public transport, I went on my way to have myself cured.
I went alone.
I had a nagging urge to find her because I did not believe doctors could do my ear any good. Don't ask me how the thought even got lodged in the dark recesses of my mind. It just did and, back then, the compulsion to meet my healer grew stronger as the pain in my ear region intensified. Horrible thoughts of maggots breeding inside my head made matters worse.
I first shrugged the discomfort in my left ear as induced by over exposure to loud, blaring noise. As the days went by, the pain became more evident. It wakes me up in the middle of the night as it throbbed in slow, even intervals. I took pain killers but they only bought me temporary relief. In less than a day, the infection seemed to have found its way to the region surrounding the left side of my nape. There were no external manifestations of an abnormality anywhere. No pus, no darkening or redness of the skin, no inflammation, no nothing.
I took a day off my classes when my self-medication seemed to be everything placebo could give: nothing. I decided it was then or never.
I got on a bus and, an hour later, got off the fabled intersection where my journey was to begin. The mid-afternoon weather was perfect. The rice plantation along both sides of the road provided a serene landscape to calm anyone who needed a bit of soul comfort. A lone bird resting on a tree branch gave off a high pitched sound that I took to mean as an assurance that everything will be just fine.
I asked some locals
(in a dialect I only recently became familiar and fluent with) where I might find the healer. A young kid was told by an adult male who I assumed was his father to guide me through a path. I was led to a small hut where an elderly lady was doing what seems to be sifting though rice grains. Separating stray awns from the polished grains before they get cooked. For supper, probably. Her graying hair was poised in a bun over her head and some loose, wiry strands fell to hide portions of her wrinkled face. She was dressed in old tattered clothes as though she wasn't expecting any visitor soon.
She raised her head and brushed a lock of hair away from her face to reveal kind, dark eyes as she laid down her
bilao when we drew near. The kid went ahead in a sprint and told the old lady I was looking for her. I asked her if she was the healer for which I got a nod in response. I thanked the kid, gave him a candy I had been carrying in my pocket, and with a cheery, toothy smile, he ran back up the path without looking back. She had me sit beside her on a bench made of old wood. I told her about my ear: symptoms, what it felt like, time line, and stuff. She peered inside it and muttered something barely audible. She turned around to get a folded newspaper that wrapped several near-dried leaves. From the layers of paper wrapping, she took a sheet and had me secure the page over my palms. She had me rest the back side of the same hand over my left shoulder
(just under my left ear region) like telling me I should expect to catch something with the paper soon.
What happened next came like a bit of a shock. She crumpled a leaf and began rubbing in cautious circular motions around the infected ear area. I heard a pattering on the paper I was holding and took a sideways glance to see what made the sound. I saw small pebbles, most in the size of your regular
Nerds candy, in different shades of grey and black. She explained that the stones had been the impurities causing most of my pain. They were not in stone form while inside of me but the healing process transforms these impurities as they are drawn out of a human body. There were probably six or seven of them from what I could remember. I stared in awe. It's just like magick, I thought.
I felt weird. The pain did not stop then but I felt weird. I expected the pebbles
(from the stories I heard) but her next action caught me offguard. She took a smaller leaf from her stash and rolled it between her hands to resemble a pipe with a diameter no wider than a regular cigarette stick. She inserted it in my ear hole and told me to wait and alert her in the event that I felt something moving inside.
Several seconds passed and still no wiggly sensation. Weird. I decided to lie and tell her I felt something even though there was nothing. With a gentle motion, she pulled the leaf out. On instinct, I turned my head towards her to look at the leaf pipe. I saw what seemed to be a bug poised perpendicular to the end of the leaf. It was thin, glistening from earwax, and it seemed dead and immobile. More like a worm with legs. She then lit a candle and burned the leaf, insect first. I heard it give off small cracking sounds as it burnt and chared before my eyes.
She took the newspaper I was holding and tore a small portion off of it. She used it to wrap the pebbles that supposedly came from inside my ear and gave them to me as sort of a keepsake. She then smiled and told me to expect the pain to subside in a day or two.
I took the P50 from inside my pocket and handed it to her. She did not take it but instead motioned for me to put it beside her over the bench. I gave my sincerest thanks and left via the path we entered.
It was nearly dusk when I got to the main road and I could have sworn my ear felt better. I got well two days later, just as the healer promised.
I never saw her again. I hope she's well.
The events that transpired in this story happened a long time ago to a young student desperate for a cure. I was the student and this is my story.
Toni Hikaru or Utada Gonzaga?
I have already mentioned that I did some sound mixing stints back in college but y'all may think I'm pulling yer leg and it's all just lame bullcrap. I am about to show you a glimpse of my digital mixing prowess as I present to you something my brotha of a cat named Marky practically dragged to my attention just this evening.
The message exchange went:
Marky (8:05:41 PM): Kilala mo si Utada Hikaru?
Fritz (8:10:43): Isang kanta lang niyang si Utada Hikaru ang alam ko, yung "First Love."
Marky (8:15:31 PM): Kasi yung kinanta ni Toni Gonzaga na "We Belong" e sintunog niyang kantang yan!
Fritz (8:30:10 PM): tagal na nun tas gusto nung officemate kong jologs kaya gusto ko ng wag uling mapakinggan! Yan siguro yng kanta rin ni Toni na napakinggan ko sa radyo tas akala ko foreign. Magsing-ubod ng emo silang dalawa.
Marky (8:46:30 PM): Try mo i-compare both songs. Magkatunog.
Fritz (9:10:36 PM): Downloading both songs Converting both tracks from their original CDs now.
Marky (9:13:53 PM): Pakinggan mo tas kwento mo ha!
Fritz (9:15:40 PM): Similar nga yung chorus, pati tempo. Come to think of it, pwede sigurong mapag-sama tong dalawang kanta para talagang malaman natin.
Marky (9:16:48 PM): Sabi na kasi! Pirated yung isa dyan!
Two hours later...
Fritz (11:20:36 PM): I sent you an mp3 of the chorus part of the song. I mixed both to come up with one mp3. Purihin moko, taena!
For those who have not heard both songs and if you'd want to verify what I found out, navigate on the Windows Media Player below to play the low-res version of the MP3 I made. I kept the original high-res file, of course, that my ass may not be sued for copyright and stuff. Don't bitch about how crappy my mixing went, either. Time claimed its toll on that aspect of my genius.
If you can secure copies of the CDs of the two artists containing the tracks mentioned on this post, please listen to both and compare.
