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Showing posts from June, 2013

No space for new messages

THESE snippets of thoughts had lodged for sometime in my mobile phone... I have erased them. And I chose to keep them here for another browse through.... Edgardo M. Reyes, the mind and man behind the novels, "Sa Mga Kuko ng Liwanag" and "Laro sa Baga" has passed on. His words somehow remain. Here.. In feng shui, taking out or rearranging 27 things in the household will bring boons. "Cathy: JC got a big break re Nangel's assets. Our instincts are proving us right. Let's dig for more. Get Palace reax. Nangel and wife are jet-setters. NIA regional directors are his minions. They splurge per my sources. They spent huge funds on renovations not irrigation. Let's just be careful about interested people feeds that's why we need to come up with our own." (Joel Sy Egco  3 July 2013 11:18:01) “Thank you! Nakakagulat natatandaan mo pa. Sana magkausap tayo minsan. Ang problema bedridden ang bida, emphysema; sana totoo ang sabi sa masamang d

Let me do butchery

“L ET me do butchery.” That translates into the Tagalog word for coconut palm frond, palapa . Akin to carcass, the rows of leaf ribs line a central spine of woody tissue, bundles of fiber shooting arrow-straight from the base tacked to the palm trunk to the tapering tip of the end-leaf rib. Seen at dusk from afar, the spread of fronds crowning the tree of life resemble a hag, a witch malevolent with shock of hair bristling on all sides… “Let me do butchery” stays latched on the trunk for over a month, falls off after and leaves a scab of sorts—each stands for a month-- on the trunk that signifies the age of the coconut palm in months. Say, a coconut palm tree—very tall grasses, these palms, they’re not trees— starts bearing nuts in 60 months. Nut production wanes in 480 months (40 years, life begins when the fiber bundles rising from root to leaf tip are at their toughest). That’s the time when seedlings to replace the elderly palm can be gleaned from its fruits fit for

Next to godliness

J ERKING it off—we mean the knees—hands flailing in a fit of snit, the Metropolitan Manila Development Authority top honcho raged, raved at a Dan Brown description of Manila as “gates of hell.” As if to exorcise a less-than-divine sobriquet, the MMDA head personally led his crew in an attempt to rid tons of trash choking the waterways of the metropolis that has reeked of Styx for ages. He could rave some more in days to come, plunge his cranium and crew a lot more in an all-out clean-up try. He is sure to lose a lot of steam raging. Tons and tons and tons of refuse would be dumped every which way, here, there, and everywhere metropolis residents would. Styx stays, stench cannot be stanched. Neither the garbage habit can be stopped. “Clean up a pigsty and if the creatures in it still have pig-minds and pig-desires, soon it will be the same old pigsty again,” so wrote author Catherine Marshall. Lately, a garbage-strapped Taiwan had offered to buy Quezon City’s 1,200