Friday, August 27, 2004

Apple of my eye

I have decided to retire my laptop after being a loyal mobile companion for two years. It's not that I have grown tired of using it. It's just that...technology has rapidly developed over that short span of time, and a need for an appropriate machine to match the demand of such transition is perhaps, dire.

I'll be getting an Apple iBook G4 notebook one of these days, or if finances will allow me to. I possess little background of using Apple computers or "Macs"---well, Mac is a different machine altogether. Anyway, it's a pretentious little gadget: aluminum casing to resist stains and scratches, rubber-wrapped hard-drive to shield it from unnecessary bumps, and other whatnots. It is ultra-compact, and weights almost 4.5 lbs. I'll try to post a link for the image and specs of the machine if I can.

Feedback and reviews of this machine's users are greatly appreciated.

latest musing of Etchie at 16:39 0 comments

Thursday, August 26, 2004

Blag Blog

I'm still trying to convince Rommel to work on his blog.

It's beginning to turn into a futile struggle. He told me he's still more of a voyeur than an exhibitionist. Whatever the reason, I don't think he'll heed my attempts to push him.

Sigh.

latest musing of Etchie at 16:43 0 comments

Wednesday, August 25, 2004

Portent: A Short-Short-Story

Here's a very short story that was supposed to be a testimonial in Friendster. However, since I know it could be extremely offensive, I decided to relegate it to the junkpile of my writings locked away in the hard-drive of my laptop. Until such time that it can be released from its hibernation--or decide to submit it as an entry in a fast-food fiction category (the 200-or less word stories). A little sidenote: I wrote it four months ago, during which time I was reeling from inebriation and a desire to emulate the stories I read in a book entitled: Fast-Food Fiction: Short Stories to Go.

Anyway, here it is, read on:

Portent

She grunted as the woven fabric backrest of the rocking chair pierced her back like a packful of safety pins. A wince and a constrained cough, pained her lungs and punished her soul.

Alone in a house that harbored distant memories. A love lost in a stream of daydreams.

She lurched back, attempted to detach herself from the structure that embraced her, could hear her bones crack. A frail individual, trapped in the hourglass of the present, waiting for time to claim what is due.

A mirror. The reflection of one’s vanity, a betrayal in return. She meandered towards it unconsciously, a sting of recurring arthritis assaulting her knees. Nobody to help her. Nobody to see what time had done to her. She walked with extreme difficulty, dragging her hapless carcass like a stalled vehicle.

She stood in front of the mirror, tracing the contours of her face with worn-out fingers, saw her image the way it should be: exhausted, wrinkled, unhappy. Years of futile soul-searching, a heart riddled with evicted love, screaming for someone to fish it out of its imprisonment.

Like a pounded beef, numbed to withstand even the most arduous torture-welcomed it with impelled submission. Desensitized. Anesthesized. Whatever.

She sobbed, a pathetic display of regret, amidst a gale of time-bestowed pain. She clung to certain realities as fragments of comfort: advantages, delightful reminisces, happy thoughts. The remaining thing she could afford. Slowly, she closed her eyes…

…reopened it and lifted her self to search for a certain silver lining.

Etchie Pingol
April 4, 2004
2:50 AM

Labels: fiction

latest musing of Etchie at 23:30 0 comments

Back from a Hiatus and a Question of Patriotism

I'm presently having a headache and I'm trying to post my first entry since I arrived here in Florida a month ago. My last entry wasduring the NBA Finals (two months back)--when I was still in Manila working my languid arse at a government-subsidized university to subsist my compulsion for books, dvds and a mouth to feed.

Now, I'm here in the United States, attempting to try my luck on anything these Americans are good at (a choice between independence and a big amount of money? I choose the latter). My wife left for her work a few hours back, and she'll be home tomorrow morning. She's a nurse, a profession that I think had gone as an export job--that as a wholesale guarantees a bargain price for the hospital hiring them, and a retail cost for the agency sending them. Patriotism aside, but we need money, right? This is a practical thing, a choice that nobody wants to choose, but still personal development is still critical than patriotic slavery.

I have a headache. Not because I neglected my country more than anything else, but because my migraine's starting to punch my head.

latest musing of Etchie at 22:37 0 comments

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