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Updated: 2014-09-30T23:24:01.637-07:00


Random Shit


It's very easy to lose focus but sometimes there's a certain order to disarray, to chaos. Heath Ledger's The Joker in The Dark Knight have got it in spades.

I admire that.

Since early last, I've developed this habit trying to focus on the NOW as opposed to the YESTERDAY and the TOMORROW. Those 2 (two) latter motherfuckers will go about their way and not give 2 hot fucks about what I think. But the NOW does.

So I make it all worth while.

I try to be easy on myself.

Let my innate crazy and demented self take control.

So I can have complete control.

Take it easy. Best advice I've had in a long time. I owe it to my girlfriend.

Recession For Desperate Dummies


What the fuck is wrong with people nowadays? These are hard days, I know, but are people really THIS desperate? This *band* from where-the-fuck-ever contacted me in my zine's myspace page and upon reading their message together with the ADD FRIEND request, I immediately denied the motherfuckers.

"we'd like you to listen to our music and give us a feedback?"


I'd rather post something on my blog. Go figure.


The Best Metal Band In The Philippines Today


2008 was a great year. Major bridges were burned to the fucking ground and new relationships blossomed like a perfect dew on a perfect morning. As always music still remains an important part of me and I've been to numerous shows that were extremely fun and mind-blowing.

My favorite Filipino band right now is Nuclear Punishment. They are the best metal band in the Philippines and it's a shame most people are unaware of it. Hailing from Cavite, Nuclear Punishment's brand of metal is hard to describe and comparing them to "other" metal bands would be unfair. To NP, that is.

I have been to 4 Nuclear Punishment shows in 2008 and I have not been disappointed by any of them. Quite the opposite happened, actually. They are a 5-piece monster with 2 guitarists but due to personal reasons and obligations, the band sometimes play as a 4-piece with 1 guitarist shredding people's ears. I saw them as a 5-piece once in 2008. I love Nuclear Punishment on record (they have a demo and a split-CD with 3 other Filipino bands) but I worship them endlessly live.

I will repeat myself: NUCLEAR PUNISHMENT IS THE BEST METAL BAND IN THE PHILIPPINES RIGHT NOW. No matter what you read in glossy Philippine "music" magazines or publications declaring this or that "metal" band as the best, it's batshit. Nuclear Punishment is THE ONLY FILIPINO METAL BAND YOU WANT TO LISTEN TO. Of course there are other Philippine metal bands who are great, but my limbs still go for the mighty Nuclear Punishment.

With that in mind, if you learn about an upcoming Nuclear Punishment show, run, do not walk, to it. It'll change your life.

(I took the NP pictures below while I was at the pit. Great experience. )

- Nuclear Punishment destroyed people at Dayo Bar in Quezon City
in the infantile hours of my birthday! Awesome set. (July 16, 2008)


- Nuclear Punishment killing everyone again at the Dayo Bar in Quezon City
(very late June 23, 2008 evening or very early June 24, 2008 morning,
depends how you look at it...)

- Nuclear Punishment at Mayric's in Manila.
I was with many friends at this show: Garmz from DEPRESS,
Jeffrey from THE SUN INSIDE, and 2 college buddies,
Ronald and Paolo. June 7, 2008

The Idiot Is Leaving


Today is a good day.

Today marks the last day (or was it yesterday? Damn, my brain's fried...) of George Dubya in the most powerful political seat in the USA and quite possibly, in the world.

I have been witness to Dubya's great imbecilic rants, statements, and actions all throughout his 2 terms and if there was one thing I profoundly learned about his tenure as US President, it's this:


The Idiot's run finally ends.

Long Walks And The Absence Of Music


Let me vent first. I haven't listened to any music for the past eleven (11) days and I've become more belligerent because of it. Mental violence and my journal writing has taken a clearly demented path. I'm not used to this shit. I've been listening to music everyday for the past fourteen (14) years and this absence of music this past couple of weeks is making me fucking insane. My stereo and DVD player broke at a precarious time. I badly need and want to listen to Fugazi's Red Medicine album and all I fucking get is disappointment. A cruel aural dry spell.

This shit's going to get fixed next week, though. Come payday-which is Tuesday the 20th-I'll buy a new DVD player. Fuck it. I have my Altec Lansing speakers gathering dust at home and its more than two weeks respite is enough.

I also miss watching my Isis Clearing The Eye DVD, goddamn it.

Enough of the aural dry spell rants.

I've been taking extremely long walks for the past couple of months and it's good that one of my close buddies at work, Henry, is a Long Distance Walker as well. Two (2) weeks ago, we walked from our workplace's building on Ayala Avenue in Makati City all the way to Quiapo in Manila. A grueling affair, I must say but it's also profound. It took us about two (2) hours to complete the said walk and when we separated in Quiapo to go home, I went further; I walked from Quiapo all the way home. Crazy shit, I tell ya. About twenty (20) more before arriving at home, I could've sworn my heart was beating like a crackhead on speed.

Cardiocvascular exercise for the weird.

I've been steadily dating somebody right now and being the strange monogamous hombre that I am, I badly need the exercise. Romance is not for the weak, hopeless and suicidal. You can't possibly love or let alone like someone if you're on Depression Road.

You just can't.

Absence of music = goddamn it, makes me see red. A woman who can shut me up and sit me down and make me content and happy = one of the best feelings in the world.

Now scram and go read some Bukowski.

Nothing Positive, Only Negative



Other than the mighty EYEHATEGOD, I can't think of any band other than FACEDOWNINSHIT who can play this kind of music. This music is not for everybody. It's not art. It's not some artsy shit that was conceived on some drunken debauchery.

This is the face (no pun intended) of extreme music's future. Run, do not walk, toward it.



This is getting too much.
I can't stop thinking about you and by the looks of it I won't be able to stop.
If it's a bad thing or a good thing, only time can tell.
I hope the feeling's mutual.

Today Is The Day


I didn't want today to end.

It's one of those extremely rare cases when my day's going about wonderfully and all I can think of is for time to stop and freeze the day on its bloody tracks. The exact opposite of being fucked-up, the antithesis to depression, and the absence of abhorrence.

I've been awake for 29 hours straight already and have been awake for 23 hours out of the day's 24 hours. For some peculiar reason my mind's as if it had just woke up from a sound 8 hours of sleep, but I know that once I surrender to bed my body's going to shut itself right away to sleep. The feeling is profound and somehow my mind's as sharp as a Benihana chef's knife.


I don't give a fuck what it all meant or why it happened, all I know is that it's been a long time since I felt this way. I feel extremely mighty good.

Spending time alone with YOU is beyond euphoric.

Let's do it again, ok?



I was 30 lbs. overweight 4 months ago and about 50 lbs. heavier about a year ago and the fact made me intensely fucking sick to my fucking stomach. I knew I was tremendously out of shape because whenever I walk beyond 50 lousy footsteps, I'd be panting like a pig. I knew it was bad. I had to take some action. It was either Cardiac Arrest or Aneurysm that was waiting for me and I didn't fucking like the idea.

Today, I am 32 lbs. lighter and I'll try like hell to shed some 8 lbs. more within the next 2 weeks. Then I'm at my "ideal" body weight. Fuck beefy and tough-guy looking airheads who pump iron to get laid and develop muscles for show.

R FUCKEN HEADS OFF YER ASSES, YOU DUMB ILLITERATE MOTHERFUCKERS. The health benefits of being in shape should not be taken for granted for pompous vanity reasons. Shit.

Now where were we...I have to run 4 more times in the next week and do the exercises I have been doing these past several weeks and hopefully, I can finally, FINALLY, sit back and finish my first fucking book already, that thing's taking too long to finish.

Ho ho ho.

Something Happend Today And For Some Change It Wasn't Fucking Gloomy


The day started pretty bleak today. Paying bills, having a severe hangover, and thinking extremely about this girl who kicked my ass so hard her footprint is still visible on it (figuratively speaking, of course).I woke up at 11:00 a.m. today and I sincerely thought I'd die of a massive cardiac arrest. Me and my band Inside The Sun practiced for the first time in 3 months yesterday for two hours and my drummer/bandmate and I went on a walking road trip amidst the light albeit annoying rain. Getting yourself wet in the rain like a rag after perspiring like a pig for two hours is pretty tiring. The shit was harder on my part because at the time we got wet which was at around 4:00 p.m., I've been awake for like 19 hours already since I work the midnight shift (literally - my shift starts at 12 fucking o'clock in the a.m.).Anyway, when I eventually got home, I slumped helplessly on our couch after changing in a clean shirt and shorts and in about a minute or two after resting my head on the couch pillow, I was completely knocked out. I woke up a couple of times to piss and by the time I took a piss at around 10:50 a.m., I was slowly waking up to start my last rest day of the week from work. Such instances gave me grand ideas of not wasting the day away. To do this, however, I had to fucking kill the slowly growing migraine I was having and the seemingly heavy weight that was crushing my chest.I took an aspirin, got my shit together and took off. My plan for the day was (a) go pay some bills at a bank in Makati City and (b) after paying the said bills, hang out with my buddy at work, Jeg.After I finished my business at around 1:30 p.m., Jeg told me he was playing War Of Warcraft and it'll take the motherfucker two more hours or so. Fuck it. Instead, he invited me to join this dinner-and-poker-night with some friends from work at around 4:00 p.m. and was quite persuasive with his invitation. I obliged and I said I'd just kill some time in some book store and have some coffee and meet him afterwards for the said dinner.I constructively spent a good 15-20 minutes in this second-hand book shop near the bank I went to, browsing through the paperbacks hoping to find a good read (which didn't happen). I eventually got a caffeine fix at a nearby coffee shop after the book store window shopping and wasted the time away to reach 4:00 p.m., which I diligently spent reading the local papers for the day.Jeg and I met at a branch of Shopwise near his place some minutes past 4:00 p.m. and we went on our way to our friend's pad for the dinner.The dinner itself started sometime past 8:00 p.m. and there were 9 people present including myself. Included in those people is the girl who for the longest time have been occupying my mind. She, for some arcane reason, is the girl I'm thinking of whenever I listen to "Big Me" by the Foo Fighters. Now, this is a song about a guy who's into a girl but the latter doesn't care about the former's feelings about her. Or something like that, shit, that's my interpretation of the lyrics (song).Anyway, the night ended beautifully and I learned something quite valuable. By heart, I am a pessimist, a gloomy motherfucker who'd rather have things in Black than in White. This is a disposition I've been trying to use in my advantage all the time, basically life in general.Then something profound happened. Something that usually happens in a comedy film and the ending doesn't quite equally sum up the film's parts.Knowing that all is well.Tonight was profound simply because I discovered that rejection and indifference should not define and build my character.I've been rejected, dejected, humiliated, and utterly ridiculed but all of those things somehow made me realize that fuck it, life's not fair. But...It doesn't mean I have to lose Integrity and Altruism along the way.Can't [...]

Aftermath Of The Inferno


The cinders were alive
It wasn’t really surprising
To know that the burnout
Turned out to be pretty interesting

Self-respect stoked the flame
It withstood the pits of being pathetic
The inconvenience of being taken as a joke
The embarrassment of being too “serious”

All is well

The ashes have settled to their final place
Burn like a combustive bad memory
Burn like the hottest cinder ever

Indifferent cold motherfucking witch.

The Arsonist In Action (Burn Notice)


The sound of a new bridge creaking
Is the sound of failure in its early stage
Self-respect has been taken for granted
Took a back seat to a Past
That’s replete with neglect and hate
The gas and matches are at hand
Let me burn a relatively new bridge
That connects opposite traits and intentions
Sincerity and Doubt
Altruism and Contempt
Kindess and Cruelty
I started on the right foot but things went wrong
Went terribly wrong and now I can see clearly

The smell of burning wood, rope and memories
Is the smell of being free
Freed from thinking about
When the smoke clears and the bridge turns to ash
Then it’s evident
That everything is well and good
With myself and yourself
Your head and my heart
My head and your heart
Your indifference and my sincere intentions

Godspeed, you cruel and unforgiving monster.

Parasite Love Song


Suck and suck. Suckin up all you can suckin up all you can suck.
Workin up under my patience like a little tick.
Fat little parasite. Suck me dry.

My fruit is bruised and borrowed. (You thieving bastards.)
You have turned my blood cold and bitter,
beat my compassion black and blue.

Hope this is what you wanted.
Hope this is what you had in mind.
'Cuz this is what you’re getting.
I hope you’re choking. I hope you choke on this.
I hope you’re choking. I hope you choke on this.

Taken all I can taken all I can, we can take.
Taken all you can taken you can, we can take.
Got nothing left to give to you.

Blood suckin parasitic little blood suckin parasitic little
blood suckin parasitic little tick
Take what you want and then go.

Suck me dry.

Is this what you wanted?
Is this what you had in mind?
Is this what you wanted?
Cuz this is what you’re getting.
I hope, I hope, I hope you choke.

- “Ticks and Leeches” by Maynard James Keenan (Tool from Lateralus)

This song is my current soundtrack right now. I’m listening to a whole lot of Darkthrone albums this past week but I always see to it that I put Tool’s Lateralus album on whenever I can and be blown away and be comforted by this song.

The lyrics do it for me. Hearing Tool singer Maynard James Keenan spew forth the venomous bite of his lyrics is nothing short of a transcendental feeling, a spiritual release. Like a deer caught in an 18-wheeler truck’s headlights on a breezy October evening, wondering about the what-could-have-beens become useless when the WHAT-SHOULD-BE becomes staggeringly apparent.

Surprisingly, I didn't have to go down completely in The Pits to get a firm hold of myself. I just needed to stop and think carefully, weigh the loss accurately and use my fucking brain for a while. And then I knew I was going to be A-OK.


Rolling Eyes To The Tune Of Maddening Sighs


My band that's immensely influenced by Black Sabbath (first 4 albums) and Mastodon (all albums) was supposed to have a band practice RIGHT NOW, 1pm to 3pm, on this lovely sunny Sunday afternoon but at around 12:55pm, I received a text message from my guitarist bandmate saying he and our drummer (they're brothers) won't be able to make it because of some last minute family affair they had to attend.


So here I am at the internet cafe where I printed my thesis back in 2005. The band practice space my band uses is just above where I'm at right now. I've been awake for about 19 hours now - and counting - and my brain's too fucking fried to think of anything remotely progressive or constructive to do. About two months ago, I've read somewhere that normal human beings use only about 10% of their brains in everyday functions whereas the terribly shrewd fuckers, like Albert Einstein, use (or in Einstein's case, used) about 15% of their brain's potential. That is some fascinating and frightening information. First, come on, if that wasn't fascinating, then Michael Jackson is indeed white. Second, it's scary because if normal humans only use a tenth of their brain's capabilities in their lives, there's a whole lot of untapped possibilities that's being left wasted.

I wouldn't want that to fucking happen to me. Being ugly and destitute is one thing but being a fucking dumb piece of shit is quite another. I'd like to use at least 12% of my brain. Ha.

The day is still young and I am not yet on the verge of a nervous breakdown because of sleep deprivation. There's still a lot of possible constructive shit to be done.

(a lightbulb flashes on top of my head)

I'll go home.

Drink black coffee.

Work on my my zine IA's issue #8's layout while listening to Bad Religion's late 1980's to early 1990's albums.

Then I'll think about the girl I've been thinking about these past several weeks and wonder if she's thinking about me, too...What a fucking loser, huh?

Broken Thoughts


I've just finished listening to Iron Maiden's Killers album the other day when a string of vicious facts hit me hard: I was (A) not dating any woman, (B) I'm ugly (which is greatly correlated to fact letter A) and (C) I'm terribly broke (which in itself greatly affects the previous two reasons).

Simply put, I'm a fucking loser. The funny thing is, being a loser all these years has afforded me the convenience to relax a bit. I don't know about you but listening to music, a whole vast of music, brings therapeutic effects on me. A solitary activity that, err, does not attract women. I couldn't help thinking about it. As much as I'd like to just chill out and shit, I couldn't make myself to do so. Completely, that is. I'm slowly threading my way through it successfully and I think making zines, writing, and music will eventually help me swallow the Vicious Facts easily.



Riding buses in Metro Manila is an interesting experience. It keeps you grounded. You get to ride with people that's extremely different from each other, from bank tellers to hard labor workers, to call-center agents to bored 9-to-5ers, a busride somehow acts as some sort of an equalizer to a palpably unequal society.

The weirdest shit I've seen during a busride happend early this year, around late January. There was this female call-center agent who got punched in the head by the female bus conductor. First of all, female bus conductors (those who sell tickets) are rare. Second, the physical commotion happened moments after I boarded the bus which was on the corner of Taft Avenue and Gil Puyat Avenue in Pasay and Makati's border.

Anyway, the verbal tussle between the female passenger and female bus conductor apparently started when the former was insisting she had paid her fare already. The latter was vehemently denying this and was creatively cursing in Filipino, curses which I honestly think don't have any English counterparts but them curses were very very intense in meaning, if you get my drift. Then the bus conductor began giving the female call-center agent a beatdown, an intense one. It was bad. I couldn't believe the other passengers were not doing anything about the situation. Maybe they were just minding their own business. As impossible as it may seem, I think there could have been at least a witness to the situation if the female call-center agent had paid her fare or not but no one was stepping up to alleviate the tension. Eventually, I've had enough of the uncalled-for violence and I tried to pacify the bus conductor and told her to calm down. After about a couple more punches, she miraculously stopped.

The female call-center agent then began telling the conductor that she had indeed paid her fare already and the former flashed her company/employer's ID to the latter to prove that she has integrity and has paid already. But the bus conductor wouldn't have any of it. On a side note, I think the call-center chick had lost her ticket already, for some reason.

Two blocks or so later, the call-center agent left. Minutes after she had left, the bus conductor was still as pissed as shit.

I paid my fare moments before the aforementioned confrontation occurred. When I finally arrived at my stop on Ayala Avenue in Makati, the bus conductor asked me if I had paid my fare already. I showed her my ticket and she looked at it with distrust screaming from her face. I left the bus unscathed from any violence, verbally or otherwise.

I think a degree of injustice happened that day.



(image) I took this photo using my friend's SONY Cybershot digicamera which I borrowed for Magrudergrind's upcoming late-June grindviolence Phillippine onslaught. I'm in no way an expert - let alone an aficionado - of photography but sometimes I like shooting at things just for kicks.

I shot this picture last week when I was on my way home at around half past midnight. It's the intersection of our street and United Nations Avenue in Manila. I didn't knew what got into me but I just pulled the camera out and shot this. After seeing the picture afterwards, it occurred to me that there was something about the street lights and traffic lights; they looked liked auras (like the shit in Stephen King's book Insomnia). Or vibes. Negative and positive, focused and incoherent.

Same shit, different day.

A Dose Of Junkie Blues And A Girl


After my band's practice yesterday at around 6:00PM, I went to Malate to do some errand for my mother when I passed by someone from our neighborhood, someone who I really didn't know personally but knew by face. I'll just call him JC.

JC used to look remotely normal and good, in fact, he was supposed to appear as an extra in some local TV show back in 1996 but he didn't like the idea of being an actor and didn't bother attending his screening for the part. How the fuck did I knew about this? It's because I had this feverish crush on his younger sister that's why.

JC is about 3-4 years older than me and I can safely guess his sister's right about the same age as I am (25). When you're 13-14 years old and extremely smitten with a girl in your neighborhood, it's automatic that you learn things about her, about her interests and of course, her family. I guess that's all I have to say about that.

JC didn't look his age. He had hair that looked liked the one Mel Gibson had in Braveheart sans the dread-like parts (shit, I'm not even sure if those were dreads). JC's appearance gave away his smell and it screamed intensely rancid. The funny thing about seeing him yesterday was that I didn't recognize the motherfucker right away which is very not like me as I remember faces of people very clearly. He was sitting on a plank across the base of an electric post on a corner in Malate and he was actually the one who greeted me first and it probably took me about 3 seconds to recognize him. I was surprised that he greeted me but I wasn't really surprised when he asked if I have some loose change. Being the thrift fucker that I am, I quickly said I didn't have any (that's why I was walking) and he nodded morosely then followed his question with another one: where was I going? Thinking quickly, I answered him I was on my way to borrow money from a friend. An expression between disappointment and sadness peppered with a lethargic glee came across his face.

I knew the drugs have gotten him. Whatever his drug of choice was, it certainly did its job wonderfully.

After my brief encounter with JC, the thought that got stuck on my mind like a fly to fresh dogshit was his sister. I haven't heard the term back then but now I can describe that JC's sister to whom I've had the hots for was drop-dead gorgeous. Drop-dead fucking gorgeous.

After I remembered her, I silently hoped to myself that she's doing well and good. The Past sometimes has a wicked sense of humor. The thought brought a smile on my face and quite admittedly, smiling is something I haven't done a whole fucking lot lately.

The Patient (Part 1)


the wait
is something i can tolerate

the wait
is something i knew was coming

the wait is long
but i still went on with it

i knew the possibility
was a resounding "slim-to-none"
but i still went on with it

the wait might have been long...
but the regret of not trying would
have been longer.

A Very Hot Minute


Sometime in the scorching summer of 1997, a good two months before junior high school, I borrowed my friend Jeff's cassette tape of the Red Hot Chili Peppers' One Hot Minute album. It was the only music I would listen to for the next 4-5 months. Shit, I think it was the only album I listened to for the rest of that year.

I don't know, I might be a complete fucking retard for liking this album but I do. Still do. In fact, I listened to it in its entirety today before going to work. Twice. No, it wasn't the same cassette tape I borrowed from my friend - I have a CD copy but the weird thing is, the last time I listened to this album was way back in mid-1999 but for some reason, after 9 fucking years, I can still sing along to every fucking song from the album, word for word. Weird.

Hearing "Aeroplane," "One Big Mob," and the terrific album closer "Transcending" still makes me grin in aural sarcasm. These songs were the shit I was into 11 years ago and their potency still remain to this day. One Hot Minute flopped but who gives a fuck? Many fans of the band hated Dave Navarro, who played guitar on the album, but I think it's beside the point. The band made their darkest album of their career - lyrically and musically - and I relate to it very much.

Yes, I listen to this kind of shit when I'm not listening to hardcore punk and grindcore.

The Summer Heat And Then Some


The Philippine Summer is here. Its heat is cruel and unforgiving. It scorches the rich, the poor, the ugly, the beautiful, and everyone in between. Since I get off my shift at 9:00AM, it's a given that I get the sun's wicked fury everyday. It is maddening. I try to get my shit together and most of the time, I get home alive. Barely. The experience is priceless, though.

To sleep soundly after work means I've got to be extremely lucky. Sleep at night is one thing, sleep at daytime is quite another. With my shift at work starting at midnight, I usually sleep at 1:00PM-2:00PM only to wake up 30-40 minutes later with the temperature reaching red hot microwave-pissed intensity. I woke up the other day cursing as loud as I can, with the electric fan pointed steadily at my shirtless yet sweat drenched sorry excuse of a body. I thought I was going to bust a vein somewhere in my head and die instantly. My head was so wet I thought a water pipe busted somewhere in our apartment. The heat was honest to goodness intolefuckingrable. My hatred for being awoken from my sleep was completely misdirected at nothing. It was funny and serious both at the same time.

Getting up sometime between 9:00PM and 10:00PM to get ready for work gets me in Search-and-Destroy mode, instantly. The thirst for life and disdain for sweetcoated bullshit gets magnified tenfold and I start to unload unneeded baggage - both mental and emotional - and count my blessings carefully. For someone who has less than nothing, I couldn't afford to be ungrateful for what I have got. I make do.

Living is not about enjoying life or basking in the glory of its good things. Life is all about appreciating being alive even if it means you're going to fry yourself under the sun.



I've been through a lot of extremely heavy shit lately (and in the past 8 months, actually) and the only thing that somehow made me completely grounded and barely sane was the support and love I've received from friends.

To Andy, the timing of our conversation during the lowest point in my life made the wounds I've had heal fast, I am eternally indebted to you, man. To Jeff and Richard, my best buddies who I've taken for granted at the middle of this decade, you two motherfuckers are the best and the music we play, as chaotic and fucked-up as it may be, is extremely therapeutic. To Jepoi and Gio, thank you for being cool friends even if we hardly hang out that much. To Ron and Jack, your apartment, as evil and cramped it may be, is a true source of friendship bonded by puke, blood, sweat and tears. To Melvin, I feel your pain, brother. To Steven and Jeg, thank you for the patience and advice you two have shared to me, it definitely helped.

To anyone I forgot but should have been mentioned, sorry if I forgot about you...I'm still a disheveled reprobate.

Life's too short for shit and negativity...mad props to each and one of you, brothers.



"Although his exact age is unknown there have been various listings that have confirmed Laurence's birth date as February 11th 1984, but it has also been listed as July 3rd 1979 as well as July 16th 1982.

Laurence was born in a small town in La Union as Joseph Garcia. Both his parents (Mildred and Sigfried Garcia) were drunk farmers that met on a charity bingo for drunk singles sometime in the 1970's. It was said that upon talking to each other for the first time, the worst genocide in Philippine history occurred in Southern Mindanao, the bottom-most part of the Philippines.

In 1987, Laurence's parents broke-up; however, 2 weeks after the split, Sigfried was living in Saudi Arabia and was killed while trying to deliver a baby in the back of a bus whose driver had suffered a heart attack. The newborn baby was the only living survivor of the accident, and Laurence's mother adopted the baby boy soon after, having the baby shipped overnight via FedEX. This baby would die 6 days upon arrival in the Philippines; it was used to drinking a special kind of crude oil-milk concoction available only in Riyadh.

In the mid 90's when he was in 6th grade, Laurence spent 3 years in prison (for adults) for stabbing his Theology teacher - with a the groin. This led him to discover the compulsory English & Writing, Physics and Math lessons in the institution, taught by the strict and virgin nuns of The Latter Day Gay Nuns of St. Maria Goretti. Needless to say, the poor lad suffered a great deal mentally and emotionally in Math and Physics but he had, for some strange reason, managed to pass (barely) in his English and Writing class.

Upon returning home in 1999, Laurence started writing non-fiction and fiction essays, a skill and passion that were inspired while his stay in prison. He then started making his own "magazines" (called fanzines), albeit photo-copied, they were crudely filled with a gloomy disposition lacking in most mainstream reading materials, both fiction or non-fiction. Laurence's fanzines still managed to develop a small underground following.

In 2001, Laurence's imaginary younger brother (Roberto) committed suicide. The loss devastated Laurence. Laurence went on a destructive alcohol binge for the next 2 years.

In May 2003 after waking up on the steps of a local Manila church covered in his own blood, vomit and urine, Laurence decided Jesus would not take him alive and continued with the activities of writing pieces that would grace his fanzines. Laurence went on mental trips to Tibet and Scotland to further cleanse his holy (sic) mind.

Though some rumors speculate that Laurence committed suicide on July 27th 2007 in Ermita, Manila, due to the painful and heartbreaking break-up with his IT Professional girlfriend of 4 years, there are still no confirmations to this fact but apparently, *someone* still makes the fanzines started by Laurence with what many say is actually a Laurence impersonator and this said impersonator supposedly updates Laurence's myspace and friendster accounts from time to time."

- taken from a reliable internet information database that's not



compared to scars,
I'd rather have the wounds, anytime.

scars get on my nerves.
they make me see red.

having a scar

having a wound

so I keep my wounds scar-free.
I put salt on my wounds and I feel overwhelmingly alive.
the euphoria is unexplainable
pain intolerable
tolerance unbearable.

it's a personal litmus test.

but that's how I learn,

I am truly made out of.

so I keep any wound I have fresh and free from healing.


when a wound heals...



wounds are testaments

as fucked up
as it is,

is still

This Shit Rips Like A Mad Motherfucker


I have been listening to this album for 3 straight weeks now - alternately with my Insect Warfare and Black Flag records - and it still gives me the same high I've had when I first listened to it. I am tempted to "review" this thoroughly by giving it a song-by-song preview but it wouldn't do justice to its brilliance. Fuck what other people say but The Beastie Boys have got the chops. And this is an instrumental album. Go figure. Word.