levity: (evening stretched out against the sky)
Around them they could hear the uneasy breathing of the city. An ambulance wailed. There was a sound that might have been gunfire, or a car’s muffler backfiring. Horns honked. Brakes screeched. Tires screamed. There was the distant wail of a child. “The sound of terror, Canon,” the Bishop said. “Listen. It has become the same in every city in the world. All our churches, all our police force, firemen, amublances, relief agencies, are waging a losing battle against the plague of violence that has stricken our cities. But now: imagine that someone has a Micro-Ray. He can take the most hardened criminal; he can the touch his brain with controlled light in such a way that the man can become a lunatic, even worse than he already is, or docile as a little child.”

“But that’s monstrous,” the Canon said.

“It can be. Misused, it is. Or misunderstood, as Austin fails to misunderstand it. But now think. Think of the possibilities. Think of taking a vicious degenerate, someone whose willful descent into evil has made him subhuman in every way. A brief and painless touch by the Micro-Ray can turn him into a happy law-abiding citizen. What do you think of that?”

For a long moment Tallis did not answer. Then he said, “My Lord, I think that is monstrous too.”

Every break from school that lasts longer than three days automatically gets marked off in my brain as L'Engle rereading time. I read A Wrinkle in Time at seven and The Young Unicorns at eight and things just snowballed (is there a tropical-country equivalent for that term) from there; my internal landscape is somehow fifty percent Discworld, fifty percent The Count of Monte Cristo, and one hundred percent Madeleine L'Engle. Finding out that someone grew up with her books too is like finding someone from same primary school or hometown- you can rattle on all you want about faults and flaws and favorites and waves of nostalgia knowing you have the same thing to stand on, the same points of reference; you can go on about how she is aware and critical of but still falls into the Noble Savage trap because you know they share the burn of when someone you love does something incredibly stupid (I mean, you go on about it anyway? but I still get the impulse to say the words not that bad, like not that bad is supposed to make things better). I don't know what the point of all this is, just that her books are at the point where science fiction meets fantasy and are completely unlike anything else of either genre, that A Swiftly Tilting Planet without intending to do so made all other time-travel narratives seem one-note and simplistic and boring, that everything she writes is suffused with wonder at math and science and people and this universe's worth of possibility.


ETA: (Advanced, if appropriate) Happy New Year to you all! Eat your round things, don't forget to jump, and enjoy all your firecrackers, who needs ten fingers anyway. I hope 2013 treats you well. :D
levity: (that free will thing was a bugger)
while watching Occupy Wall Street from a Discreet Distance

1. If you work hard, and become successful, it does not necessarily mean you are successful because you worked hard, just as if you are tall with long hair it doesn’t mean you would be a midget if you were bald.

2. “Fortune” is a word for having a lot of money and for having a lot of luck, but that does not mean the word has two definitions.

3. Money is like a child—rarely unaccompanied. When it disappears, look to those who were supposed to be keeping an eye on it while you were at the grocery store. You might also look for someone who has a lot of extra children sitting around, with long, suspicious explanations for how they got there.

4. People who say money doesn’t matter are like people who say cake doesn’t matter—it’s probably because they’ve already had a few slices.

5. There may not be a reason to share your cake. It is, after all, yours. You probably baked it yourself, in an oven of your own construction with ingredients you harvested yourself. It may be possible to keep your entire cake while explaining to any nearby hungry people just how reasonable you are.

6. Nobody wants to fall into a safety net, because it means the structure in which they’ve been living is in a state of collapse and they have no choice but to tumble downwards. However, it beats the alternative.

7. Someone feeling wronged is like someone feeling thirsty. Don’t tell them they aren’t. Sit with them and have a drink.

8. Don’t ask yourself if something is fair. Ask someone else—a stranger in the street, for example.

9. People gathering in the streets feeling wronged tend to be loud, as it is difficult to make oneself heard on the other side of an impressive edifice.

10. It is not always the job of people shouting outside impressive buildings to solve problems. It is often the job of the people inside, who have paper, pens, desks, and an impressive view.

11. Historically, a story about people inside impressive buildings ignoring or even taunting people standing outside shouting at them turns out to be a story with an unhappy ending.

12. If you have a large crowd shouting outside your building, there might not be room for a safety net if you’re the one tumbling down when it collapses.

13. 99 percent is a very large percentage. For instance, easily 99 percent of people want a roof over their heads, food on their tables, and the occasional slice of cake for dessert. Surely an arrangement can be made with that niggling 1 percent who disagree.
levity: (bring it)
Quote of the day: "I am contemplating the passage of a bill that would make it punishable for husbands to give unsatisfying sex to wives."
- BUT WHY LIMIT IT TO THE WIVES, is the real question. No, the real question is how people can exist who make Senator Miriam Defensor-Santiago seem reasonable. Amusing is a given, but reasonable?!

Said it before, saying it for what will not be the last time, but dear gods, I hope: the RH Bill is not about abortion. The RH Bill is not about population control. The RH Bill is about- spoilers ahoy- reproductive health. It is about teaching people about safe and responsible sex and about sexual health and it is about providing access to contraception for anyone who needs it and it is about improving maternal health care delivery, and goodness knows those are all totally unnecessary things. If you do not support the RH Bill, it means you want women to die and families to have more kids than they can provide for and children to be miserable. End of. It also means, as is the case with people who think GMA's politics and economics were viable and who hold that Marcos wasn't such a bad guy after all, that I can in good conscience completely disregard any opinion you will ever have.

I am probably preaching to the choir, but sometimes a girl needs to vent.


I made my pop music playlist! I don't even care that it's more than half absurd and embarrassing, because what is embarrassment and how do you feel it, and because I can't stop listening to We Are Never Ever Ever Getting Back Together, never mind that I don't know how many evers there are in the title. It's snippy and banal and disdainful and on principle I approve wholeheartedly of anything that drips with condescension for stupid boys who think that listening to obscure indie records and dissecting every single thing makes them better than you. I love the spoken "Like, ever" at the end of the chorus- I love that you can hear her eyeroll and I love that demonstration that sometimes it's just not worth it to expend effort on vocabulary. My entire playlist makes me happy, but that's probably because I define pop music as "anything that could have been annoying but instead makes you grin like mad". Well. If music has any other purpose I don't know it. (Rhetorical, but also the point.)
levity: (beauty is a hint of storm)
I HATE YOU, RENAL. I HATE YOU. I am missing the match between the top two teams in La Liga for you, because I have to turn in this stupid handwritten paper tomorrow and also have to sleep. I know I always say that I'll sleep when I'm dead, but short list of things that change that: 1. five months of terrible insomnia, and 2. FOUR MONTHS OF UNBEARABLE TWITCHING MENTAL-INSTABILITY-INDUCING INSOMNIA. Also, 3. med school. I mean, screw you, renal. The other team isn't even Real Madrid.

Also an incidental fuck you to everyone who says that to be a doctor you have to be able to not let your patients hang over you after work or something like that, because apparently there is no difference between not letting emotional ties get in the way of making decisions re: the patient's health and not caring about the patient at all. I would say "not caring about the patient beyond work" but just because it's work doesn't mean it's not personal, etc., etc., and just because it's personal doesn't mean it's important, and obviously I have a lot of feelings for The Hour that are tied up into this thought, but I have a paper. So, just, fuck you.
levity: (desire lives in the heart)
"Why should I not want something better? Doesn't everyone? Don't you? The old order, it is good for the old. A farmer wants his son to be afraid of beautiful women, so that he will not leave home too soon, so he tells a story about how one drowned his brother's cousin's friend in a lake, not because he was a pig who deserved to be drowned, but because beautiful women are bad, and also witches. And it doesn't matter that she didn't ask to be beautiful, or to be born in a lake, or to live forever, or to not know how men breathe until they stop doing it. Well, I do not want to be beautiful, or a woman, or anything. I want to know how men breathe. I want my daughter to be in the Young Pioneers, and to grow up to be something important, like a writer or an immunologist, to grow up not even knowing what a rusalka is, because then I will know her world does not in any way resemble one in which farmers tell their sons how bad beautiful women are."
levity: (daydream team)
If you are flinging mud at and/or making stupid smartass comments at the expense of my team and my manager I will assume that it is because you love them and are fed up with the way they've been running the show. If not then I reserve the right to dislike you immensely.
levity: (Jolteon and Togepi)
"How do you work with that looming over you?" "We all work with that looming over us, or have you forgotten there's a dead dog orbiting above our heads?" SHOW, WHY ARE YOU SO ADDICTIVE.
levity: (bring it)
Possibly I should have something to say, except procrastinating studying for the last endocrinology exam is hardly conducive to creativity. Thyroid conditions are more interesting than diabetes, but that's hardly saying anything. The only thing I have is that gods, guys suck. The only reason why I am not 100% committed to misandry as a way of life is Cristiano Ronaldo. Masamang prognosis yata ito.
levity: (desire lives in the heart)
Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as
well a dark house and a whip as madmen do; and the reason why
they are not so punish'd and cured is that the lunacy is so
ordinary that the whippers are in love too. Yet I profess curing
it by counsel.

Did you ever cure any so?

Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his
love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me; at which
time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate,
changeable, longing and liking, proud, fantastical, apish,
shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every
passion something and for no passion truly anything, as boys and
women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like
him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now
weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his
mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to
forswear the full stream of the world and to live in a nook
merely monastic. And thus I cur'd him; and this way will I take
upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart,
that there shall not be one spot of love in 't.

I would not be cured, youth.

I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and
come every day to my cote and woo me.

Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way,
you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?
levity: (daydream team)
Best things, best things:
- when your commentators start singing "Na na na na na na na, na na na na, Giroud" along with the Emirates
- the cameras panning over to document Thierry Henry's palpable delight whenever Arsenal score a goal
- Spurs having to play with ten men for 60-odd minutes
- because of really unquestionably red red cards
- Wojciech Szczesny, Arsenal's number one
- GOLDI POLDI HALLELUJAH no I will never be over his song
- this team, this crazy team, only one that makes you more nervous when you're 2-0 up than when you're 1-0 down
- North London derbies

ETA: Theo, that was a beauty. Santi Cazorla, your entire game is a beauty. I am making small high-pitched noises at Theo walking off the pitch with his arm slung over Gareth Bale's shoulders.
levity: (daydream team)
Arsenal FC, YOU ARE DEPRESSING. YOU ARE SO DEPRESSING I DO NOT KNOW WHY I EVEN BOTHER. That is a lie, of course, but it's the spirit of the thing.

ETA just as I was writing this: I TAKE IT BACK. I TAKE IT ALL BACK. AAARSENAL.

ETA 2: Why do people even bother with the whole "Say what you like about Arsenal, they're never boring" route? I say what I like about Arsenal! And they are never boring! I'd just like crushing wins and holding on to two-goal leads once in a while! YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO THE DRAMA ALL THE TIME, ARSENAL.

But Olivier Giroud, though.
levity: (evening stretched out against the sky)
The brother brought home crickets from Tiendesitas and it's raining to- well, to fill the ice cream container under the leak in our living room twice over. Crickets! At home in Calasiao every time the rainy season came about the pools overflowed and frogs laid eggs everywhere water accumulated and the whole back wall outside the kitchen porch was filled with crickets, grasshoppers, insects all sorts that sing. There was a time I had to check under my bed for snakes looking for a cool dry place to stay. In the summers monitor lizards went sunbathing on the pool steps and the dogs just dove in. An owl once went through my bedroom window. An inordinate amount of my animal words are in Pangalatok, considering how little I know of the lanuage; to this day I am still amused by the word for mice.

I have animal words in Pangalatok, and I never learned it and I never learned Ilocano either but sometimes they come out in my words anyway, at home, when I'm not listening for them. I meant to write something along those lines a long time ago, when I read that Elaine Castillo article from a few months back, and then again when [livejournal.com profile] cornerflag came out and every story there was like something out of my id, language and land and all the people who've swept through it and tried to marry themselves to the soil, and all the people who will never be able to leave it. The bits of identity you carry with you even though sometimes all it means is that you miss things.

I am tired! I am so tired! I am tired of listnening to the rain and being unable to calm the reflexive urge to offer to start moving things to the second floor, I am tired of not being able to write things anymore, I am tired of having football be the only thing I can ever talk about. What the hell, we're all tired, that's why the fuck we're on LJ. Ignore the fact that I don't know how to generate content outside of fifty thousand different variations on "AAAARSENAAAAL", because it's repetitive, sure, but it's real. I can wail about Arsenal all I like but at least I won't be sick of hearing my voice halfway through my sentence.

I am tired and everything feels like work and I want to spend this sem break sleeping, at the very least, not playing Text Twist at four in the morning in an attempt to make my brain shut up and shut off, not circling around the fact that I am now pretty much A Reaction To That Guy I Fell In Love With, and not being utterly disgusted at how many times I use the word "I", because contrary to popular belief, I am not actually a Salinger character. Okay, no one will believe that, but I don't want to be one anymore. I like not having the courage to be an absolute nobody! Can I just have, like, the requisite mental stability?

Never you mind. The Giants won the first game of the World Series and their Panda got three runs in a game so he's the second non-Yankee to do so! And Santi Cazorla exists! Is there anyone who doesn't like him? If there is, don't ever let me know of their existence.
levity: (desire lives in the heart)

        The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater
because he is trying to kill you,
     and you deserve it, you do, and you know this,
            and you are ready to die in this swimming pool
  because you wanted to touch his hands and lips and this means
                              your life is over anyway.
         You’re in the eighth grade. You know these things.
  You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do
      long division,
and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless
                  he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you
                                              didn’t do,
      because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore.


      A dark-haired man in a rented bungalow is licking the whiskey
from the back of your wrist.
         He feels nothing,
             keeps a knife in his pocket,
                         peels an apple right in front of you
         while you tramp around a mustard-colored room
in your underwear
                 drinking Dutch beer from a green bottle.
      After everything that was going to happen has happened
you ask only for the cab fare home
            and realize you should have asked for more
                         because he couldn’t care less, either way.

The man on top of you is teaching you how to hate, sees you as a piece of real estate )
levity: (evening stretched out against the sky)
Love's the boy stood on the burning deck
trying to recite "The boy stood on
the burning deck." Love's the son
stood stammering elocution
while the poor ship in flames went down.

Love's the obstinate boy, the ship,
even the swimming sailors, who
would like a schoolroom platform, too,
or an excuse to stay
on deck. And love's the burning boy.
levity: (mes que un club)

ETA: The football gods heard me, and sent their response via their vessel on earth, Lionel Messi. He and Cris are making deals and laughing at all us peons, just you wait and see.

levity: (Jolteon and Togepi)
Home. Still picking around the spaces where a small white dog might be (and, likewise, watching out for the results of incontinence in an elderly dog), because how can I not do that, either. I'm so tired, guys, everyone I know is so good to me but I don't even know anymore. P.S. El freaking Clasico.
levity: (evening stretched out against the sky)
Your first time out of the country
of your own skin, I didn’t bring a map.

You always hated that I’d been lucky
enough to pick my way through streets

I couldn’t pronounce to find cathedrals,
graveyards. If you were a city, you said,

I’d only like to know your suburbs.

If you were a city, I said, I’d like to know
your poor neighborhoods, your inner parts.

Read your graffiti. Drink your tap water.
Feel your smog and dirt stick to my sweat.

Hear your orchestra of sirens and gunshots.
I’d know which of your streets to walk.

If you were a city, I’d expect to be robbed.
levity: (daydream team)

CLEARLY. I love football. No sarcasm.

ETA: Santi Cazorla is a wonder and a revelation and I love him. Carl Jenkinson- is not disproving the common perception that all our defenders are wingers in disguise, but he's the kid who's clearly thrilled that he's playing for the club of his dreams, and who is proving he can do it, and so I love him too.

And Arsenal, this has been your game, what the hell was that concession.

Son of ETA: I was just about to post screaming at the guys to just shoot, and then. KOOOOS. ALL OUR DEFENDERS ARE FORWARDS IN DISGUISE. GO GO GO.
levity: (clarity)
THE Cathedral bell, tolled, could never tell;
nor the Liver Birds, mute in their stone spell;
or the Mersey, though seagulls wailed, cursed, overhead,
in no language for the slandered dead...
not the raw, red throat of the Kop, keening,
or the cops’ words, censored of meaning;
not the clock, slow handclapping the coroner’s deadline,
or the memo to Thatcher, or the tabloid headline...
but fathers told of their daughters; the names of sons
on the lips of their mothers like prayers; lost ones
honoured for bitter years by orphan, cousin, wife -
not a matter of football, but of life.
Over this great city, light after long dark;
truth, the sweet silver song of the lark.
levity: (mes que un club)
Happy Martial Law Day to everyone who still thinks that Ferdinand Marcos is the best thing to ever happen to the Philippines, can't all you plebians screaming about human rights see that, OMG!!1 My only hope for you is that you grow a brain sometime within the next century. And also to you, Tito Sotto, but for you holding on hope would be the height of foolishness and inefficiency.


Overdosing on all the Champions League qualifiers I wasn't able to see live. Sometimes I feel like football is the only wonderful thing in the world; it's not true, of course, but it feels like it.

ETA: Jose Mourinho you are perfect to me.

From the post-match interviews:

Reporter: Do you credit Real?
Joe Hart: No.


Reporter: Do you feel any sympathy for Manchester City?
Jose Mourinho: No.


levity: (Default)

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