An Empty Chessboard

(A/N: Technically, this piece is complete on its own but somehow, I still feel that it isn't finished. Regardless, I'll have to post this one as is. Anyway, enjoy.)

An Empty Chessboard
By: Ezekiel de Guia

Sitting in the middle of the room
Between two forces, opposites by fate
Evoked with a game yearned to finish.

One to dare and assume
That the game has not come too late
Or this madness has nothing to furnish.

Empty, pieces stand not in this loom
Fate unseen as our souls lark and rate,
Nay, the game runs at a garnish.

The adversary laid the game's attack
Here, I said "The move, the force it lacks."
Mistaken was I, she declared "It is not a mere knick-knack."

Checkmate.

Amalgamation

(Author's Note: Once again, I'm posting another poem. This was published in Pundasyon 9, this went first before Vermillion. I hope it amuses much. Without further ado, here it is.)

Amalgamation
By: Ezekiel de Guia

Amalgamation
Fearing what is invoked,
Ailing the tears of men provoked.

Invocation
Weary thoughts meandering,
As words fade to wandering.

Renumeration
In full, we mask our scars
To stare at endless wars.

Redemption
Of fear and sins received,
In the end we want reprieve.

Dissolution
Pristine white now tainted,
Alas, our world is now painted.

Cease and desist,
Everything exists,
It ends where it begins.

Vermillion

(Author's Note: This poem was published in Pundasyon 10 and is being reposted out of a friend's request. Sharing it to everyone here now. I hope you enjoy.)


Vermillion
by: Ezekiel de Guia


Tell me dear child, what is despair?
Is it when shades howl at twilight's behest?
Nay, that's fear in its blatant unrest.


Then what does it hold if hope has been snuffed?
When chains make you turn from the nightmare's mask,


And wish that the fury you feel that had grown colder,
Lest the cold is worst than Nifleheim's frost,
Fear the law of the world's indignation.


Sanguine offering had the chalice engulfed.
Bitter wine gathered in Malice's flask,
Poured out in enmity, he is feral yet frail.


Fury grown cold, schemes hold with vengeance.
Yet when roused awake, its ire holds no penance.


When the grail is poured out...
When the bitter ale turns sweet...
Your offering has been taken
While thy good deeds are forsaken...


Drink, dear fallen, it is over.

Countdown Mode: 4 Days before Renunciation

As a way to dust off this blog, I decided to input some new things in here. To start off, let's go with the news.

First, having gone through Thesis and such, the chances of graduating are attainable but still under the risk of change. Anything can happen even at the end game. Can't say much about it but I'm getting close.

Second, this blog will serve as both "journal", "literary collection", and "anything that comes by a whim". Gonna put categories on that one. As for that, I'll get started with the poems.

That's all for the updates so, time I get the tags fixed and get the posting order back to work.

Seven Masks at Once

A gloomy day...

Marking the days of my journey, I step through a rusted gate wrapped in vines. Time had worn so much of this entrance that even its walls are wrapped by the entangling plants. The stone path lead to one direction that it did not take a curve to the left or to the right. With the dark shades marking the trees, it seemed to carry over this heavy air. If my mood was as gloomy as this day is, the place made it worse than that.

For some reason, I can't help but just walk through this strange woods and end up somewhere. And in fact....I did. This mist-laden place seemed to have covered more than just anticipation as it began to let its veil clear away at every step I took. Now that it has covered everything around me, I couldn't tell which direction I'm walking to right now.

I grimaced at what welcomed me...or more of what I just saw right there and then.

Seven graves, different in shape but grave markers nonetheless. All bore names, all of it I recognize very well. Names that bore no meaning to everyone else but to myself. How did I end up in this graveyard, in this place where time forsook with abhorrence and despair?

Unless I'm the one feeling that despair and horror....

I ambled closely, trying to see each name engraved on the black marble marker. I smirked at what these were to me. Names that belonged to me...names that had very distinct descriptions, separated by insignias that I recall not seeing elsewhere but here. I shook my head at the idea, I shook my head in denial that these were my remains.

Note that when I say remains, I mean the ones that have been buried in the deepest of consciousness, bound to be forgotten as if they have died. I am breathing and still walking amongst civilization.

Why is this place here? Why am I here? Those questions, I indeed found no answer to them except for one.....

"Do you remember what you have done here?"

I jumped at the sound of that voice. I looked around and searched for the source...and found nothing.

"What do you mean?" I asked back.

"Do you know why you built this place?"

I sneered at the idea of answering that. I know I have no answer, I'm convinced that I don't.

"Shall we replay them for you? Every scene that took place here?"

For some reason, I gave out an answer that made me scratch my head.

"How about lay out a gallery of paintings and I'll guess them myself."

Great, now the voice laughed with amusement. The next thing I knew, frames hovered above the grave markers, the canvas revealing these various depictions of every scene captured with detail. I hated the fact that I suggested this part to happen.

Each painting had a certain scenario laid out. From left to right, each had borne a timeline on every depiction. A painting of a man in robes, surrounded by a great library while holding a book, was the first that I saw. He bore a sparkle of fascination on every book laid out on those shelves.

The painting next to it had a different picture. It was that of a priest, seated inside a confessional booth. This one bore darker robes compared to the other, but his expression was that of a listener intent on mincing every detail while keeping the darkest secrets within the crypt of his heart.

After that, there was another painting. It was that of a boy, clasping a lute while singing songs under the moonlit night. It was a picture filled with bliss that I can't help but wonder how his voice would sound like if he were to sing.

There were others. On the very right, I saw this painting filled with chains and bound to it was this blindfolded figure. Stifled and restrained, I felt a pang in my chest after seeing how much this one had suffered in silence.

The one next to it was a masked knave, thanks to the clothes he wore. A card on one hand and a knife on the other. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of scheme was being made inside his head. But the only thing that left me questioning was the smile on his face....a twisted smile.

This one bore a face of wrath and anger. Bloodied hands and clothes torn asunder, revealing wounds that were crimson with blood. In hand was a sword, rusted and stained due to a number of encounters placed. I never bothered asking what caused it to be like this.

Lastly, I saw an empty frame. On it was a chair in the center of an empty gallery. The only thing I could make out in that place was the top hat and a cane. I wondered where that came from.

"That one on the center is the only one you haven't given a proper burial."

I turned back and saw this figure that I recognized. He looked similar to me, however, he was dressed in a black suit. I realized what these things were and shook my head at how slow I was in figuring it out.

"This was my graveyard. I buried so much of my other selves here....I never thought I'd be here, again."

He chuckled at first before walking past me. By the time he was already behind me, he started laughing. I faced the painting and saw him staring at it intently, as if he was waiting for me to say something.

"Why did you leave me as is while the rest slept in their graves?" I heard him ask me this.

"I cannot find any way to end your story just yet. I still have yet to see how this would turn out." I answered him. Placing my hands inside the pockets of my jacket, I smiled.

"I still need my Magister. I still need the Count to see if this will be fitting for his tale. After all, I have a few more years to straighten out your tale. As for the others, I have concluded them as fitting as they should."

Feeling as if there's nothing else to do, I turned my back on the dandy gentleman and left the graveyard. I heard him speak loudly as I neared the gate.

"You will come back here.....soon."

((This post was done a year ago on Facebook. I just thought of posting it here to show it. Link:  http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=10150220645665431))

The Zero System is Online

Looks like this ship is going to be on full force from this point on. Did some preparations for now and let's hope we get more. Enjoy while you're paying a visit to this corner of the web.

Flagship starter, while we have exams for the week, the writing is about to commence. Excited right now and I guess I should get to work.

However, exams are still in order and the finals are waiting. Time to hit the books/production table and do something. After this, let's get going.

Waking Up from the Dreamless Sleep.

Waking up from something is easy at times. But there are instances that make this process harder than it appears. For one, it will feel like the person would want to go back to the dream and continue. They struggle to get out of bed and start moving. For a person such as myself, who had not picked up the pen due to fickle habits and constant hesitation, I was in for a rude awakening. Well, quite close.

This is where the Philippine Press Institute's seminar came to be. On the very first day, I had faced one simple trial that would be the starting point. Remembering names (definitely hard if you haven't used the faculty for memory). It took me a while to get their names right with the adjectives describing them but it got me awake. After that, I was not up to falling asleep again.

It’s strange that I mentioned something about falling asleep. When one thinks of it, boredom is the cause of people being distracted. Roots to it are from every angle but leads to one thing, disinterest. With that, I ended up realizing that I was stuck with excuses rather than real causes. To put it simply, I was having a hard time waking up from procrastinating. After stirring from the mental warm-up, I knew I would be up for more.

I continued to listen as veteran journalists and regular practitioners had their experts stand by the podium one after the other, sharing their insights and tips. From their stories, a shape of what journalism is began to materialize. This was more than just a profession; it's a vocation. It was not far from a priest serving his ministry. Driven by duty and the community, that's how terms like Civic Journalism came to existence. For the first half of the day, I had my notebook open and I was jotting down thoughts and notes non-stop, pausing only to listen when I want to grasp more to think about.

This routine was beginning to break the ice. The mind was breaking out after relearning about some basics. The principle of Writing Beyond the Written Word now comes into mind. The amusing thing was that I ended up thinking to myself, "What if I make a journalist as a pivotal character for a fictional story? What would be the driving force of the story?" The next thing I knew, I was listening to a talk about the social media (to which I got the encouragement to dust of my blog and get this post out) and ethics.

The talk about ethics now played a critical role with my sense of justice. I thought I had a grasp of the black and white spectrum with terms of moral issues. That's where I found myself stuck between crossroads all thanks to one question.

Is it ethical to expose the abusive behavior of a fellow journalist? (In this case, abuse in terms of corruption and its practice).

Stuck between two views, I found myself baffled. How do I approach a sensitive topic like this? While asking this to myself, I had an ethical journalist (and definitely a veteran due to her age being an old lady) beside me and I asked her. She smiled with a definite answer that soon made sense. If it was for the pursuit of truth, "pull the trigger" and expose. I think it made sense and that existing would only defeat the purpose.

The day ended with ethics. While sent towards our respective groups to cover news as part of the exercise, I was convinced about one thing.

Our job as a journalist; it is more of calling than mere application. It is a commitment rather than mere contract.

Dusting off the dashboard and getting things kick-started.....again.

Been a while since I got this one running. This has only functioned as a journal for me to write things of interest. Right now, I've just thought of using it one more time.

A lot of things have happened lately and one of them includes me dusting off the old dashboard of this little blog. I'll tell you now, nothing seemed to have changed.....yet. But I can tell you one thing, this has made me thinking about getting back in to putting this in circulation.

Well, for now, this is just a test run if it still....runs. Time to get working.

A Vial of Cantarella....Long Hours of Dreaming

Cantarella - a drug that is known to knock a person out for four hours, leaving not a traceable pulse (in other words, nearly dead). It is a poison of which a person would find liberty to do anything to a victim who induces this.

Strange that I'm talking about a drug now. Believe it or not, you have to blame it to a song bearing the same title as the aforementioned poison. A number of interpretations and a number of meanings but the lyrics are the same.

First off, what the words would tend to say. It describes the stifled emotions....finding one's self out of control due to the overwhelming intensity that grows within. It is a strange mix. Resolving to let these be felt in a very drastic but calculated measure. So, what does the poison have to do with anything? The answer: a lot.

The lyrics can point out a motive. A motive to claim that loved one in that drastic, underhanded measure. The poison says it all. But this isn't where it stops, which leads us to the second point.

The song had numerous renditions, revealed through the interpretations of those who made them. One would point that the persona loved the woman and as much as he had these feelings secret, he thought of making her fall into his trap by drugging her. As he was about to take away her freedom (to be frank, he was about to rape her), she awoke and said "capture me..."

Well, situations for this vary, one is that he wanted to keep her by his side and prevent her to leave. Another version showed a love triangle, though instead of being poisoned, she became his lover and the rival ended up taking the fatal blow instead. Lots of situations, same revolution of events.

Strangely, as much as the song sounded quite the fruit of someone's obsession, the composition came out well. I'll post the link for you guys to understand.

That ends my rant for today/tonight/whatever time....Now, off to writing that chapter.

This is the couple in question. They are the characters of the song.

Locked Out of the Door of Dreams....

Strange to note that I would post this when I promised to post more about the story I'm working on. Well, that will have to wait. This is something that I can't get my mind off when I found myself in the dead of night, unable to get enough Zs into use. So I decided to do this instead.

Well, to put it simply, I'm stuck between restlessness and weariness. I think I should use this time to write my thoughts. Now, here they are.

First off, the strange thing is the time and how quiet it is. 3:21 AM on the laptop and a few hours away from daybreak. I can't help but try to find ways to get myself to sleep. Looks like with every key I type in, I end up staying awake even more. Come to think of it, I have to find a way to fall asleep. Strangely, I've been ending up sleeping at 12 midnight or 2 AM. I think this is already annoying and I need sleep.


Another is that I have been juggling a few stories in my head. Three fanfictions and a couple of originals. I hope I don't confuse them much but I can be sure multitasking is one of those reasons. After saying this, I still don't get enough Zs.

Lastly, school work. Which reminds me of what I should be finishing after this. I should be working on a  couple of requirements, a feature article, a news article, and a literary submission for the school publication. Talking about lethal dose. You can add to the list the resume for the recollection and the document that my colleague has been bugging me about for days.

There, three points and so far, no drowsiness. I hope I get enough in a few minutes.

A Look to the Mad Hatter

This time...I think it's time I talk about a story that I long to share to you guys for so long. Though at this point, I'll give the overview before I reveal the whole of the story (since I'm trying to convert a stage play into a prose). Anyways, here it goes.

The story is designed during my years in the University of Baguio. During this time, you can say that I had the idea playing in my mind. Imagine the following elements: A timeline that's somehow steampunk and gothic, a story of forbidden love, a tragedy, and a different perspective about nobles with magic. You can say this is a weird combination, or maybe a good combination, I'll leave that to you. But the whole idea is something that I have been playing around with for days. There are a few things to blame this to. The very solid one would be Alice in Wonderland. Another would be the visual kei band called D.

With how the story goes....here's the basic idea but you have to read the next post to know how it really looks like.

First off, we have the Magister and his two children; that being the daughter and the adopted son. Alice, the daughter (like I said, blame Alice in Wonderland for this one), was the one who found the orphan and asked her father to take him in to the family. This boy is Ciel, the main protagonist of the story. The Count (Magister and the father of the two) raised Ciel as his son and groomed him to be his heir. As years passed, he's making progress and all the more closer to being the one to inherit the title.

Events transpire to the point that lead to reveal the forbidden love between Alice and Ciel and the actions that caused them to shape their fate. The Count's secret is also revealed and, ultimately, the curse that marks the undoing of everything they know of. This is where you have to find out yourself when I finish the story. (though the prose migbt be longer than the script).

Now the story itself was shaped by numerous things. Inspirations came from music. One was from the first three tracks of Merveilles, a Malice Mizer album. The lyrics told of a story that shaped the last portions of the Mad Hatter. The visuals were thanks to Angel Sanctuary and Granado Espada (yep, an online game helped out in this one). Aside from this, I saw the light of the idea from a character that I made long ago.

When I get the story done, I hope you enjoy it. Well, I think I'll go sleep for the night.

And there goes that long line.....whew!!!

2010 elections, a first in Philippine history with lots of new stuff. New leadership, new process, new faces (not to mention another set of first timers in the voting process, which includes myself). Now to talk about how it ended up.

To start off, I didn't injure my finger by putting it in a spinning fan blade. The pic you see is actually when I finished applying alcogel to rub the indelible ink from my nail. I got most of it off but the stain that didn't come off is what made it look like it got hit by something. As a first time voter, it's a first for me to vote for the Nation's new set of leaders. Just like how the news coverage said on the earlier parts of the day, long lines and sleepy minutes of waiting. To describe it, it's like getting in line during the encoding part of the enrollment in UC (where you wait at the gym on a long line, along with other students who wait patiently by either chatting with each other or just staring at some blank space). I kept saying to those beside me during that long line at Quezon Elementary School (where my precinct number is listed) "It's just like enrollment day."

Well, being a student has its advantages. When old people gripe and stuff about wanting to get to their turn, I just smiled it off and enjoyed the moment. Must be the optimism of youth that gets people to do things as they should.

In terms of getting the ballots, the felt pen made my hand tremble as I took extra care in shading the circles. Since that PCOS machine seemed too sensitive, I took the time in amply shading them. Still nervous, I went to the volunteer and had my ballot inserted (hoping that my ballot won't be marked invalid or something). Then the banner that said "Congratulations, your ballot has been counted." I sighed in relief. The wait made it worth the while.

Now, let's wait for the results. This is going to be a long drum roll.

Ten, Eleven, and Counting....the Guys in Bikes and Rider Suits

Ok, by now, you'd be wondering which anime show this picture is from. I'll tell you three things. First, it's not an anime, it's from a long-running live action series (in this case, a tokusatsu, which I will explain later). Second, if you were born somewhere in the 1980s and you have a TV, you can be sure that you'll catch one of the most well-known sempai of these guys (especially if you were born in the Philippines). Lastly, it's my favorite and my current fanaticism so far.

Anyways, I'm talking about Kamen Rider (aka Masked Rider). Thus the reason for this cute picture of all the Heisei Riders (the recent riders starting at around 2000. Masked Rider Black was during the 80s). The usual elements are as follows, a guy, a bike, a fancy belt that changes the guy into a Masked Rider/Kamen Rider, an organizaiton (depends if evil or not), and monsters which are usually humanoid. The new Riders branched off from the continuous flow of having an evil terrorist organization to fight against and being the reason why the heroes are Riders.

It took a turn on the year 2000 with Kamen Rider Kuuga. It was from Kuuga that every series is independent with terms of storyline and universe. That was until Kamen Rider Decade (2009) gave out the twist of crossing each world over. From there, it gained much popularity and still growing.

Honestly, I got hooked with the Heisei Riders due to me coming across the name of Kamen Rider Decade. I was looking through Gackt's discography and found this series (Gackt is a Japanese singer and actor. A favorite one at that). After checking out his song Journey Through the Decade, I looked for the series (and found vids of the show on Youtube). From there, I got hooked with the storyline and fell in love with the series.

I bet many of you would go "It's for kids. It's like Power Rangers." Before you say that, mind you that this is different from Power Rangers. Power Rangers (originally Super Sentai) fight in groups and that title itself refers to the American version (which was re-engineered for kids while using footage from the original Japanese series). Anyways, the plot of Kamen Rider (you can scratch off the two Americanized versions, Dragon Knight and Masked Rider) is also quite mature for kids to understand. It even has heroes who have flaws in themselves. Despite which, it has gained a "superhero" status in Japan and in hearts of other fans.

Right now, I've watched six of them (Decade, Kiva, 555, Blade, Kabuto, Den-O) and I'm watching my seventh series (Hibiki). I'll review them one by one on my later posts. Right now, let's leave it at that.

Well, I'm off to go check out something fun.

P.S. Tokusatsu is what you refer to Japanese live action shows that usually involve special effects.

Owari to Mirai (The End and the Future)

This is the last day of the third term in UC. Time is really swift with so many things. Another term is over, so is the school year. This makes things a little unsettling. But right now, it won't matter.

I'm about to relish the few minutes that is meant to make this day memorable. Walking through the corridors of the campus with friends and flocks of students going on the counterflow, having moments of smiles and laughter with those treasured most (a special someone to be specific), having arguments and clashes with those same people though you hide the tension inside and bottle it up in hopes of having it explode elsewhere....you know how things go.

Right now, another chapter is over. I have a number of things to miss. My beloved who I cherish so much. My friends on both the booth and on the paper, who laugh and go crazy with stuff....And to that old self that is about to pull the curtain.

I'll write more of what happens within this day. Maybe you'll find something worth knowing.

Introductions: I am just a young man passing through....

A young vagrant passing through. This is how I view myself with terms of how I live life. I see it for three things that define my path; the prints left behind, the purpose served, and the significance thereof. From this point, I beckon you, look with eyes that pay attention.

From this point, I will show you three sides of what I am and how life is to me as these three aspects. As a student, as the eldest son, and finally as a young man who longs to carry on with the journey and hopes to finish it. I must tell you that you might find this either to your liking or to your chagrin.

First and foremost, I am a student. As much as how life is with terms of how it has been, this would be one of the most unstable stages in every person's life. Why unstable? For once in my life, I have never found myself in unpredictable states and it was in this stage of my life where I have experienced that not all the things you dream of happen and go according to plan. Ever since I graduated from High School, I have been studying for six years (with a gap of stopping for a year in between). It was a journey filled with battles, tears and screams as I struggle to find out what my future holds and what role I can fit in this great machine called society. Being a university student that was fresh from High School has its perks aside from bad things. The enthusiasm carried by fresh graduates as they enter college life and try to fulfill their destinies, the idea of that is very novel to the point that it becomes one of the most quoted reasons for going to college. Education, after all, is the most priceless inheritance that our parents could leave to us.

I sound like I'm drifting with these thoughts but this is how I see my life. Though I may seem to drift around, I have a course set in life. Back in those days, my earlier years in college were more on naively doing things for the sake of reaching the goal. But instead of reaching that goal, I end up being steered away from it as distractions and "shortcuts" appear out of nowhere and bring forth lures to take you to where they want you to be--in their hands to be a slave of their devices. It may not appear to be so, but this is true as a number of the youth end up losing their dreams and hopes because of vices and everything else that plague their lives. They don't get to graduate because they "major on the minor", they prioritize trivial things and not see the big picture that holds their destiny.

This is where the two aspects come in. As the eldest son in a family of five, with two more siblings following after you, you are expected to carry the standard of your family on your shoulders. Everyone looks up to your or depends on you to succeed. The pressure is there, but that pressure is understandable since you are the vanguard of the family. Being the firstborn in this family, whether it seems like a pain in the butt and everything, is actually an honor. The firstborn is the pride and joy of the family, the one who is set to have the inheritance as the head of the household. That is how my parents look at me and that's how they perceive me until now. During the times when I was shattered by Life's ways when I stopped and failed my subjects, I saw their faces marked with tears and sorrow. It was disappointing. I have let them down because I thought of myself more than for the sake of my family. It is even devastating when you are also serving God along with your family and you fail in your journey to create your future. But if it was not for them, I would have not gained the strength to get up and fight on.

Now, as a man who continues to travel on this path, I have found myself to carry a simple truth. There are good news and bad news. I'll start with the good. The truth is that all of us are potentials, diamonds in the rough who hold promising dreams and powers yet to be roused. What we have inside us is that capability to become great just like those before us. Now here's the bad news. We are dead potentials. We will remain as we are and stay as we are...if we leave it as is. We remain as potentials that don't do anything and that remain rough without someone shaping us for the good. In simpler terms, we'll just be pieces of rock without the diamond in us shining before them because we never made it to be that diamond piece.

How do we remedy that situation? How do we get ourselves shaped and molded into that? Simple, be an apprentice. Be a student. But not the type of student that just studies. We need life coaches, people watching over us and mentoring us on our walk on life. They have gone ahead and learned how life is, they themselves also guided by those before them. Without their help, we'll just be as dull as a rusty sword.

As Iron sharpens iron, so must one man sharpen another...