Look Ma, I'm a Writer!

Before it was shut down, the Amicus Project was the research and development project whose main objective was to create a wormhole, a portal between the two galaxies of Acquintas and Amicus. It was supposed to be remembered as the bridge that cut intergalactic travel time down to milliseconds. Instead, the Amicus Project would go down in history for the reason it was shut down─the glitch.


BACKGROUND:

Acquintas Nebula
Designation: Galaxy, Third Class
Star systems: 5
Inhabited: 3
Major planets: Acquintasia, Deluzian I, Phasmid-XG
Dominant species: Human
Dominant race: Acquintan

Amicus Galactic Federation
Designation: Autonomous Galaxy, First Class
Star systems: 23
Inhabited: 17
Major planets: Amicus Primus, Amicus Secundus, Dabarquad V
Dominant species: Human
Dominant race: Amici


* * * * *


The Amici imposed
very strict requirements
regarding entry into their system.
Generally, third-class galactic citizens
were considered by the Amici as
a lower species, sub-human,
infinitely inferior.

In selecting the Guinea Pig
for the Amicus Project,
three factors were
taken into consideration.

First: Genetics.
The Guinea Pig must be
of Amici descent.
Second: Intelligence.
In the event of a succesful crossover,
the Guinea Pig must be equipped
with the same intellectual abilities
as any ordinary Amici citizen
to be able to integrate fully
into this new system.
And third: Expendability.
In the event of a failure,
the Guinea Pig must present
no significant loss
to both galactic governments.

After an extensive selection process,
the Amicus Project selected
for their Guinea Pig
Acquintan prisoner number 8997161,
for satisfying all the requirements.
It was agreed that
as long as the Guinea Pig
successfully crossed the portal,
dead or alive,
he would be honoured
as an Amici citizen.

Finally, on the
day of the crossing,
a hundred billion Acquintans
tuned in to watch
the historic event.
But as soon as
the Guinea Pig
entered the portal,
it happened.

The glitch.

At the exact moment
the Guinea Pig was
inside the wormhole,
the power surged,
causing all the equipment
to flicker and reboot.
And in that split-second,
the Guinea Pig disappeared.
He went into the portal,
but he never came out of it.

It has been theorised that
the wormhole could not handle
the mass of a human body,
which caused the wormhole
to collapse on itself,
obliterating the Guinea Pig,
disintegrating him
down to his atoms.

Others believe that
the Guinea Pig did not
disappear. They believe
he actually went
somewhere, to that place
which was neither
Acquintas nor Amicus.

The Guinea Pig
of the Amicus Project,
Acquintan prisoner number 8997161
is believed to have gone
all the way back to
the beginning,
back to when he was
nothing.



8 Nov 2013

I have been painted
Evil in a thousand ways
In a thousand eyes

They headed north,
way up in the
Mountain Province,
riding a local
bus, but
seated way in the rear.
It was freezing;
you could turn on the
airconditioning
by opening a window.

It was her first time,
but he'd been here before,
when it was still
a provincial mountain town,
both a tourist destination
and a hashish haven.

They wanted to do it
like in that
romantic comedy movie,
hoping that
pines
ferns,
and evergreens
would be enough
kindle to reignite
their spark
that was lost.

All they could see
were mountains,
far as the eye could see.
A mountain view
so spectacular
that only
360° IMAX
can capture it
with justice.

But that night, no
sparks ignited.
No lost emotions
rekindled.
Instead,
foundations were set,
expectations were levelled,
and lessons were learned.

Marriage is a mountain,

one which you must
climb. And conquer.
That would be
going against gravity,
so there will be
effort exerted.
There is no
straight road
to the summit;
there are zig-zags,
blind corners,
and alternating
one-way passes.

Teamwork is crucial.
Climbing is a team effort.

There is no such thing
as a solo mountaineer.
There is a team;
an expedition.
At least two, there are.
A climber, and a belayer.
And they can switch roles.

That night,
down on the forest floor,
looking up at the
star-studded sky,
both of them
wondered what it would
be like to live
on a mountain.



*Sun, 31 Jan 2015. SAG.MTP.PHL.

She watched through
blurry eyes, this
reality cooking
show on the telly, which
she never was a fan of
before. But now,
with everything
going on
in her mind, she found
it interesting.

The challenge: Make
the bitter gourd palatable
to those who hate it.

And seeing one of these
would-be Master
Chefs washing his bitter
gourd, hunched over the
sink, she slowly
felt waves of
sadness, like running
water washing
over her, the
bitterness sinking to
the pit of her stomach,

She watched the chef
boil the gourd
in saltwater,
to lessen its bitterness,
but the taste of salt
in her tears
did not lessen hers.

The chef took
the boiled gourd,
and with his sharp
kinfe, sliced
it thin, with
deft, deliberate
strokes, as she imagined
parallel bleeding strips
if she applied the
same knife strokes on
her wrists.

And finally, with
time running
out, in
an act of desperation,
the would-be
Master Chef tried covering
the bitterness in a sweet
caramel cover.
But she knew this chef
would lose the challenge,
for no amount of sugar-
coating can conceal
the bitterness
hidden underneath.

Scientist Hangs Himself After Groundbreaking Discovery
Arizona State University – Police found senior faculty member Dr. Andre Brody hanging dead in his office yesterday morning after a phone call from the head of campus security. Dr. Brody became famous after the publication of his paper on "fetal microchimerism".

Dr. Brody's fiancée, a single mother, was devastated by his death. "This has been a very tough ordeal for me, and especially for my son, who has grown to love Andre as his real father," she says. His fiancée's 10-year old boy, though not his biological child, was chosen by Brody to be his best man for his wedding scheduled next year.

"Fetal microchimerism" discusses the phenomena of "fetal cells", which are cells from the fetus in a mother’s womb that leave the placenta during pregnancy or soon after birth, and take residence in different areas of the mother’s body. That means a mother has her child's cells within her, and can stay with her for up to three decades. (Associated Press)

***

Suicide Note of Dr. Andre Brody
O, I write this letter
with a heavy heart,
knowing that in my experiment
I have not only proven that
all mothers are chimeras,
but also that my fiancée
has the DNA of her ex
inside her.

He thrust all of them inside,
the skeletons–each and every
broken and brittle bone in the body
–skeletal systems in shambles, shoved
haphazardly in the tiny
confines of the cluttered closet,
which he then forced shut,
padlocked, and bolted.

A skeleton should
remain where it
belongs: buried,
hidden, forever
trapped in a tomb,
as it should be,
never to see
the light of day.

But he forgot a couple
of things about this closet.

First, it was not
a soundproof closet.
Once in a while,
the shifting bones would
create a clattering
noise that would
bother him.
Second, it was not
an odour-proof closet.
Every now and then,
a whiff of decay
would cause him to cover
his nose at the foul
stinking stench of his skeletons.

He turned
his back on her,
stormed off
in a rage
and muttered,

"Stupid fuckin' waste of time."

And she stood
there, surprised,
mouth open,
eyes slanted
in anger, because
all she heard
were the words
"stupid fuck".

There are
different types
of communication.
Although the
message and the medium
may vary,
there are
elements common
to all of them.

First, the Idea,
which comes from
the Divine.
Second, the Word,
the Idea's thought
made flesh.
And third, the Medium,
the vessel for the Word
in physical form.

There are also
different types
of silence.
The rarest type
is called
"The Vacuum".

What's strange
is that while
the act of
communication
involves a
multi-step process,
it still requires more
effort and energy
to maintain
the silence of
the Vacuum.
■

Everyone listened intently
as the high priest
delivered his sermon
during the wedding ceremony.

"For my last words,"
he announced,
"I shall share with the couple
the secret of
a long-lasting, loving,
and happy marriage.

The priest then leaned
close to the couple
and whispered something in their ears.

The couple smiled,
then turned around to look
at the wedding guests in their seats.
All the married people
were smiling back at them.
But all the single people
were giving each other
looks that said
"What the hell was that all about?"



*Batanes, 4 Feb 2012

Dear Son,

If you are reading this,
then that means I am dead
(obviously, because this letter
passes by will).

I will give you very important advice
regarding marriage
which can be summed up
in four words.

Marry.
Your.
Best.
Friend.

Do not marry
anyone else.

If someone makes you laugh,
then go and date her.
But do not marry her.
Not unless she is your best friend.

If someone is insanely hot,
then kiss her.
But do not marry her.
Not unless she is your best friend.

If someone is great in bed,
then fornicate with her.
But do not marry her.
Not unless she is your best friend.

If through some unforeseen circumstances
you should father a bastard,
then love the child.
But do not marry the mother.
Not unless she is your best friend.

If your best friend
is of the same sex,
then do not despair.
Just fly off to California
and marry him there.

Marriage is a sacrament,
and the vows are sacred.
There is only one requirement for marriage.
It has nothing to do with age gap,
nor how long you've known each other,
nor how happy you are together.

If you are not marrying your best friend,
then do not get married at all.


Love,
Your Father



*for Gary and Nicole
conceived: Batanes, 5 Feb 2012

The warrior
loomed over
the sleeping figure
of the fair maiden.

"Sleep tight,"
he whispered,
and drew from a pouch 'round his neck
a small phial
filled with a clear liquid.
He uncorked it
and downed the contents
in one gulp.

He leaned over the maiden
as if to kiss her,
and then suddenly
─he vanished.
But he didn't really disappear.
He shrank
to a size smaller
than a particle of dust,
and he fell through the air
until he was inhaled through the nose
of the sleeping maiden.

When he landed,
he found himself
in her bloodstream,
and was within seconds surrounded
by white cells of blood.
"Who are you,"
asked the cells,
moving in closer and closer,
"and what do you carry with you?"

"I am a warrior,"
he answered.
"On my left hand I carry
my shield named Goodness,
and on my right
my sword named Truth."

"And what do you seek here?"
asked the white cells.

"I seek
the dragon called Doubt,"
said the warrior.
"Show me the way to his lair,
so I may slay him
while he sleeps."

The white blood cells parted
to let the warrior pass.
"Follow this path,"
they pointed,
"until you reach
the heart.
There in the fourth chamber
dwells the dragon Doubt."

The warrior made his way
down the passage,
and soon he reached the heart.
He stumbled hazily
through the first three chambers,
which smelled of
dank and decay,
a fermenting tank
of evil energy.
And finally, in the fourth,
Doubt the dragon dozed
with one eye half-open.
He moved slowly across
the dragon's blind side,
and while holding up Goodness,
he unsheathed Truth from its scabbard
and lopped the beast's head off
with one swift stroke.

The dragon's headless body
convulsed and twitched,
and sensing that something
was about to go wrong,
the warrior fled full-speed,
running back the way he came,
flying out of the maiden's nose
just in time as a violent sneeze
shook the maiden awake.

When she opened her eyes,
the warrior was standing
by her bedside,
dripping head to toe
in sticky mucus,
which glistened in
the light of the sunrise.

"My beloved!"
she cried,
jumping up and
throwing her arms around
his neck.
And when she kissed him
on the lips,
the warrior knew that
Doubt was dead,
for the night before,
the maiden had cried herself to sleep,
cursing the warrior's name
to the seventh circle of hell.

"We come from different worlds," said he.
"This will not work."

"But surely, we must try," said she.
"We must make it work."

"And how?" he asked.
"In your veins flows
the blood of kings,
and you are the daughter of one.
Surely he wants only
what is best for his little princess.
You must wed a prince,
who will someday be king,
and you will give him little princes
who will someday wear the crown."

"But it is not a prince I want," she answered.
"I want you.
You and your words that I do not understand,
you and your tales of magical places,
you and your adventures in far-off lands."

"If we must be together," said he,
"You must come with me.
For I cannot stay here
in your world,
in your time."

"Take me with you," she begged.
"My father has other princesses besides me.
But I have only one Time Lord."

And together they stepped into his flying machine,
soared up into the sky,
and vanished into a twinkle of light,
off to places she has never seen,
to hear words she does not understand.
But she will understand them,
soon,
for she is now
a Time Lord's wife.

To every person
There is one true spaghetti

To some people
Spaghetti must be sweet
Like those served at children’s parties
Where little boys and girls meet
With tomato ketchup instead of tomato sauce
Smeared around the mouth

To others
Spaghetti must be salty
Like those at the American diners
Where teenage girls meet teenage boys
With meat sauce and meatballs
Staining their skirts and shirts

And still to other people
Spaghetti must be just a little bit sour
Like those at the five-star restaurants
Where the gentlemen date the ladies
And where we find traces of real tomatoes
Creating kiss-marks on the napkin

While to other people
Spaghetti must be pure Italian
Like those served in Milan and Roma
Where honeymooners stroll and old couples date
The aftertaste of Sicilian olives
Still fresh in their mouths

The true spaghetti is made
With a secret spice whose main ingredient
To this day
Remains a mystery

I am

It is the unexpected

She is a warrior,
invincible at first glance,
but still human--scarred.

Little tinkling bells
Like the sound of your laughter
Music to my ears

More beautiful than
the sunrise, you are brighter
than the light of day.

One day, a little boy
asked the Universe,
"I wish to create
a playmate."

The Universe answered that
the boy must begin with
an Idea--
no body yet--
only form.

So the little boy
thought of an Idea
for a playmate.

"Then you must,"
said the Universe,
"wish with
all your might
for your Idea to
be born (with a body)
into reality."

The little boy wished
and wished and
wished very hard, until his
wishing tired him,
and he fell asleep.

When the boy woke up,
he could see a face
staring at his. That
face is familiar,
thought the boy,
and then he realized,
the one standing
before him
was his Idea,
except now, it had a face.

The little boy's
eyes twinkled,
and with a smile on his lips,
he breathed his last,
for his eyes could not handle
the sheer beauty of his
Idea incarnated.

Do I
kiss you
now,
and later regret it
for the rest of my life,

or

do I
not kiss you
at all,
and later regret it
for the rest of my life?