The Text Is Everything That Is The Case

unemployed philosophy graduate distractedly gazing at her navel filled with absurdist grime

Hungry For The Wolf

1.

I feel a think coming: shoot it between my legs. The man I’m yearning for will ride Old Sparky today. Handsome, clean-looking guy, just my type. Maybe not a man of virtue, but virtue never did make a man—it’s the daredevil ones who got balls of steel. Bad boys. More than the icing, they’re the cherry on top. Mama said I’m out of my mind. I’d rather be out of my clothes, under him, possibly being strangled, but I’ll die happy.

2.

The lone wolf wanders over the desolate, cold places of my mind. Separated from the pack, he searches for respite from the turbulent terrain. What he needs is a shewolf to shield his neck in the case of an attack. I am that shewolf, hear me howl.

3.

I dread the day when his fists will no longer brush with my face. His touches are gentle but they leave me black and blue. Leader of the pack, I will follow him to the ends of the earth. His fangs rip at my flesh but I cry out in joy and bleed in ecstasy. I am a willing prey to my predator like gold that never doubts the power of the flames that refine it. So too, my body is a repository of the wolf’s formidable strength and the scars are here to prove it.

4.

In the wolf’s den the gods dare not pass. For in the wolf’s den, the wolf is god of itself. Beneath the full moon, I howl along with my creator, the wolf. I am an offering to him, he may do as he wishes. Rome wasn’t founded in a day, but it takes a wolf to raise the founders of Rome. I desire to become one with the wolf. I’ll happily drink from the same cup.

5.

They called him The Wolf. The symbol of mavericks because of his solitary nature. Hail victory is our battle cry, descendants of an undefeated race, the salt of the earth, The Ones Who Shall Not Mourn. He is my Fuhrer, my guide to the better future I desire. He is the wolf within me, coaxing the ferocious spirit of the wild in me that I was able to commit atrocities to those we deemed weak. He is Apollo, and together we ride his chariot.

But as this city burns, he becomes my Nero, fiddling with a gun to his head.

6.

I am hungry for the wolf: I shall not want. My teeth are sharp enough to break his skin. My hands are strong enough to break his neck. In the morning upon waking up, I summon the wolf and he stares back at me in the mirror. When the wolf leaves me, he takes with him my spirit and spares a pitiful lump of flesh that quivers in fear at the slightest provocation. The wolf is somewhere within but often gets lost in the immutable ebb and flow of metamorphosis. The wolf, lonely and isolated, lurks in the crevices left behind by the intensity of growth. I have changed. I have entered the wolf’s den.

7.

By the fire, in the penumbra surrounding the cave, I sit still and wait for the wolf to pounce on me. Lupo ovem commisisti. Any minute now.

I click my teeth because I’m ready to pounce back.

Book Review: Matthew Lewis' "The Monk"

Personal Notes:

I started reading this book about a few months ago. What initially attracted me to pick up the book was the cover on the Oxford Classics Series; it had an eerie picture of a monk from what seems to be the Middle Ages, and to make it even more creepier, the picture had a sepia filter— and sepia filters make everything creepier. I didn’t read the summary of the book, but with the foregoing facts stating the cover of the book, and its title, I assumed it was a horror story about a Monk set in Medieval Times. And me being an enthusiast of all things haunting and Medieval, immediately added this book to my wishlist on Book Depository. However, as I was browsing the free Classics catalogue on Amazon, I stumbled upon a free copy of said book. I really wanted to buy a physical copy of it because of the cover, but I will later learn that the adage “never judge a book by its cover” proves accurate in this case. Because of my attraction to the cover, and because the circumstances concerning Covid-19 made Book Depository temporarily cease delivery to my country, I reneged on my initial plan to buy a hard copy. Hence, I downloaded the free e-book, The Monk onto my Kindle. As I will later learn, this was a wise decision, and saved me precious money and space on my bookshelf. I read the book intermittently for around three months before a sudden spurt in energy allowed me to finally finish the book in one day. In the end, I rated the book four (4) stars, which is rare because, if I like a book, I have no qualms rating it five (5) stars. I know the books I want, and the books I need, so if I rate it less than 5 stars, that only means that there was something about it that I found to be problematic, terrible, or simply, boring and formulaic. If I could encapsulate this book in one sentence, it would be: It has some exciting parts, but for the most part, mildly disappointing.       Summary and Review of the Book:

The Monk is a Gothic novel set during the Inquisition period in Madrid, Spain. There are several protagonists, the foremost of which is Father Ambrosio, a young, comely, monk who gained popularity in Madrid because of his saintly piety. He was an orphan adopted by the Monks, who eventually grew up to be an intelligent and gifted priest; because of his charisma and mysterious background, rumors abound that he was sent as a baby to the Monastery by the Virgin Mary herself, but as I later learned, this trifle, seemingly offhanded, would become a tragic detail by the end of the book. Other protagonists include Antonia, Agnes, Don Raymond, and Lorenzo. Antonia is a young and beautiful maiden whose beauty would be the cause of her own downfall. Agnes and Don Raymond are lovers whom terrible circumstances will attempt to separate, but are fated to reunite in the end. Lorenzo is Agnes’ brother and betrothed to Antonia, but their love will unfortunately end in tragedy.   The story uses an omniscient point-of-view, and being a Gothic novel, has horror elements in it. The story begins with Father Ambrosio preaching at the pulpit with an almost fanatic passion, while his audience, the people of Madrid were enthralled. Among the audience is Antonia and her aunt, Leonella. Like the rest, they couldn’t resist Ambrosio’s charm, moreso Antonia, who, because of her innocence, set aside the ominous gut feeling she felt at the sight of Father Ambrosio. Two men relevant to the story were also present in the audience, but for different reasons. They were Lorenzo and Don Raymond. It should be noted that in the first chapter, the tone of the novel was rather light, and even allowed for some humor, especially on the part of Aunt Leonella. Also, I appreciated that all parts of the novel, even those that at first seem to be off-tangent to the story, all work in the end to push the story to its denouement and are germane to the novel’s plot. One such seemingly irrelevant passage is the part about Don Raymond’s adventures in the German Black Forest and its subsequent events. Like a typical gothic novel, it invokes ghosts and other spiritual elements for a little bit of scare, including haunted castles and monasteries, although I should say, these typical features rather made the novel tied to its time, or in other words, outdated. However, this is not enough reason to outright dismiss the novel, for it has its redeeming qualities, and lessons that especially resonate with today’s world.   The ties that bind Ambrosio, Antonia, Lorenzo, Don Raymond and Agnes is the Church. Ambrosio is the shining star of said church, and Antonia a devout believer, often goes to church, and it is in there that she first sees Ambrosio. Agnes, meanwhile, was forced to become a nun in the church by her aunt because of jealousy, and her lover, Don Raymond, together with Lorenzo, her brother, is determined to get her out of there. There are also little details here in there, that while they are typical of a gothic novel, contribute a lot to the ominous pace of the story: among them include the part about the gypsy fortune teller auguring Antonia’s tragic fate, and Don Raymond’s mysterious healer (whom I believe is the mentor of the character Matilda who will later on be the cause of Ambrosio’s downward spiral) who made use of sorcery to rid him of the Bloody Nun’s ghostly visits every night.   The pacing of the novel in the first three chapters was a little bit slow for me, but one should take note that I am a huge fan of the linguistic calisthenics almost always present in Modernist and Postmodernist novels, so this might not be the same case for other people. However, I think it’s unfair for me to compare a classic gothic novel with modern ones, so I will set that aside and focus on the novel as it is. The story starts to pick up after the third chapter with the introduction of the character of Rosario, whom, although my knowledge in the theories of literature is meagre, I identify as the Antagonist. Rosario, whose real name is Matilda, is a woman disguised as a monk, who confesses her love to Ambrosio. And Ambrosio, at first, was horrified at the discovery that the soft-spoken monk he doted on was all along a woman, and a woman who is in fact in love with him! Another common theme of gothic stories is the focus on the turbulent dilemma of the human soul in its tug-of-war between good and evil, hence the ubiquitous presence of the Devil in this story. And the Devil was very much present when Matilda succeeded in seducing the pious Ambrosio; once Ambrosio’s lust was awakened, he ventured to have more, and when his eyes fell on the lovely Antonia, he vowed to stop at nothing until he captures her in his arms, even if it entails turning to witchcraft, a practice very much against his religion, and would cause him his life, especially since the story was set during the time of the Spanish inquisition. However, for Ambrosio, the lust of the loins had more gravity than his faith, and seeing that he took the plunge in allowing himself to be seduced by Matilda, he was persuaded by the same to engage in witchcraft to get what he wanted.   The most exciting parts of the novel for me is found in Ambrosio’s downward spiral from being a saintly monk to becoming an unrepentant sinner lusting after Antonia. It showcased the fallibility of man, and how easily the Devil is able to drag one down to the pit of one is not on guard against him. While Ambrosio may be a monk of high standing, still, he is human after all, and as the Devil’s monologue at the end would reveal, his piety is a result only of vanity rather than sincerity, which made him an easy target for temptation. I have to admit, in spite of the many crimes Ambrosio committed in the novel, I still felt sorry for him, at times even rooting for him to denounce his sinful ways during the parts when he was having conflicts with himself as to whether or not accept Lucifer’s offer of buying his soul in exchange for freedom. This is probably why I didn’t like the book as much as I wanted to: I liked that it featured the question of evil, but it also seems to propagate the notion that God is so much an unmerciful deity to allow one of His children to fall in the trap of the Devil without His Intervention, and that He, as Our Father is again so unmerciful as to not forgive Ambrosio’s sins, knowing that the Devil was actively doing what it can to make sure that Ambrosio’s soul is lost to the fires of hell. A Christian who has knowledge of the Bible would shake his head at the ideas that this book seems to lay bare. God promised us in the Bible that “No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.” (1 Corinthian 10:13) In the Monk’s case, it looked like God did not extend a helping hand to Ambrosio during the times that he was being played for a fool by the Devil. Although it is hinted that there would have been a light at the end of the tunnel for Ambrosio had he heeded his conscience (which after all is the voice of God) and refused Lucifer’s offer, he sadly, and ultimately, succumbed to temptation. There was no redemption for the monk, as the story made it clear that he had sold his soul to the Devil. Taken as it is, the idea of a soul damned to hell is chilling enough to warrant it a good trope for a gothic novel, and I believe such was the author’s intention, but realistically speaking, it goes against the teachings of the Bible. For what sin could God Almighty not forgive? It is as bleak as Atheism to believe that God is so weak that he is incapable of forgiving even the blackest of sins. The crimes that Ambrosio committed, though they are indeed heinous, were set up by the Devil, albeit the monk is still at fault for not exercising proper discernment and self-control to resist sin. Thus said, this is one of the main reasons why this book feels outdated, namely, it is stuck in a Medieval concept of a vengeful God.   The book is generously peppered with servings of Medieval themes like witchcraft, sorcery, Monks, and Auto Da Fe’s, which is engaging to readers who love their reads flavored with the richness of history. Furthermore, the author succeeds in justifying the book’s claim to be within the Gothic genre with its unsettling imagery and descriptions of catacombs, putrified corpses, and of course, the Devil. I admit to not being well-versed with gothic or other horror sub-genres, although I do read some every now and then, but on a superficial basis, The Monk seems to me to be entry-level should there be a comparison with other novels from the Gothic genre. Again, I might be on the side of error with my inability to appreciate what makes a good horror novel due to my lack of research and sophistication.   Readers with short attention span might find some parts of this book slow-paced; but I reiterate that those who love history not just in the macro sense, will find it a delight to read if only for the reason that the book is a product of its time, a faded photograph that captures the sensibilities of its milieu, it being that it was published during the time when Romanticism was the de rigueur genre in Europe— a glimpse into what kinds of books did readers in the past hold in high regard. It is a classic for a reason, but as I compared it with a photograph, I’d go further and say that even the classics are not immune to deterioration over time. Had ‘The Monk’ been published today, it would have appealed only to a niche audience, and would be overlooked, only to resurface again in charity or thrift shops. This is not an insult to a classic, it is rather a report on how times (and tastes) have changed since the Romantic period. The past, no matter when, will always be a simpler time. To unfaithfully reincarnate in this post the ideas of Schopenhauer, the great pessimist did say that the past (and the future), though romanticized, is but an empty dream; the lens through which we view the past and all that remains within it, are clouded with the haze of longing to return to a more carefree time. And with the current situation of the world going through a pandemic, this book despite its chthonic themes managed to bring a bit of warmth to my heart because it revealed to me that people in the past were still so close to Divinity that matters beyond the scope of the earthly had an effect in their day to day lives. Some people may call this simply as “superstitious,” but I call it “spiritual”, and I prefer it to today’s materialistic world where everyone is pressured to succeed according to society’s standards. Make no mistake, people of today may laugh at the concept of the Devil, relegating it as a relic of the past, but in no other period of history are people more willing to sell their souls to him in exchange for material gain. However, they may not be aware of it, for the Devil goes under a different name—it’s a case of same shit, different asshole.   Going back to the actual review, The Monk, as far as the story goes, may be theologically unsound, but its merits lie in its aesthetics; throughout the book there is an ambience of impending doom that lovers of horror may find credible, and the prose, at times a bit dragging, is neither purple nor beige, it is just the right amount to keep one turning the pages (or in my case, the kindle pages), and if one pays enough attention (given that they held on to reading the book in spite of the initial boring chapters), some parts are sufficiently gripping to make those turning pages fly off the spine (well not literally of course) until one reaches the bitter, but satisfyingly haunting end.   The last pages of the book had Ambrosio negotiating with Lucifer, and when the latter succeeds in obtaining the former’s soul in exchange for freedom, the Devil whisks Ambrosio away from his prisoner’s cell and onto the edge of a cliff; here, the Devil has a little monologue about how he plotted everything from Rosario’s appearance, to the rape of Antonia (who turns out to be Ambrosio’s sister) in order to bring about Ambrosio’s downfall. The Devil goes on to say that there is no redemption nor atonement for Ambrosio’s crimes and proceeds to whisk the monk in the air one last time before he drops Ambrosio down the cliff to meet his terrible demise. The last scene wherein Ambrosio lay dying, bloody from the fall and blind from having birds peck out his eyes, reminded me slightly of the last scene in Malcolm Lowry’s ‘Under The Volcano’ wherein that book’s main character also died at the foot of a cliff. The image of falling down a cliff in both stories was probably employed to emphasize both characters’ living on the edge and falling from the edge. In Ambrosio’s case he was made to suffer a little bit more. Humiliated and deoculated, he is beyond saving, and as the torrential rain swept his corpse away on the river, I could almost hear the Devil mocking God, telling the Almighty that he has won this round. God’s silence is deafening, and I had to stop and think: how many downtrodden souls believed in their dying moments that they were or are beyond the scope of God’s mercy and forgiveness? Now that is a terrifying thought, and is the main reason why I think this book succeeded as a Gothic classic—the idea of being irredeemable certainly would make even the hardest of hearts tremble, hence as defense mechanism, man decided to erase the ideas of God and Devil in our modern lives, for how could we be beyond redemption when there is no redeemer, and furthermore, no reason or cause to ask for redemption in the first place? Remember my friends, the greatest trick of the Devil is to have us believe that he doesn’t exist. The real horror takes place when we are caught off-guard and deceived in a similar vein like Ambrosio. In this way, the book is relatable, and upon closer inspection, even serves as a warning.   All in all, I give this book a rating of four out of five stars. As I’ve said, I know what I like and I tend to rate books highly, so that should be a caveat. To sum up, despite having some minor gripes, I still think ‘The Monk’ is a good read, and I recommend it to those who are looking for a book that is pretty straightforward both in plot and prose, and as a book that has cemented its place in the annals of Romantic literature (note the capital ‘R’), one could never go wrong with it—it’s a classic for a reason.

We Bare Bears Appreciation

I have something to confess: I never outgrew cartoons. Cartoon Network and Disney Junior are pretty much my favorite channels. Courage The Cowardly Dog, Doc Mc Stuffins, Adventure Time, The Regular Show, Clarence, and Sofia The First are just some of the programs I avidly watch.

It may be because I’m over-saturated with negativity in real life that my psyche sought solace in the safety and child-like innocence offered by cartoons. The daily news too is replete with death and dirty politics that it has gotten rather mundane. Also, I don’t watch soap operas especially the ones in my country because it depicts life in a two-dimensional manner where everything is either black or white with no grey area in between. It doesn’t reflect reality nor does it have at least some artistic merit for art has long since been dead in the Philippines- but that’s another story.

In the recent months wherein there was a dearth of books for me to read, I decided to give television another try. As to be expected I couldn’t last through a minute of local made Telenovelas that I had to flip through the channels. Over there on Cartoon Network they were advertising a new show called “We Bear Bears.” The thing that caught my attention the most was the manner with which they travelled; they stood on all fours on top of one another with Ice Bear below, Panda in the middle, and Grizz on top. Not to mention the fact that these bears are tech-savvy too.

On the instances that I could not be able to watch “We Bare Bears” on its regular time slot at CN, I had YouTube to fill me in. The episodes when they were baby bears and up for adoption are beyond adorable. Since then I have faithfully watched the show and hope that there will be more episodes to come.

Cartoons, I believe, are not just for children. As adults we all need a safety net in whatever form; in my case it is the notion of going back to the halcyon days of my childhood where everything is calm and relatively safe. Television programs like “We Bare Bears” are a breath of fresh air in the visual entertainment field that is polluted with too much Hedonism.

We live in a world that glorifies the lust of the flesh. Sex is pushed on young girls and drugs are promoted as hip. Children grow up too early- their innocence gone by the age of twelve with the proliferation of sexual themes on everyday entertainment.

If they’re anything like me- that is, tired of the same stinking shit the media likes to pass off as “art,” they’d go back to basics and watch something that isn’t one layer thin from being pornographic, something like “We Bare Bears.” I agree we shouldn’t over-protect our children for even biology dictates it that we need some “bad” bacteria in our bodies to be able to develop immunity from diseases, but too much of anything, especially negativity, is obviously detrimental to anyone’s well-being.

This summer, nothing beats a typical afternoon in an air-conditioned room with snacks and a drink, all while watching a nice run of a clean and comedic cartoon. My choice this afternoon? “We Bare Bears!”

Wordnap/Neologism: 1

Word: KUMMERSPECKOYNOY

Meaning:

The realization that one is gaining weight due to increased appetite that is often the result of the side effects of medications used to treat certain mental disorders.

Etymology:

A combination of the German word kummerspeck, meaning the excess weight gained from emotional overeating, and the Russian word spokoynoy, which means calm.

Literally:

“Calm grief bacon”

Example Sentence:

“Eating that last piece of bacon hit me with waves of kummerspeckoynoy and immediately I decided to ask my psychiatrist for a more weight-neutral cure for my depression.”

Little Feet: The Ecstasy Of Youth

They played all afternoon. Six-year old Jellianne acted as the leader of their gang, spearheading the mini adventures they embarked on that day. Hannah, who is three-years old, mimicked every move Jellianne did. She would literally tag along behind the young leader, singing the same songs and pretending to be Pop stars. On the other hand there's four-year old Jandy who is curious about a lot of things, he is so curious about his environment that he is often left in tears because he either ends up with a cut on his hand (brought about by tinkering with random household appliances) or a bump on his forehead (he was meddling with the Venetian Blinds and it fell down on him). Together the three of them bonded over whatever they could play with which was a bit of any household items they could put their hands on, and most of the time, whatever their youthful imagination could conjure up as a play-thing.

I remember my childhood too. Despite being overweight and socially awkward, I had my own brand of fun; scouring my school library for the most interesting books I could find, I would stay up in bed all night reading those books instead of studying my school lessons. That was the kind of fun I've had as a child and I would not have it any other way. I grew up with a colorful inner world even if my outer disposition would suggest otherwise. I am thankful for the childhood I've had as it gave me the sturdy foundation I needed in my later years growing up.

And now we've come to this. I am 25 years old, standing by the window and looking out at the three children playing. My heart is full of joy at this sight. I hope the three of them savor the halcyon days of youth while Chronos is still biding his time until the next stage of life. I hope they don't lose their sense of wonder even if they grow up to find that life is not all lollipops and roses.

I hope they would someday look back on this afternoon as a memory they would cherish until the last days of their lives: that there was a time when innocence was all they knew and that despite (or maybe because of) this innocence, the world was their oyster.

In The Time Of Nick

“Don’t move.” Whispered the low raspy voice with a heavy Ilocano accent. “Don’t scream for help or this knife plunges into your neck.” Continues the voice, albeit somewhat unconfidently, letting out a series of coughs, and indeed he could feel something sharp and unforgiving grazing the left side of his throat whereupon the owner of the voice wrapped an arm to stall him from movement, forcing him in a captive embrace. The night was short of stars, but the Meralco lampposts lining the road made up for the lack of natural light, and surely, he thought, someone was bound to catch sight of his predicament and would eventually call the police. But he also realized that people have better things to do at two in the morning than hang outside their homes on an ordinary day in the calendar, here in a fairly secluded part of town. The only other person within the vicinity was an ebriosed man maudly swaying to and fro as he walked. He stopped by a lamppost to vomit. Seeing this, he fought the urge to shout for help despite knowing it was an exercise in futility, but he knew he had to do something. So he tried to negotiate with his captor. “Look, you can take my wallet and phone, I’ll be as quiet as possible. Let me have my i.d. and you can have everything else from my wallet, please. I won’t call the police. But don’t kill me, please.” The man was breathing heavily down his neck and his breath reeked of something akin to acetone. It was unbearable. He tried to twist his neck away from the putrid smell but his captor mistook this as an act of resistance and tightened his grip on him. “I said don’t move. I don’t care about your money, do as I tell you and I’ll spare you your life.” The man commanded him, or rather, wheezed to him to continue walking, until they reached the front of his house. Whoever the man is, he must know who I am, for how else could he know which among the houses lining the road belonged to me? That, or, he must have been stalking me for some time before chancing upon the opportunity to hold me hostage. “Open the door. Now.” Strangely, there was no threat laced within the man’s heavily-accented voice, and feeling like he heard that voice somewhere before gave him a feeling of ease that he immediately followed the command without putting up a fight. At the back of his mind he wondered if this was not a form of that Budol-budol modus operandi he’s seen reported in the news multiple times, what with the man being a thaumaturgist performing an audio sleight-of-hand trick with that familiar voice of his, but for some reason he didn’t care. This must be how b