Thirteen is My Lucky Number


Jason got it right.

If any reader should dare choose to pass by, in this corner of the blogosphere comparable to some deep, frozen corner of space devoid of visible matter, then let it be known that a dark pinprick of energy has come into being at this very moment, at this very location.

My brief foray into an independent (meaning paid-for) blogsite and domain has crystallized into a dull, worthless lump of coal (failed precursors of diamonds), and so I slink back into the world of freetard blogging with my reptilian tail between my scaly legs.

I will spend my fruitless afternoon digging up old backups and hoping none of my blog posts, with a material worth of a handful of egg-sized blood red rubies, have escaped the backup coop.

I missed word-vomiting. Maybe 2013 will augur better fortune, a job that panders to my petrified, obese laziness, and all the time in the world to stare in front of a phosphor screen, feeding my miserable self-hate with the unearthly beauty of DIY on Pinterest. The only reprieve shall be to leave my couch for a rare foray into the brick-and-mortar reality made real by Instagram duck face.


Farewells and Moving House


There’s nothing like home.

Dear reader,

The Mental Detritus blog has found a new home, like all obedient puppies.

Please proceed to to continue to bask in self-indulgent preening and obsequious writing.

Yours truly (in depraved submissive dreams),


The Facebook IPO and the New Hopeful Cyberpunk

Somewhere, the Winklevoss twins are sitting in chintzy, antique high-backed chairs, in front of a dreary fireplace, drinking dark, deep liquor, blanketed in mournful cigar smoke sticking to the faded drawing room drapes, and… cursing.


What makes America great is the fact that a company that made it possible for you to stalk your exes is now worth $150B.

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SOPA Can Pry My Infringing LOLCats From My Cold, Dead Carpal Tunnel Hands

Unless by some freak of quantum physics time happened to pass by so slowly I got stuck in 1984 (a year before I was born), my computer clock tells me it’s 2012.

SOPA, It’s Not The Singular Form of Sopas (Soup)

The Oatmeal on SOPA

On Twitter, that bastion of intelligible, succinct free speech, I have bemoaned the seeming ignorance and indifference of Filipinos in general to political and legal movements related to Information Technology. A handful of the hardcore tech bloggers have been aware of such issues, but local media did not start covering SOPA until the Wikipedia blackout plan spread like wildfire. A handful of Twitter denizens in my network shared my sentiments (and gave me the section title). Facebook friends have posted links but have offered little in the way of intelligent discussion, although perhaps that is an indication of the general dumbness scourge of that site.

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High on Halloween Candy

Post-Halloween musings, because I was alternately too busy and too lazy to write during the damned weekend.

Skewed skyscrapers of newly-whitewashed concrete coffin niches, sweaty children browned by the blistering November sun clambering over them, nimble fingers collecting the warm pooled wax of spent candle offerings. White-haired granddames in lacy toile veils intoning olden prayers for the dead, seeking to bring solace to those mournfully trapped in purgatory. Their pious whispering drowned out by the chatter of gossip, the cries of vendors hawking flowers, food, and icy drinks, and the ubiquitous Pinoy penchant for blasting videoke hits. The circus of the public cemetery on All Saints’ Day, where the dead and the living jostle for breathing space, and the Filipino’s curious mix of grimy life, occult-flavored religiosity, and fiesta celebrations come together in one delightfully incongruous holiday.

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