Unbounded

"Bad food is made without pride, by cooks who have no pride, and no love. Bad food is made by chefs who are indifferent, or who are trying to be everything to everybody, who are trying to please everyone ... Bad food is fake food ... food that shows fear and lack of confidence in people’s ability to discern or to make decisions about their lives. Food that’s too safe, too pasteurised, too healthy – it’s bad! There should be some risk, like unpasteurised cheese. Food is about rot, and decay, and fermentation….as much as it is also about freshness."

-Anthony Bourdain, [link]

What if you knew a secret that could shake the very foundations of an organized institution, would you keep the secret for yourself, or would you expose it, and change history forever?

This is a novella of one such secret.

All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret messages in this novel are somewhat accurate.

-----
Prologue
Early February, 2006

Renowned commercial model Jean Cammhall II stopped at the corner of Yale and Harvard Street as he was trying to catch his breath. A robed figure behind the mist of the foggy night was not far behind and is slowly closing in on him.

As he started to run around the street corner, trying to quicken his pace, his foot was caught on a stray rock and he tripped. He lay for a moment, gasped for breath and stared at the sky with the yellow crescent prominently glowing behind the clouds. I am still alive. He tried to crawl and stood up when he heard the grating footsteps of the man against the concrete road that had just caught up with him.

A voice spoke, chillingly close. “Do not move.”

On his hands and knees, the model rose, turning his head slowly.

About five feet away, behind the blinding streetlights, the silhouette of the attacker stared right back at him. He wasn’t that tall of a man but had a firm stature. His skin was darkly tanned and he had a prominent unibrow.

The man drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the barrel directly at Jean, right between the eyes.

“You should not have run.” The man’s voice was really low and his accent, not easy to place. “Now, tell me who else you have told it to.”

“I told you guys already!” answered Jean nervously, now kneeling on his knees. “I have told no one else!”

“You are lying.” The man stared at him, immobile, as if he’s contemplating on what to do with the helpless model. His beady eyes looked at him with intensity as he spoke. “Tonight, the rightful guardians will be restored. Admit to me everything and you will survive.” The model could not breathe.

The cloaked man tilted his head and peered down the barrel of his gun. “When you are gone from the Priory of Thirteen, we will be the only ones who know the truth.”

Jean closed his eyes, with swirling thoughts of fear and regret.

The click of an empty chamber resounded through the empty streets.

The man then glanced down at his weapon, looking almost amused. He thought about pulling the trigger and contemplated on popping a few more bullets through Jean just to make sure, but then seemed to reconsider, and smirked at him. “My work here is done.”

-----

As I was trying to sober myself up this morning when we (Stip, Dodong, Eug, and I) were still literally drinking the night away in a minimart (with the gayest cash register guy that one could ever come across, and drinking until the morning sun greets you and reminds you that liver cirrhosis is not your friend still didn't help to tone his fagness down), I remembered Eug’s story about his two Atenean friends who got their sorry asses kicked for no apparent reason.

I had a number of similar silly experiences in college too to some extent, and here are some of them. So gather around, little boys and girls, Uncle Glenn’s going to tell you about a little story.

Once upon a time some jerk named Michael (no, not Jan) treated his college friends to TGI Friday’s because he wants to show off his new discount card. So they went there one Wednesday afternoon and he told his friends to spend like the sky’s the limit, pero P4,000 lang. That cheap-ass.

Then as they were enjoying their buffalo wings, and on their fourth or fifth San Mig Light at that, Michael felt his cellphone vibrate. Another college friend texted him from school and told him that there was going to be a softball pitching and catching exam later in the afternoon (Michael and his friends intended to cut this PE class just to try the discount card and get drunk). So they finished their food, chugged all the remaining drinks, hurriedly returned to school, just in time for the test.

Now drunk, Michael couldn’t feel his hands in the catching glove even if he stuck needles through it (“oh, fucking no!”). His hand eye coordination was so poor that a lobotomized capuchin monkey could weild a bat and could hit an incoming ball better than him (well, the monkey’s bat would be itty-bitty. Cute). He failed both the pitching exam and the catching exam.

That night, as Michael was gathering his thoughts before ending the night, he learned his lesson. He cursed himself for letting himself be duped to buying that TGIF discount card, along with all the coupons, and vowed never to listen to any sales agent.

The end.

If the church is clamoring about something that's against the teachings of the Bible, why aren't they condemning the self-flagellating and self-crucifying people in the province? C'mon, think about it. The government's even promoting that annual quaresmal event as a tourism racket.

I'm talking about the movie verion of Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code. The Philippine Church wants to ban it because it's blasphemous; the organization against Pornography here in the Philippines sees it as pornographic; local politicians are against it because it's against some revised penal code or something; and SM cinemas chose not to show the movie. WTF.

.. !@$# It's only a ‘friggin movie for God's sake.

But in contrast, what got me rolling on the floor laughing was when the national albino association got into the act and aired out their sentements on Silas' portrayal as being negative to the albino population (he's the albino dude in the story). It’s nice to see that albinos now have their moment in the sun.

Anyway, in retrospect, they should’ve banned the Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe for featuring a talking Aslan, or Toy Story for depicting the alien plush toys worshipping the claw, if their line of thinking is like that. That’s how absurd it is.

Again, !@$# It's only a ‘friggin movie for God's sake.

ps. (postscript, not princess sophie. hehe) In case you're wondering, no, I'm not one of the haters, in fact, I really would like to see the movie adaptation. I just hate all the negative thinking that's surrounding the flick. I'll make a new post about it as soon as I've seen it.

[Just one of my favorites. For the nth time, this has made me to discern about the prevailing prejudice and struggle in my country. Not as extreme as in the novel, but it nods to it in some degree and extends it to poverty, elitism, and the like. See our exchange on benevolenve in our group blog.]


"We're going to lose this case, Carl lee. There are no more points of law to argue here. I want to cope a plea, maybe Buckley will cop us a second degree murder and we can get you just life in prison."

"Jake, I can't do no life in prison. You got to get me off. Now if it was you on trial..."

"It's not me, we're not the same, Carl Lee. The jury has to identify with the defendant. They see you, they see a yardworker; they see me, they see an attorney. I live in town, you live in the hill."

"Well, you are white and I'm black. See Jake, you think just like them, that's why I picked you; you are one of them , don't you see? Oh, you think you ain't because you eat in Claude's and you are out there trying to get me off on TV talking about black and white, but the fact is you are just like all the rest of them. When you look at me, you don't see a man, you see a black man."

"Carl Lee, I'm your friend."

"We ain't no friends, Jake. We are on different sides of the line, I ain't never seen you in my part of town. I bet you don't even know where I live. Our daughters, Jake; they ain't never gonna play together."

"What are you talking about?"

"America is a wall and you are on the other side. How's a black man ever going to get a fair trial with the enemy on the bench and in the jury box?. My life in white hands? You Jake, that's how. You are my secret weapon because you are one of the bad guys. You don't mean to be but you are. It's how you was raised. Nigger, negro, black, African-american, no matter how you see me, you see me different, you see me like that jury sees me, you are them. Now throw out your points of law Jake. If you was on that jury, what would it take to convince you to set me free?

That's how you save my ass. That's how you save us both. "

"In his mind a poem was unfolding. The sky was still dark, and her glass panes were so clear, were it not for the thin frames running accross her face, he would have thought she was trying to dive into the soup of mud in the gutters. When he finally looked up to the woman's face, he saw her eyes as black as her hair, blades staring back at him."

While Jim’s games are Poker and Foosball, Trivia when it comes to Wil, PS2 for Stip, Eug in Basketball, and Jeco in Monopoly, my turf’s in Pool and in Charades.

Back when we were in sophomore high, Wil, Pierre and I used to spend our after schools in a tawdry pool hall named after a Greek alpahabet near our school. Quite an innappropriate place for such educated and refined enthusiasts such as us if you ask me, but it was the time when the Godsent Poolhouse hasn't sprouted into existence yet. And besides, it was dead cheap.

David Copperfield, who was an avid pool player once practiced on a petrified pool table. We were merely following his footsteps.

..Good God it was terrible! But good times.

Oh yeah, and charades? I got the reputation for being unbeatable in charades because the opposing team would never notice us cheat. heheh.

..Include the Foxtrot, Boogie, Swing, Waltz, Viennese Waltz, Reggae, and the Salsa to the list (no paso doble for me). But my strongest suit is the Argentinean Tango.

I had a short affair with ballroom dancing once and suffice to say it was really fun (and equally embarassing). It was Tahnee’s debut [link] . I was one of her roses and she decided that each rose would dance a different dance. It was no simple feat for us, let alone for her which was eighteen times harder. kudos to her for that. Our piece then was to the tune of Por Una Cabeza.

I could still vividly remember all the dips, snaps, and the legs kicks like I’m dancing it with her right now. All the practice with the instructor and especially with Auntie Annie and her ambiguous dance partner.

Ballroom dancing’s something that I would not forget so soon and I’m secretly dreaming of dancing it all again with someone. Heh.

[..And it's not fruity. Only the gay dancers make them look like so.]

If you are not enlightened, life is maya. So what you consider as truth, is only a conventional category of perception.

Here's a contemporary koan that I have received from a good friend of mine. I just thought I'd share this with everyone.

"Who should be blamed when the leaf fell from the tree?
Is it the wind that blew it away?
Or the tree that let it go?
Or is it the leaf itself which never held tight?"

How badly he wanted to live the days again where he could see nothing but goodness in everything and in everyone.

He dreamt of the days where he would greet the morning sun with a smile. He would then stare up at sky and admire each cloud formation.

He dreamt of the days where he would fold up his pants and play in the afternoon rain. He would then stretch his arms and feel its every pat.

He dreamt of the days where he would end the evening with a chapter of a good book. He would then tuck the book snugly under his pillow.

..For now, he tries to enjoy the caramel syrup on top of his vanilla ice cream.

“Let me get pass the usual. We are democratic and as such we permit ourselves to be in a system of thought that allows the populace to choose how we are to be governed, am I not right? And as such, I am interested in hearing your political platform so that I, as a responsible voter would be able to discern whether our political aspirants are worthy to hold office. "

"(freshman candidate stutters) Ummm.. ssige po.. Pproactive sstudent involvement..."

"...No, sir, I am not interested in hearing a rehearsed speech that you have perfected in your party. I would like to think that one candidate aligns himself to the aspirations of a political party because he sees the same light, but I would not like to think that this very same candidate would not be able to think for himself, would loose his identity, and instead, be a pawn of the mechanisms of your colors, assure me that."

"(freshman candidate now sweats profusely) ..oop.."

"That assured, let me hear your personal convictions as to why you stand by your platforms."

"(freshman candidate pauses for a time) Umm ano, ang plan ko, pag nanalo ako.."

"..Oh yeah, have I told you na graduate na ako?.."

Olha, que coisa mais linda,
Mais cheia de graça,
É ela, menina, que vem e que passa,
Num doce balanço, a caminho do mar.
Moça do corpo dourado,
Do sol de Ipanema,
O seu balançado
É mais que um poema
É a coisa mais linda
Que eu já vi passar

Ah, por que estou tão sozinho?
Ah, por que tudo é tão triste?
Ah, a beleza que existe
A beleza que não é só minha,
Que também passa sozinha.

Ah, se ela soubesse
Que quando ela passa,
O mundo inteirinho
Se enche de graça
E fica mais lindo
Por causa do amor.