In the middle of this year, was the start of something for another hope of chance of survival of life as deprived by so-called social dictates or control but just mere exploitation to oppression and rejection from rights. I was walking a road from Muzon San Jose Bulacan to another Barrio where some of LAN's family habitat are located. From the jeep terminal were some motorists wheeling around checking the dress colors and faces staring from the eyes of suspected mediums on small two wheel trolly was a head to toe check. Some 4 or 5 times stop-overs at Chona's Night Club where another teeny punkrocker from Marilao Bulacan and a daughter of the owner who told me that GMA 7 were trying to reqruit them for a "pull-my-string" exploit. Psuedoname Dianne at 16 and she always wanted to be like a little princess of acceptance and consideration for some who don't live that much like the Anarchos. A little scratch would be a feast for a civilization of little friends like bugs and germs.

An ordinary blink of an eye was a chance to cause a celebration of hope of atleast for 2 seconds and the rest are oblivions not unless you get beated by a cop of patrol police since a blow punches or batons would be a rest from the aching pain of poverty and maltreatment of authority. It was when I decided that I could step an inch of my right feet forward and the Government didn't know that I actually did was a big insult against the Mayor and the rest of the rulling matured moralistic majority that rises up to employ raw power against the ones who don't vote and such a local followed ordinance would never tolerate poor people from accessing to stop destinations like of a civil right. The punkrock chick from the urban frontier of initially marketed fields was like a marshmallow with pink colored spots that and at same degree was fragile of a beer breath, was something a smile from Vaicunta Planet and that eyes could have satisfied my supposed suicide thesis. She was my Anarchy. An incomplete map, a story without emotion which pro-exist in the principles of my agenda. A reason to understand the whole physicality of the situation to which I had to conform instead of protest. A copy of NOFX and Anti-Flag album from a collective group in Valenzuela City was offered as obeissances to the Mataji (chick). All that I thought was to free myself that I could be manifesting my role as a faggot dancer from Equador as seemed that I could fool them that I was a rockstar before from Heavy Glam Metal band with white wigs on the head. Everything was pure from them atleast they were ordinary with Dianne and the rest of their models and families and friends. It was that they didn't understand that I was a junky anarchist and an AIDS carrier with lung cancer and dog rabbies caused hemoroid. It was said that the Chinese womenizers were coming to share the good vibes coming from mantras of costum where good cargos awaits the best bid of corruption. The syringe of hatred was covered by the aroma of flaring deathwish but of coarse the Associated Press was always there to assist me pull the trigger to my head. They were one of the best corrupt institution in the whole world according to themselves. They were allegedly with me since 2003 when I was kidnapped to the mental hospital and as far as those undetermined detox dosages or false egos.

Two days later and an information came from Tondo Manila that a Crust Core Band "Plaster-Bomb-unit" is coming Saturday, November 13 and are scheduled to play at the side of MRT Legarda Station. From that concept of having that was to remind me of rotting myself for another protest, in eventuality, gradually eat myself to self destruction. Wuwu died last month of drowning in the sea last time we met - he was in a coffin. I was outside trying to re-analyze my adlib to leave because he was probably very shy that was wearing that nationalist Barong. And I was at the bus listening to Hatebreed of the Perserverance album. Wuwu, son of Tita Suwarding is dead, now I had a new friend from the moralist/double standard, superb media agency and I had to excuse myself because I had to fix my shoot. Dianne was probably not aware but atleast she hated me because I knew I hated myself so much and that nobody loved me but my assasin from the syndicate laptops. My mouth was bleedin' from the gums and my eyes were swallowing from the spine to the head and back. It was the time when I heard the radio surveillance and all those police informers from corners to corners of the uncertain steps down to the morgue. I wished I could shoot those monitoring team with a gum, I didn't even had myself to survive to defy authority or shoot a cop in the face. It's just a request theory, kill a cop and don't shoot my dope.