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Welcome to Volume 6 of The Marocharim Experiment. This blog is authored and maintained by Marocharim, the self-professed antichrist of new media.



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Marocharim is a 21-year-old college senior from the University of the Philippines Baguio, majoring in Social Anthropology and has a minor in Political Science. He lives with his parents, his brother and his sister in Baguio City - having been born and raised there all his life. He is the author of three book-versions of The Marocharim Experiment.

Most of his time is spent at school, where he can be found in the UP Baguio Library reading or scribbling notes, and sometimes hanging out with his friends or by himself in the kiosks, or the main lobby. During his spare time, he continues writing. When not in school he hangs out with his friends, or takes long walks around Baguio City to, as he puts it, "get lost."

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The Marocharim Experiment Volume I: The Trial of Another Mind, Subject to Disclosure is Available Now

The Marocharim Experiment Volume II: The Nevermind Chronicles is Available Now

The Marocharim Experiment Volume III: The Sentence Construction of Reality is Available Now

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May 16, 2005
While She Slept

< literary effort... kind of dark )

sleeping in the coldest of evenings
   i see her shivering...
      i hear her teeth chatter and clatter from the cold
      i see her shifting to be bathed in the dim light
      so as i may see her sleep
         and get the most rest she could.

the fog that has cloaked this scene
   i see her clothed in it...
      i try to cut through the fog to see her body
      i try to slice it in half to make sure she's all right
      so as i may be convinced
         that she gets the most rest she could.

so i tried to see through what i can
   and i'm left wondering...
      what did she dream about while i stood guard
      how did she find her slumber through the night
      so as i could know
         if she got the most rest she could.

until morning came and i saw
   a pool of blood streaming...
      her body just shook and started to convulse
      i saw her from under that crimson ocean
      and then i knew
         she got all the rest she could.

goodnight.

Posted at Monday, May 16, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

May 15, 2005
The Street of God

< hmmm... >

   Save for exceptionally meritorious circumstances I don't blog at 9:30 in the evening, but after talking to an American street evangelist I suddenly have the urge to do so.

   It was supposed to be a brief five minute interview with the guy, but it lasted for fifteen minutes.  So there we were, at the bottom of Session Road, with a pretty heavy video camera.  The thing is that instead of getting annoyed, I got a bit fascinated.  I wasn't listening to anything that he has to say, at all.  My brainwaves started to act up at extremely high frequencies - the level of which was off the scale that I had to get to a computer shop one way or another and write about it.

   I consider myself to be spiritual, although I am not religious.  The thing is I don't have any faith problems whatsoever, if at my age I decided to detach myself from any form of organized religion.  I only get to believe in a godhead for whatever exceptionally necessary reason, like if I am bound to wrap my hands around someone else's neck and only some supernatural force can save their lives.  The rest of the time, I get by without the slightest knowledge or need for a god, a church, or a religious relic.  Buddha beads and rosaries strike me as Freudian... although that's just me.

   Though yeah, I don't take anything against street evangelists.  I think that it's kinda nice that the Christian faith is reaching out to the masses more and more.  Casual Christianity is now giving way to proactive Christianity.  The new Pope, Benedict XVI, is getting to that, I suppose, in the footsteps of his predecessor Pope John Paul II.  It's something that should have been done long ago, if in the interest of my soul, now condemned to Hell for all eternity.

   Like I said, I'm spiritual but anareligious.  Even if I did believe in God I wouldn't take his word for anything more than peanuts: I am, after all, a thinking, acting mammal.  The thing is that people are free to believe whatever they want without question or doubt.  I think that's one of the major misconceptions towards me: I am not an atheist.  I am, strictly, anareligious: I don't practice or participate in any religious activity on the grounds that I give more command and priority towards the workings of reason.  Although some people may contest that... I have this tendency towards some form of intellectual and political hypocrisy, induced by people who misinterpret whatever I say and put it one some form of pedestal.  That's why I have a sort of cult following: my friend Cheryl said it best.  I am hermeneutics personified.

   Basically, what do I think about street evangelists?  I'll spare them the negatives for now.  There's nothing better than religion reaching out to the masses.  As long as they don't reach out to me and sell me a statuette or salvation.  Religion may be the opium of the people, but even Karl Marx did not say anything about religion being an opiate.

   Something tells me he was high when he said that.

Posted at Sunday, May 15, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

The Sun Comes Down Tomorrow

< hmmm, doing this in a rush >

   Tomorrow's quite a bad day for anything, especially for giving answers.  The fact that absolutely nobody can handle the truth is quite something for talk, although I've resigned myself to the fact that there are some things that should happen if I'm going to escape this reality with my soul intact.

   They want answers, they'll get it.  Nobody can handle the truth.  Neither would they be wont to ask me for anything other than that.  The machine may be paralyzed, but I could care less about it functioning with one gear less.  But if the sun does come down tomorrow there's nothing else I could do...

   No betting your dollar bottom here.  Tomorrow's going to be one helluva day.

Posted at Sunday, May 15, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

May 14, 2005
Video King

< something tells me taking videos isn't right >

   It took me the better part of five hours to make a 45-minute video.

   I dunno: I may be good with the written word, but my visual skills just plain suck.  Which explains how dirty this site has become (it has character), why I'm unable to take a good picture of myself even with a webcam, and why I thrive working on fractal images than honest-to-goodness pictures.

   I went around Baguio carrying my video camera (VHS: I like it better than digital) and took a "documentary" for my uncle and aunt and all their friends and family at Seattle, Washington.  Odd, but why me?  I can think of a few reasons:

   One, they gave me the camera;
   Two, I speak good English;
   Three, no one else wants to do it and;
   Four, I pass for a foolish tourist.

   The idea was for me to go around Baguio and show them everything my city has to offer.  Now that I've reviewed my footage most of it was of a boat ride around Burnham Park's lagoon.  I did, however, capture a nice view of the sunset, and watch tourists wave to my camera... as if they become instant celebrities by the time the tape gets to Seattle.

   Funny how I took some shots of Seattle's Best Coffee and Starbucks... that really got to me.  I suppose my relatives wouldn't mind that, except that I still have to look for where the Space Needle is, and if I should take shots of original licensed copies of Microsoft Office.  Maybe I could open up the camera again and let them see what their nephew does for kicks on a boring afternoon... or evening... I don't blog on mornings.

   I figured right then and there on a career in broadcasting: hey, to be perfectly honest about the video it sounded right off a History Channel documentary, although the visual effort was nothing short of disgusting.  I suppose my blogger friend Tintin would like a copy of the video... that's until she really asks for it (wink).

   The worse part of it was when I was up on the rooftops of Session Road taking a shot of Session Road when this security guard told me to knock it off, on the grounds that it was illegal.  He had a point: only voyeurs would go up on top of a building that high with a video camera.  Well, you can't have them all.

   It's AFV material... or maybe Paris Hilton is just itching to avenge her name.

Posted at Saturday, May 14, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

May 13, 2005
Ticking Time Bomb

< now i'm just plain mad >

   The sooner my anger dissipates, the sooner I'll leave.  But I've been in here for the better part of an hour, resisting the urge to explode.  It's a good thing I have this blog handy, else I'll wrap my hands around the neck of the next person I see.

   Now I'm typing like mad.  By the time I get to review this entry I would perhaps be entreated to random gobbledygook I would not understand by the time I'm done.  Worry and anxiety is not the buzz of this week: it's plain and simple anger.  I'm in the right state of mind to blow up a few buildings at school tomorrow... but not before I find myself a rocket propelled grenade.  The clock is indeed ticking, and I don't know if some people will survive my anger tomorrow, the day after, or the coming weeks.

   The clock is ticking... it's 6:14 PM.  By 2 PM tomorrow, things will get very, very interesting indeed... like a flick of the wrist or a snap of the fingers.  No time for Marocharisms now...

   Ka-BOOM!

Posted at Friday, May 13, 2005 by marocharim
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Muppets

< this is, again, unusually freaky >

   Let's talk about "freedom of speech."

   I don't believe it at all.  Constitutionally, I'm granted the right to sit here and talk about whatever I want.  I could go to web forums and speak out my mind.  I can approach somebody and talk about anything.  I can go out to the streets and rally for whatever reason I want (or in most cases they want).  In short, I am free to talk, to write, to draw, to express, without any fear of political or social repercussions except when I go overboard with it.  That's freedom of speech and expression.

   Yet at the end of the day (to imitate my friend Abel), it all boils down to another issue of inequality.  Look at it this way: I have a blog, and compared to the other guy at the other end of the computer shop playing Gunbound I am much freer than him, in the sense that I have more writing space and flexibility.  He, on the other hand, can only type "waah" when he's starting to lose the round.  The taxi driver I talked to yesterday has interesting thoughts on politics, yet I have access to a computer, while he has to make the rounds every day.  In class I ask the teacher a lot of questions, which makes me a pest on the academic universe of UP Baguio, and some other people are happy sitting down there and watch a debate go on right in front of the classroom.

   Truth is, there are some people who are freer than others.  Freedom of speech is not a gift.  Ever watched "The Muppet Show" and feel that those two old guys, Statler and Waldorf, are free to critique the whole show, on the grounds that they're sitting up there on the balcony while Kermit and the rest of the crew are limited by their scripts?  Or because the audience does not talk at all?  Or because Professor Melonhead and Beaker are more interested in those science stuff they do?  Heck, the Swedish Chef would rather throw around vegetables in a miserable attempt at a salad than to talk about something like how long Gonzo's nose really is.

   The same is true with society in general: there are some of us who are able to exercise that freedom more than others, and freedom of speech is something we shouldn't be too proud about.  There is no doubt in anybody's mind that people are free to talk about whatever they want.  But really, did it cross your mind how free you are?

   The worse thing is that some people don't do their own talking anymore, falling back instead on worn old catchphrases and ideas not unique to them.  People use words like "imperialism" and "activism," all that big whoop I've grown used to over the years not to take seriously.  How many people say that, how many people use that, and more importantly how many people are that?

   How free are you?

Posted at Friday, May 13, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

May 12, 2005
Cold Shoulder

< weird... but what's so new? >

   I'm angry, what's new?

   Recently my office-mates in the school paper have been giving me the proverbial cold shoulder.  Pffft, like I care.  I suppose a boot up my arse is in order, and these are the times when I get what I put in.  Big whoop, then, right?  But it's starting to get to me, to grow on me...

   I kinda like it.

   Yeah, the thing is that when people are itching at the prospect of giving you the boot it grows on you.  I don't mind having to shine their shoes clean by stuffing a rag through my mouth, nor do I mind having to brush my teeth by sticking a toothbrush up my rectum, whichever way they choose to do whatever they want to do with me in the first place.  I don't mind getting the cold shoulder from them.  It was my idea in the first place.

   The idea of taking a "vacation" from "work" is entirely mine.  Hey, I've been through a lot the past few months, don't I deserve a break from the usual faces?  I don't mind talking to my ex, but I just don't want to do it.  I don't mind having to discuss paper operations and upcoming issues with the editorial board, but I don't want to do it.  I don't mind talking to the staff members or training them for the next term, but I don't want to do it.  Lack of commitment?  I doubt it: what I'm doing to myself right now isn't self-destructive, as it is some form of therapy for me.  I need some sort of vacation.  In short, it's all for a selfish reason:

   I need some space.

   Where have I heard that before?

   I find it odd that for a while people have been taking a free, cannibalistic lunch out of me (more like a feast), in the sense that there's this feeling that I'm missing out on a few things on my life because of work.  Don't get me wrong: I love what I do.  Maybe it isn't the most rewarding job a student can have, but it's the best job a student should have.  Being a campus journalist is something that we all should try at least for a few days.  But to stand for the same job description for eleven years since second grade, and working for the same paper for close to three years, that kind of gets to you after it grows on you.  Pretty soon you forget that you have a life too.

   Commitment is something that's relative: maybe people can afford not being committed to themselves and their lives, but for a while I seem to have been alienated from that very significant other: myself.  Think of it as a much-needed recharge.  I rekindled my old, forgotten relationships with some friends and made new ones in the process.  My closest school friends for the past few years were the very people I worked with, and these people wouldn't hesitate to stab you in the back anyways, so what's the point?

   For a while I've been carrying a burning hot cross on my back in the form of ideologies, rhetoric, polemic, and for quite a while now, work.  Time to let it go for a while.  And a bit of ice on a third-degree burn helps a bit... some people will just have to accept that.

Posted at Thursday, May 12, 2005 by marocharim
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May 11, 2005
Smooth Vibrations

< kids: again, please turn away >

   Lately, the hallowed halls of the Experiment has been, well, filled, with discourses on sex.  It's not that I'm oversexed, it's just the summer heat.  There's nothing else like it... and I don't know why I even wear a trench coat to boot.  It's the heat that kills the few remaining healthy brain cells you have, you know.

   I got my hands on a nifty new toy: a vibrating condom.  Odd, but I don't really understand it.  After a few on-off cycles I got sick of it.  It's not funny.

   Really, I don't understand why nowadays I'm starting to get a bit cold (not frigid: different context) when it comes to dealing with things that would make a high school guy giggle with suppressed hormonal cycles.  Just last night, for my STS paper on sex scandals and their relationship to science and technology (trust me: there's a connection), I watched a few sex scandals and I didn't get anything out from it except the usual serious look on my face.  Like, huh?  If I were back in high school I would have repeatedly crossed and uncrossed my legs or started shedding cold sweat.  Now it's a different story.  It's just another cup of coffee, another walk in the park, another bit of breakfast (three things I don't do) for me.  It's not something out of the ordinary.

   Which brings me to vibrating condoms.  No, I don't have to proclaim my innocence and categorically state that I am an innocent young man (let's stop there).  But please, what is it with all the gadgetry and gizmos?  Why must everything have something to do with smooth vibrations?

   Funny how that comes into play.  Is it greed, selfishness, or kink?  Maybe there's a reason why whenever my barkada plays Tekken there must always be vibrations on the controller (handy when you're playing Steve Fox).  Kink is an odd thing, though, since sex is a natural thing: human beings were not built with that kind of mechanical (by "mechanical" I mean machine) motion in mind if the sole end of the act is to procreate.

   More like a Kafka-esque approach, if you asked me.  Think "The Metamorphosis:" if we all turned into that mechanical object of desire what would happen?  I can see it now:

   "One morning, as Marocharim was waking up from anxious dreams, he discovered that in his bed he had been changed into an enormous..."

   I'm going to stop here.

Posted at Wednesday, May 11, 2005 by marocharim
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May 10, 2005
Full Metal Object

< kids: turn away for this entry, please >

   I suppose that you're like me and you wonder about trifle things like, "Why do kids like ice cream?" or "Why do toilet-paper manufacturers cut up their paper that small and that square?"  I have no idea, but something's been bugging me lately.

   No, love and all of its discontents can wait for later on... people don't pay me enough for that (if you're reading, don't close this window: it's a freaking joke).  Nowadays my testosterone levels at are an all-time high, considering that it's summer and the heat can get to you.

   I don't have time for all this paliguy-ligoy.  Let's get to it: why must the male genitalia always be associated with some sort of metallic tool?

   Don't go all moral on me, people.  The thing is I find it so irritating, from a masculine standpoint, to have my... appendage compared to some sort of tool.  Jackhammers I can understand, but drills?  Screwdrivers?  I get insulted!  Perhaps if you're male, you get my point.

   The act of sex itself does not involve rotations or vibrations involved in drilling or using a screwdriver.  Unless one is adventurous, acrobatic or a walang magawa sa buhay type who gets his kinks and kicks spinning around clockwise during sex... well I suppose I should stop there.  But really?  Screwdrivers and drills?  Outside of cheap Japanese porn found all over the web, I don't know of a man who can move his hips as fast as a jackhammer's bit could.  Talk about the human machine, but please!  Talk about mechanical animals... I don't even want to listen to Marilyn Manson anymore.

   Guys, don't you think that when your, manhood, gets compared to screwdrivers and drill bits there's something really, really wrong with the world?  I suppose that it's punishment for centuries of oppression.  But hey, I don't know of any man who carries with him something that thin, that cold and that small (I'm referring to drill bits).  Just think of the curliques and edges of the drill bit and tell me if that's what you have to deal with every time you go to the comfort room... ouch.  And what about the connotations of cross-heads, or even worse, flat-heads?  Nah, I suppose that when people talk about "tinuturbo," especially in those cheap P5 tabloids where the publisher has only enough money for red ink, you don't mean that only after about two minutes the guy has to undergo hip replacement surgery.  Now oil wells and derricks are different stories altogether... black is not the best color for anything.

   What's worse is that "bird" is not proper for the male organ of reproduction.  Birds fly.  Even Superman does not use his penis for propulsion.  That's something off the page of an issue of "Heavy Metal" if you asked me.

   Why must women have better euphemisms for their genitalia?  Commercials for douches and vaginal wash always have something to do with butterflies and flowers... though the butterfly may be all too male, considering the insect's proboscis.  Now that's beyond an insult.

   At least when my friend talked about him being "faster than a speeding bullet" I just laughed.  Don't ask me why.  Something tells me he either talked of the gun or the bullet itself.

   I'm betting on the bullet.

Posted at Tuesday, May 10, 2005 by marocharim
Revolt!  

May 9, 2005
Consumption

< ok, i made the theme a bit more... tolerable, if you will, for firefox users.  there, now you happy? >

   Don't ask me where those fancy background images went.  I decided to be a bit friendlier to Firefox users.  It's the content I'm after, anyway, not that I'm good in that department anyhow.  Insistent public demand, however, will get me placing them little fractals back again.

   I'm so tired, so here's a poem.  Try to catch my drift:

Gently, silently, I cradle your head and your body
Into the six foot deep hole I dug for your grave
Through the daggers you planted in my back
I watch you... and I see that you're only human after all.

Do you remember the pain you caused me
After all I have given you and all that I have sacrificed for?
Do you even have an idea of how much pain you have caused me
Long after you've gone, when the memory still remains?

I take up earth and cover up your body
Corrupted by the very essence of lust
I watch you gasp for air as earth enters your lungs
And I continue on, gasping... choking... laughing at your fate.

You will be lost
And then I move away
To walk the path
I should have gone all along.

Revenge... sweet.  All too sweet.

Odium... hatred... abhorrence... is all I feel for you.

You will never fathom my hatred
You will never understand my loathing
If there's one thing I know by now
You never really understood anything.

I will be consumed
Until the last gasps you take
And in that final moment
I will be satisfied.

I watch as the final mounds of earth cover your corpse
And in your death I hope you realize how much you caused
But then again, apologies will not be accepted from the dying
Those pathetic souls wailing for a final chance at redemption.

Do you even remember how to breathe at all?
After hate has flowed through my veins all these days!
Fear not your death for it is your escape!
Fear not your life for it is mine to take!

I watch you, all I see is your great escape
But I know you would not make it in time
Until the death knell rings for you and your demise
Shall I gently, silently, walk away from here.

Posted at Monday, May 09, 2005 by marocharim
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