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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 23, 2005
Jacked Up

< watching too much tv >

   "Jack TV" is one of those things that I have my watch on, in the sense that I'm waiting for it to happen.  The fact that wrestling is on is an ulterior motive: I can always watch it via webcast.  But I'm waiting for the day that MTRCB chairperson Consoliza Laguardia comes a-knocking and tells them to sign-off after she deduces that "Stripperella," "The Man Show" and "Blue Collar TV" are unfit for children and defray the moral fiber of the Philippines.

   Like... so?

   I must admit that "Jack TV" is the most refreshing TV viewing I have had since "Dave the Barbarian" on Disney Channel.  True, Faffy may have the same dimensions and proportions as a testicle (just take a look at him and see if he really is a flying potato), but I don't see anyone telling anyone to put it off the air.  "Jack TV" exudes machismo, it demeans women into nothing but trampoline-jumping drones, it exploits gays and lesbians... but you don't see anyone complain.  I suppose it's no longer about the wrestling (or rassling) and the feeble attempt to promote Jonathan Sibulo (a.k.a. Sib) as a TV star.  It's about the Juggies, Pamela Anderson and everything else in between and probably beyond.  That's the point.

   And, for the sake of another one-liner, I like it.

   Yeah, it is an abberation in "quality programming."  Never before had any Filipino channel devoted entire slots to the raunchy and the risque.  The thing is, until now nobody has heard of any channel who would openly show "Jackhammer Jesus" (a dildo in the shape of a crucifix... kids, don't ask me what a dildo is) in "Insomniac," or well-endowed puppets in "Crank Yankers."  Big whoop: screw morality, right?  Hmmm, maybe not.

    I mean, everyone's out for the hides of those who "corrode the moral fiber of the Filipino nation."  I say, rid the country of jueteng lords and I'll see if I'll believe you.  "Women's exploitation," huh?  I don't want to be cynical or rude or anything, but I'm a man of facts: the people complaining about it are the people who have the fattest (figurative) chance of making it to a Juggy audition.  And spare me the superlatives of kids getting to watch it: I doubt they'd even get the humor of "The Daily Show."  I find it funny.

   Maybe it's different strokes for different folks, and the way we stroke it matters little to those who don't like the stroking.  The more people parade the interest of freedom of speech, the more I get jacked up to watch "The Chapelle Show."  I mean, it's a better alternative to something like... hmmm, "Ikaw Ang Lahat Sa Akin."

   Though I kind of sing it in the privacy of my bathroom.

Posted at Monday, May 23, 2005 by marocharim

High Brow

< more tales from the rumor mill >

   Someone told me to check out a few blogs, and lo and behold, I found what they told me to look for.  Something tells me that the usual hail from the heavens (read: bato-bato sa langit) once again had another victim.  Someone got Marocharized, all right, and no, I'm still waiting for Richard Gomez to come over and sue me for all I'm worth.

   Hmmm, this is weird.  I'm not one to eat rats or anything, but whatever I put in this blog outside of an essay is, well, worth fruitcake.  You can throw it at me and I'll just eat it.  Save for an overstretched metaphor (being the fruitcake) I do not understand why people all of a sudden go sentimental on me when I get to my... literary efforts.  The Karaoke Singer Next Door has not yet come for my hide, although I'd like to challenge her to a birit contest and see if she does drop the testicles she hides in her throat (no wonder she gets so raspy at times).

   So... yeah, I am stretching my comments a bit into something more like a disclaimer, or commentary to some extent.  Why would I even comment on eleven sentences worth of shat, I do not know.  Ahem... my business, BTW.

   No wonder I had my Friendster profile viewed 33 times.  Last time I checked, 'twas 29.

Posted at Monday, May 23, 2005 by marocharim

I'm Crazy It's New

Welcome to the new experiment... whatever.

Posted at Monday, May 23, 2005 by marocharim

May 21, 2005

< condolences to andrew's family >

   The living person has no idea of what death is.  Sometimes people tell stories about dying as if they knew what it's like in the afterlife.  A bright light flashes, voices beckon as if they are being called to leave this earthly existence.  Another star appears in the skies whenever another person dies, or people die for all the right reasons.  People die because it is time.

   Yet none of us today are dead.  We are still alive, enjoying every figment of this earthly existence.  If you're reading this blog chances are you're not yet dead.  You have every reason to live.  You have every reason to celebrate life.  But sometimes we're all forced to glorify death for no odd reason: we give so much priority to the word "death" that "life," the very beginning and the very essence, the means, is second fiddle to the end.

   There's talk of death being a natural part of life: it's so wrong.  The only natural thing in life is living.  The dead no longer have a place in this earth.  It's bad enough that they're dead, but the best thing to do is to move on and enjoy life to the fullest.  Be full of it: be full of life.

   I would probably die of something like lung cancer or a brain tumor.  Considering that, I like to think of life as something like a cigarette.  Life is bound to kill somebody one way or another, but it's something to be enjoyed to the very end.  The smoke of life is something that should not be wasted over something like being tired of huffing and puffing through it all.  Each heave wastes us, each dragging moment bringing us a bit closer to our demise than we think.  But think of it: the average life span of a cigarette is about three minutes.  The average life span of a typical person is seventy years.  Think of life as a cigarette that runs the whole length of EDSA.

   True, we didn't all choose to live: it's something we are dragged into.  Living doesn't get any easier with every year we grow older.  But does dying come easy?  Considering the number of people who cope with death living is something easier than dying.

   Life is addictive.  Live it.

Posted at Saturday, May 21, 2005 by marocharim

May 20, 2005
Directed at the Karaoke Singer... #3

< this will be a regular feature of my experiment from now on >

From "I Will Survive" by Diana Ross

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
Kept thinking something wrong will happen if you took the mic
Then I spent so many nights listening to this same old song
And it's so wrong... the way you get the lyrics wrong

So it's the same, familiar face
Singing that same old melody that brings your family disgrace
I should have taken that microphone
And have it shoved straight up your ass
Had I known for just one second you will sing Jason Mraz

So now go, walk out the door
Just turn around now, you're not welcome anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to sing a note that high
I just crumbled, and I just lay down to die
Oh I, I can't survive
For as long as you keep singing I don't know if I'm alive
You're raising your pitch higher
And I give you the middle finger
I can't survive
I can't survive
While you sing

It took all the strength I had not to fall apart
Just trying not to laugh at the voice that sounds like a fart
I hope you spent oh so many nights just feeling sorry for yourself
Because I cried, while your notes reached an all-time high
And you know it's nothing new
There are a lot of other people who can sing better than you
So if you feel like singing some more songs don't expect them to be free
Because you'll end up paying all my bills from the EENT

Repeat chorus

* special thanks to the karaoke singer next door :)

Posted at Friday, May 20, 2005 by marocharim

Marocharim of Arcadia

< summer class over... not in the mood to write about it >

   Recently I have been in my proverbial brooding pit, and it's time I talked about stuff that reek of, well, my thoughts.  I doubt that song spoofs and poetry on cannibalism (I'm a big fan of Gottfried Benn) wouldn't cut it if I am to do justice to my own style of writing.

   It's been a while since I've been to an arcade.  Most of my time this summer I spent in classrooms and the occasional (an irony, BTW) break I take from classes which bore me.  Then I plop down in front of the television set at home and watch cartoons or my daily soap opera, "Ang Tamang Daan."  So I decided to take a break: it is, after all, the end of summer.  So from a coffee shop, we headed straight for Quantum Entertainment.

   A bit of a backgrounder here: before I started blogging I was seriously into games.  I have had a few FAQ's posted at various sites where I wrote at length about gameplay strategy and move analyses of Tekken characters I was very familiar with.  After nearly a month of not playing the game, and almost a year of not playing in an arcade, I got back to the machines.

   Here starteth the arcane language of my FAQ-writing days...

   Of course I chose Steve Fox, and my opponent chose Christie Montiero.  I was a bit rusty with my shots, unable to recall d+2,1 strings I was very adept with in a PS2 situation.  I lost two tokens to my friend, and I started to recall my old tricks, including SPN 2's, LWV 1~B, 1,f+1's and d+2,1,df+1+2 combos ending in four- to five-hit juggle strings.  I never lost since: that brought me up to a 12-2 record for the entire afternoon.

   There endeth the arcane Tekkenese... or so you thought.

   Anyways, the funny thing about arcades is that aside from the noise there isn't any much personal interaction in them.  If I'm out playing against a Korean (I have a very slight win advantage over the fellows when I play a Jack-based team) the most personal I've got is them ooohing and aaahing over my "strategy" (basically composed of well-timed whacking and right-limb chicken).  Then I get a thumbs-up after I beat their asses straight to the ground in five rounds.

   Saranghameda bo... and tell your Korean friends I take won.

   Whatever do I mean with this entry I do not know.  My wrists are cramping up.

Posted at Friday, May 20, 2005 by marocharim

May 19, 2005

< poem... kinda sick today... don't eat while you read this >

a dying rat i found by my footsteps
its neck wrapped in chains and roses
and i see it gasp for much-needed breath
trying to escape its inevitable death.

i feel like i am in deep distress
like a vise i feel this dark duress
and i await the symptoms of what disease
might end my life before i finish its lease.

i give the rat one quick flick
on the head, and then down to its neck
i check for signs of much-needed life
until i find some place for my strife.

now i find no surrender in this place
i am betrayed by the emotions of my face
so sad to know of my past
but my life flashes through my sight... just too fast.

the rat is dying...

i am dying...

should i choke it and see it gasp for air (I choke it!)
should i wrap it up in its own tail (I strangle it!)
should i bite chunks of flesh from its body (I EAT it!)
and never stop until i grow weary? (I don't grow tired of it!)

i gasp for air and find some space
until i notice the writhing of my face
i feel the blood spilling out from phantom wounds
and now... NOW! the death knell croons!

the rat is dead...
and so is she!

Posted at Thursday, May 19, 2005 by marocharim

May 18, 2005
(Once Again) Directed at the Karaoke Singer Next Door

< yeah, she's singing this song, and this is my take on it >

Parody of Clair Marlo's "Till They Take My Heart Away"

You look into the screen, so far away
You start to lose your mind, you lose your breath
Hey now, if you're singing, it is not OK
You won't stop it, till they take that mic away

Remember when I called, and said you suck
Your voice is very much like Donald Duck's
Your singing is the worst thing I have heard this May
I will stop you, and I'll take that mic away

Believe, I hear that way
'Coz I hate you, and please take that mic away

You sing louder than before, much like a fool
Now look at your score, don't sing and drool
Hey now, are you listening, can you hear me say
I can't stand it, till they take that mic away

You sound like a horse's bray
But you will sing it, till they take that mic away

Posted at Wednesday, May 18, 2005 by marocharim

The Flu

< it's the flu >

   "Sick" is not the proper term for me right now.  I have been healthy as a bug last weekend, but since Monday I have been a walking sneeze-bag (to be a walking douchebag, however, is my specialty)and now I feel squashed like a bug.  Normally I make better parallelisms and phrase my sentences better than that... I'm just too sick for my own good.

   Ha-chooing all the way to SM for a cup of coffee with the gang, I coughed inside the car for the entire time spent finding a parking space, though I did it through everything from handkerchiefs to my shirt to my hands, in the vain, futile effort not to spread disease.  Although I could do just that and scrap tomorrow's presentation of Rizal's "Mi Ultimo Adios."  The thing is, I succeeded in an easy, no-frills effort to make everyone else sick.  I'll wait until tomorrow when that happens.

   I couldn't be sick: save for jock itch weeks ago, I haven't been this sick in about a year.  The last time I've been confined to a hospital was for cholera.  I've fully recovered from it following frequent trips to the hospital bathroom with a vial in one hand and a roll of tissue paper in another... you can just imagine it.

   I don't even have the slightest idea of how I got sick.  I dunno if I should stop wearing trench coats and thick jackets whilst I endure sudden temperature changes (it is summer), or if I should be a good little tin soldier and endure this while I memorize tomorrow's poem.  A nice bowl of soup from Balconaje was all I needed, but after that was over I got sicker... and sicker... and sicker.

   One: I got beaten by an overzealous button-mashing Christie at Tekken 4.

   Two: I got dragged into talking about social movements.

   Three: I'm pissed off more than the usual.

   Like I said, it's just influenza.  The thing is too many people today thought that I have meningococcemia or something... which is fine by me.  The less people-contact I get the better it is.  I don't mind having to sneeze in front of anyone, infect the whole world, and have everyone feebly chase me with torches and pitchforks.

   Hoohah.  I mean... ha-CHOO!

Posted at Wednesday, May 18, 2005 by marocharim

May 17, 2005
Marocharim's First Film Review

< it is my first film review... >

Movie: "The Magdalene Sisters"
Starring: Geraldine McEwan, Anne-Marie Duff, Nora-Jane Noone, Dorothy Duffy, Eileen Walsh
Directed by: Peter Mullan
Genre: Drama

   There's a reason why I don't wash my own clothes by hand.  One: we have a washing machine at home.  Two: I'm still stuck in a chauvinistic P.O.V. that if I do it I subtract a portion of my manhood.  Three: I really don't know how.  Make that three reasons.

   Interestingly enough, after watching "The Magdalene Sisters" for quite a few times I'm liable to add it as the fourth reason why I don't wash my own clothes, relegating them instead to the laundry bin and let my mom or sister do it, while I go about my business mopping up the floor or something more manly than that.  It's a tragic tale of women in Irish penitential asylums ("Magdalene asylums"), where women correct the wrongs in their lives by taking a vow of silence and wash clothes by hand in order to earn money for the asylum.  All this happened as late as the 1960's, when women's liberation movements were at their height.

   Geraldine McEwan plays Sister Bridget, the mother-superior of the Magdalene asylum, who subjects girls and women to that proverbial theater of cruelty: the laundry room.  Anne-Marie Duff plays Margaret, a girl who is raped by a boy at a wedding, files a complaint and is treated like a common criminal, sent to the asylum.  Nora-Jane Noone plays Bernadette, a precocious young girl who flirts with boys and is sent to the asylum doing so.  Dorothy Duffy plays Rose, a girl sent to the asylum fpr having a child born out of wedlock.  Eileen Walsh plays Crispina, who is frequently abused in the asylum and dies of anorexia afterwards.  A little weak in the head, she screams out, "You're not a man of God" 27 times in a scene towards the end of the film, as the priest frantically takes off his clothes from a really mean rash after, ironically, it was washed in the asylum.

   "The Magdalene Sisters" is technically a film about labandera's, but it does so with such panache and pathos that we are led to believe that this film is too good to be true.  Well, it tries to convince us that it is, towards the end of the film.  I could buy Crispina dying of anorexia in a lunatic asylum, but for Bernadette to become a beautician is not something I'd buy immediately.

   In some twist of fate, I watched Nora Aunor's "Atsay" right after I watched "The Magdalene Sisters," and both movies convey the same message (although Ate Guy's accents and intonations still have to convince me of two things: either she's a really great actress of our times, or she really was on drugs).  It doesn't convey a feminist message, much to my relief.  The movie is, at least from my perspective, apolitical: it's not an attack on anything but a detached portrayal of an actual historical event.  The movie spares us of dehumanizing scenes as "THX 1138," or of scenes of human misery as "Angela's Ashes."  It is a portrayal of atrocity that doesn't make you cry or plunge you in anger, but it just leaves you that way.  The mad scrubbing of clothes with salt and soap leaves you with no idea.  It brings you to a nirvana of morality: a proverbial tabula rasa.

   Watch it, and you'll never even think about washing your own clothes again.

Last words: Excellent film, dragging in some scenes.
Rating: 8/10

Posted at Tuesday, May 17, 2005 by marocharim

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