Babbling Point

. KICK ASS KOMIKS "Chief Edwards retires from the Modesto Police Department a lonely man. On his way home he hits a flying whale with his car, opening the beast's mouth to find a boy from a parallel universe named Jacobus. Chief discovers that a society of insect monsters want to kill this boy due to a mysterious virus that grows on his hand. The Chief becomes a father figure to the boy and trains him how to survive insect monsters by becoming a great American ass-kicker." Isn't that just the funkiest comic book synopsis you've ever read? (well, maybe some of Grant Morrison's books are funkier) The synopsis above is for EARTHBOY JACOBOS , a graphic novel by Doug Tennapel, coming out from Image Comics this May.

. Pretty Pics, Astig Art http://www.kaareandrews.com/ http://jamesjean.com/

Best Mobile Messaging Service : Globe Telecom, Inc. (Philippines), G-Cash is a breakthrough in m-commerce, transforming subscribers’ phones into “mobile wallets”. The picture that came out in the Inquirer today was taken with a Globe phone and sent via MMS. (Another great thing made possible by Globe.)

New Sites to See http://www.phlog.net/ has got a new look and new features! Check it out if you still don't have a Phlog account. http://baylans.blogspot.com/ a blog novel in progress in now online. Chapter 1 has been uploaded. The revolution will be online! http://www.kabayancentral.com/onlyindphil/lastikman.html is where you can buy Lastikman online.

. A Personal Thing © 2001 Neil Gaiman and Graham K. Smith Tracing your face in the way it all started Eyes like assassins, we cried when we parted Shimmy and slip like the mists of December I close my eyes and I try to remember Now I need you here like a kite needs a string I need you more than I need anything I want you back but I'm too proud to say it out loud It's a personal thing Starlight and moonlight and madness and heaven You made me all that I am: you're forgiven The touch of your hand or the feel of your finger Memories cut through my heart and they linger on... I need you here like a bird needs to sing I need you more than I need anything I want you back but I'm too proud to say it out loud It's a personal thing Every cold mile between us is painful All of the words we could never unsay in full Moments are magical, pain universal Frozen like ice and it's just too damn personal I need you here like a dream needs a wing I need you more than I need anyth

. a bad b-movie plot So what was that all about? What was the point? The Abu Sayyaf bombed three buses yesterday and said it was their Valentines gift to the President, making sound them like two-bit terrorists from a B-movie starring Eric Roberts and Chuck Norris. So, now what? Did they win any support for their cause? What are they fighting for again? What is the tagline of their revolution? “Free our People”? “Free our Land”? What do they want? If their cause has any worth of getting any support, why aren’t people rallying in the streets? What do the people know about the Abu Sayyaf? “Oh, they’re those guys who kidnapped those Americans? Yeah, those guys who bombed those buses and the Superferry.” Why did they do it? Nobody knows anymore. Maybe the Abu Sayyaf themselves have forgotten and have become two-bit crooks threatening people for more money. We can only pray that more peaceful means can be found in solving this problem. Our country needs more heroes, not cowards who throw

. Postmortem on Our Love © 1993 Neil Gaiman and Lorraine Garland I've been dissecting all the letters that you sent me Slicing through them looking for the real you Cutting through the fat and gristle of each tortuous epistle Trying to work out what to do I've laid the presents that you gave me out upon the floor A book with pages missing, and a bottle, and a glove Now outside it's chilly autumn, I'm conducting a postmortem On our love I'm conducting a postmortem on our love An autopsy to find out what went wrong I know it died I just don't know how, or why Maybe its heart stopped Maybe its heart stopped There's an eyeball in a bottle staring sadly at the morgue There's a white line on the sidewalk silhouetting where it fell In the dark I am inspecting all the angles of trajectory Of hell Was it suicide or murder or an accident, or what? Though I cut and slice and saw and hack, it won't come back to life And I'm severing the label of each organ