Regina Layug Rosero shares the thrills of her first time at an evening of comedic erotica performance.
Everyone has sex.
You don’t want to think about it. But your parents had sex. In Disney movies, the princess falls in love with the prince, and in the DVD release of the sequel, they have a baby.
In “A Sexier History of Time,” Timothy Dimacali explored the sex life of renowned physicist and author Stephen Hawking.
But he’s in a wheelchair, you protest. Ah yes, but he’s been married twice and has three kids. Of course he has sex. And his pillow talk may be littered with puns about large Hadron colliders and black holes.
Have more (deus) sex at Rappler.com. Published May 2015.
Regina Layug Rosero walked five kilometers every night, seven nights in a row, and lived to write about it.
I trudged a few more steps in the evening rain, sweat dripping down the back of my neck and my chest. I could feel a few drops on my forehead, threatening to slip, stinging, into my eye. My legs were beginning to ache, my feet starting to drag across the concrete sidewalk around the park. The fatigue of each kilometer was starting to catch up with me. I spied a park bench, and made my way towards a moment’s rest. I took off my biker scout helmet as I sat, and my husband handed me a bottle of water. I couldn’t lean back to relax; the protrusion on the back of my armor was too large. I rotated my ankles as much as I could in my rubber boots, thankful that a biker scout had such little leg armor.
I’d been walking every night since September 23, at least 5 kilometers per night. Every morning when I woke, my legs were stiff, but come evening I would march once more in my biker scout armor. My husband was ready to catch me if I collapsed.
My name is Regina. I’m a biker scout, and I did this for the children of the Philippines.
Originally published in Illustrado magazine, December 2013.
Originally published in the Fully Booked Zine in March 2013, Paul Catiang writes about one of his favorite science fiction authors. Here’s an excerpt:
“The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel.” This is the sky above Chiba City in the post-World War III dystopia of William Gibson’s the Sprawl trilogy. It is a world described by metaphors derived from the scorched earth, ubiquitous technology, and mercenary cutthroats that comprise its denizens’ preconscious memories.
The Sprawl trilogy tells stories located in the vast divide between the upper and lower classes, with the middle class all but obliterated, forced into drone-like consumerism and poverty. For those who can escape the previous generation’s post-industrial entrenchment, they can swim in the waters of the emergent, innovative class of mercenary professionals. Here, professionals pit competence, discretion, contacts, and savvy to stay relevant to the black-market world of biz—one misstep and they’re dead.
Gibson likewise takes punk’s in-your-face anger, discontent, hairstyles, and internecine gang wars, and overlays it all onto the matrix of cyberspace and dystopian wastelands. Where business and government respond to this digital void by imposing orderly data lattices, console cowboys introduce chaos through socially engineered mass hysteria, chemical warfare, and cybernetic implants—a madness that conceals their precise methods.