WOYD?

1. Keychains. Officemates give souvenirs from their trips out of town/country. See the Baguio weenie? Hihi.

2. GPOYeveryday

3. UAAP Tumblers. UP, DLSU, ADMU, UST. (condom and lubes storage jk)

4. Oona the stress releaser oink

5. Umm...shades?

6. Anik-anik section. Crayons, toothbrush, jejepens, collected dust.

7. Popo the Beary bank. Beside him is a space shuttle massager from Grace. (She's leaving for good next week =()

8. A Reader's Guide to Contemporary Literary Theory. It's always under my hand, literally.

9. Books of the Week/Day/Month. Mostly chick and pop lits.

10. Tissue, shower gel, lip gloss. Wait, that does not sound nice.

Today

I'm killing the pleasure of writing

and the labor of thinking long hours

just to say something original

since these things don't matter

in a corporate sweatshop of linguistic crap

what actually your masters need

are exceptional skills in

hunting for wonderful photos you

did not even take

rewording a whole article

and pretending it's yours

and most especially

hitting your quota

oh yes that artful quota

I was not obnoxious and jaded in senior high

since catholic school boys were taught to see the world with salivating eyes and imagine college as a land of fashionable men and women who study hard join fraternities eat at the mall and fuck one another once in a while in senior high there was hope about the future like growing long hair puffing a cigar without anyone reprimanding attending a class late missing a class pretending to attend a class In senior high I was not angsty I was in love with the world I was looking forward to meet a guy yes a guy just any cute guy who would look at me touch me kiss me tell me sweet tales undress me eat me love me control me yes control me until he would get tired of me and look for another one and let me go and leave me crying so I myself would also learn what's love and then love again and find another one to touch kiss flirt undress eat love control oh in senior high i was not lonely becky i was not sad cohn i was a happy idiot manipulated by catholic brainwashed teacher bitches preaching that the world would be nice that you would have a home a car a family a phone in an instant without knowing the sufferings of the poor and the hungry and the entire cycle of triangles that keep the world hazy gray dirty and semen soaked like a ghost world well in fact worse than a ghost world

I'm the Prince of York, Cubao

Physics

I have just finished Watchmen the comic book, assigned as a required reading in my pop lit class eons ago but I didn't bother to read. It was a pleasure actually, considering the efforts of the comic writer (Alan Moore) and artist (David Gibbons)(411 pages!) What sets this book apart is that its heroes are a bunch of loonies and psychopaths.

This week I also bumped into an article on the most baffling superheroes around the world wherein two out of six came from the Philippines: Flash Bomba, Mars Ravelo's paraplegic tikbalang-killer; and Zsa Zsa Zaturnnah, Carlo Vergara's non-flying, tranny Darna.

Still, my loyalty remains to Superman since he's, like, Super. Duh. He does not even deserve membership to the Justice League since he can do everything his colleagues can. With one hand.