Platypus' Site

A guy goes into the CR went into a vacant stall and sat on the toilet bowl to relieve himself when he hears somebody else occupy the next cubicle.

New guy in the next stall starts talking: "Pare, kumusta ka na?"

First guy hesitatingly says: "A, e ok lang..."

Other guy asks again: "Ano ginagawa mo dyan?"

Not knowing what to say, the first guy answers: "Eto ume-ebs..."

Other guy replies: "Pre tawagan kita mamaya, me ibang sumasagot dito sa tabi ko e."

  “I was forewarned: “It is always easier to teach than to beg.”

   Certainly if one is serious about his preoccupation he would consider having a sense of direction. Having not to resort to stealing—yes, because to teach unsatisfactorily is like being a thief in broad daylight and this is something that students would never forget.

   I would be hypocrite not to say that I desire to be the best. Performance wise, I should say that I am currently starting to learn my craft—and treat my teaching as art.

I don’t like dogs

   I want to teach like a painter paints, the classrooms are my canvas and the students my portraits—and my portraits do not look like dogs.

   I wouldn’t like to see dogs coming out of this university.

   (Dogs eat more than they want.

   Dogs bark without sense.

   Dogs do their sex on the street.

   Dogs can’t be diplomats.

   Dogs can’t be saints.

   Dogs have to be fed.

   Dogs are tired with nothing accomplished.

   Dogs are everywhere.)

   For I don’t eat dogs and the society is fed up with dog-mans.

   This is the reason why I don’t bite or shout at students. I treat students like masters never like dogs.

How Do I Train Human Beings?

    Since human beings are my subjects—I have to treat them like human beings.

    A teacher must explore the wonders of the human race.

   May I compare sex with education?

   When I teach, since I don’t teach just one or two students no teacher must be monogamous.     

    Every student desires and prefers her own style and the teacher must provide for each. He must ignore no one.

   In the Kama Sutra there are 6000 plus known sexual positions. Since teaching is more complicated and that the students if would not be given variety might go out on a date with ignorance, he/ she must learn the 6,000 plus ways to teaching and apply it.

   Lastly, it must be made sure that they would always experience in the class intellectual orgy. Let every learner moan with ecstasy for experiencing more than just the missionary objective of knowledge and comprehension. Let them find through your guidance their climax through analysis, evaluation, synthesis, and creation.

   Let their minds be fertile… be naked with the ideas.

   The students are not the king’s concubines who are not allowed to complaining, questioning, and reacting.

   The teacher is just but a part of the orgy.

 There are Teachers and There are Teachers

    The academe is a place for people: “intelligent and those pretending that they are.”

    Those who really are: are those who always innovate and fear no change. Those who are not, are those who would never understand and would always fret.

    The good ones always benefit, even from the bad ones. They would always consider what they would become if they would decide to cross the always available crooked path.

    “The ideal learning environment, is an ideal teaching environment.” This may be a bit Marxist but this is true. Before we learn to love others let us feel like we are loved. 

    Teachers are in the background yes but those who surround them must also be sensitive.

    Teachers are pretty much touchy about their concerns because they know this.

    The ideal learning environment is when teachers are so in love with the institution they are protecting.

    For it is where they can do group dynamics or complex instruction, not where there are five in one chairs that defeat the purpose.

    For it is where they can feel how just it is to live, being ranked and paid according to his performance and credentials—not because he came from some Jesuit University.

    It is where he is trained not for circus. But to improve his craft, be wiser, be more productive, more service oriented not because he will have to handle more subjects than he can handle the following semester.

    For it is where, when he takes away the cobweb covering his eyes—he will never discover he is being treated like a dog.

WORDS

words define

and divide

and share

and hide

words are

part and

symbols

enough to

push some to love

some to hate some

or to put

a tent on one's boxers

to end

the rage

to put the rage on

again and

again

and again

People sometimes

feel bad about things

which are yet to come...

they change

the way they deal

with others

ahead of time--

way ahead

that they

will soon

find out

they have become

what they have feared

to become...

=================================

Mahusay ang pagkakatipa sa sunog na piano

sa bahay na ngayon ay sunog na

tinitipa ng mga indayog sa ilalim ng sunog ding bubong

indayog na nagmumula sa mga pagod na balakang

ng mga lalakeng sabik sa lalakeng sabik din

nagpapagulong gulong sa ulingan--impit ang daing

gawa ng sunog na patay na ay nagliliyab pa rin

===========================

Sagi--Saging

hindi sinagi

hindi hindi

nanlumo dahil gumayak

nagpulbo

hindi sumubo ng isang linggo

inabangan ang oras ng pag alis

sinabayan sa paglakad

nginitian nang nginitian

walang pagod

walang pera sa bulsa

sa fx ay pumara

nang ang pabangong mumurahin

ay di lumain ng hangin

sa mrt habol habol

ng paningin ang paghinga

nakipagsiksikan, nananapak

baka sakaling mapansin na

nagkatabi

amoy nya pa

pabango mumurahin din pala

ngunit di sinagi

di sinalat

di man lamang pinansin

multo lamang kasi sa paningin

Fly-bag and other poems

Fly-bag

Sitting in a corner, waiting,

Drooling for the lines there under,

Smoking cancer for the death of night

Under the light shade so near

Risking surname, flirting with shadows

Receiving enervated stares from

Sexiness from after wetting their thighs,

Sublimely stroking the lamp post,

Asking for the corner more light

Minutes of being alone – of senselessness

Of remembering wet dreams of pretense

Comes a lady, cleavage covered with her hand.

On her back a bouncing black bag prevents

Sight nailed, instead, on a lizard

Running after her tamed evanescence—

Climbing her legs, of course then thighs

Poor me, lucky lizard now on her hips

In her bag the lizard goes – stupid lizard

Wasting time I would not have!

Then falling after the other I see

A fatter lizard— still munching—from her bag?

Teasing – I said, “No thanks,

I don’t eat flies.”

Two Forks

The world is

A porcelain plate

On the table

While he

Hovers on it

A Moses wearing

An old

but fine tuxedo

Unshaven,

Lips glistening with sweet

And sour pork's grease

Greasy as his amber tipped fork

Suddenly, a fly

Buzzes in

Then lands with

Ovation on his fork

"Excuse me," he said

Then hides his hands

He slaps his right hand not the fly

For it should have been holding

A spoon not

Another fork

Of Flies, Of Men

Sacred be a soul fitted all wards

--------------------------------------

To the barrier separating endlessness

--------------------------------------------

Fits the eye – a shooting star

----------------------------------

Rocketing empty of carnal direction

-------------------------------------------

Alone remembering, regretting peacefully

-------------------------------------------------

Intoxicated by an oblivious rest

--------------------------------------

Staring at the shadow at its umbra

-----------------------------------------

A humbled self as huge as coldness

------------------------------------------

Missed by the universe of self

-----------------------------------

Doubting haphazardly – scared

-------------------------------------

Doubt! Gain or lose none

------------------------------

“Have I been blessed?” not important

--------------------------------------------

Ask the children if their mother-fly

-----------------------------------------

Had seen you…

------------------

Fly-gate

Then, by the tick of howling silence I—

Mourning for a lost love I could never lose

“Why her?” In my heart I held scorn

Death be to what had caused her death, of my too

I would never accept – “Why me?”

All flame etched earth’s darkness

I –raging and lost – a battered specimen

Glazed the cheap marble with my tears…

A buzzing came that hops and claps

Teasing? Insulting? Rejoicing – for my lost?

“Is this Your messenger? Why so small?”

This small desecrator of my beloved’s temple

Was hopping –this pincher of my heart moved toward

Her lips – “Is she Your reason?

You took her for Yourself”

Another dog howled against me

I couldn’t mourn—nobody's lost

The world was silent feared by souls

My concrete—dull.

That buzzing came.

In the Cloud is the Phoenix

Hopping and clapping while drooling

Her legs are from a barbed wire

Her nose by her black legs she wipes

She has eyes she could not blink

Her small veins with joy overflowing

Pollens on her legs, on her leg hairs

Pollens on her lips, no her lip hairs

Pollens from her new old flower

That reminds her of her lunch

Corrupted by the holy grandmother

Now, food and pillow are her pollens

Pollens as much as her hairs and eyes

Weary are her eyes with sensing danger

Sick of eyeing for his eyes… those eyes

In that white cloud that had her sister

For the minute she succumbs to sleep

Is the moment of the period on her fable

The end – in the cloud, the eyes are waiting

Me: I wrote this stuff a week before my gf asked me to set her free. Imagine: 3 words for everything we went thru--I replied "Sure!", and that's one word.

My lady is the lake

Shift of soul I’m left alone

I pleased none but my hands

her lake’s water is so still

Unruffled coal and lifeless

I am raging on the bay

I am raging but alone

Wanting to please not my hands

It’s the water in the lake

Clean or not for it to live

It’s my rage.

Still secluding me from her

Our distance remain at zero

But zero is still a distance

It’s not enough I ask her twice

she raises her barbwire

she is still, so firm

Yet enchanting

Enchanting me

To do it soon

To stop my hands

To wait

I want her back

I’ll play her water

I’ll bathe myself

I’ll swim in her

I’m raging

Still on the banks

Contemplating

I thought it was

All wonders

she and I

My body and her water

Then I was just looking

And she was suddenly unstill

And she was pulling down her pebbles

Engulfing her own sand

Her wound is now healing

I’m still just looking

Little by little

she was turning

Her lake into that bear land

I would sit on

So I can please my hands

So I pleased

And forget

The lake that doesn’t exist

Anymore

Anyway