A todos mis colegos; adios y muchisimas gracias!

THE FINAL ENTRY on this blog won't end without a punch:


A - nd the last prose I will wholeheartedly write is

D - ogs can fly with yellow plastic wings

I - n the ocean whilst fishes profusely piss

O - ver the crimson firmament with kings,

S - aved and finished at last with cyber writings.



Muchisimas gracias.

A todos mis colegos; adios y muchisimas gracias!

THE final entry on this blog won't end without a punch:


A - nd the last prose I will wholeheartedly write is

D - ogs can fly with yellow plastic wings

I - in the ocean whilst fishes profusely piss

O - ver the crimson firmament with kings,

S - aved and finished at last with cyber writings.



Muchisimas gracias.

This is how it should be

The last three topics tackled in our colloquia were politics, media and military. It seemed to me that it just made my uncontrollable giggle suffer because of the stolid arrangement and uncolorful discussion of the matter. The penultimate cry in my tears wanted me to cover my body and wrap myself a straight jacket leaving the colloquium. It was the same scenenario I felt when we were talking medicine last week. But due to my deference for the arrangers, I sat down and listen like the absence of the air.


Until the roof of tediousness came crashing down, I just took short notes and stayed outside. The death's final recital from the underground, tha't all I heard. But off the program, media and politics are the sprints of media corruption including motley facets like the military destabilizing the administrative forces. Actually there are terms for media corruption or payoffs to journalists that are used in some article in the news stand. Here are those various terms in corrupting the media.


Blood money

A payoff to ensure that a story or cricle article is killed or else slanted in the briber's favor before publication.


Bicycle gang

Refers to the contacts of politicians in television news desks who ensure that video footage of candidates barnstorming in the provices is circulated to the different TV networks by a messenger riding a bike.


Hao siao

A derogatory term used to refer to pseudo-journalists, those not employed by a reputable news organization but pass themselves off as journalists in order to cash in on the payoffs and bribes made by news sources, particularly during elections.


Orbit

Like planets revolving around the sun, reporters also make the rounds of offices, particularly the police stations, to get their weekly payola.


Smiling money

Cash that is given to reporters or editors for no particular reason except to create goodwill between a source and the journalists.


Tigbas

Cebuano for "cut," used to refer to a hatchet job.


Warik-warik

A Cebuano term used to describe unscrupulous people; to journalists in the provinces, these are the counterpart of Manila's hao siao.


And now what is it you pay when there is nothing to say?

-lyd

Was it the star, your chocolate fantasies, or my shadow?

Music, sports, fashion and hey business!
Peeping through the doorknob from choco-vanilla eyes,
I saw sunshine butterflies with cinematic faces.
Felt the cobblestone streets like slices of mood music.
Were you there standing by the door looking for a star?
The star has just faded away, past midnight, dead in the gallows.
A new face rose from the Betty-boop neck, it was turned.
Drinking from a frappe mocha cup with Audrey Hepburn,
Serene as the morn, alive and exposed- brakfast at Tiffany's.
My sprting chances to meet Lebron, Ming and Duncan
Went ape my imagination splattering the room- ja 'mon!
And what about walking marionettes and fame?
40 minutes was enough to wear skins and get naked.
And hey business, the only thorn among the roses!
I beseeched and wrote him down, "are you gay?"
Yes, said he in the late afternoon of March, 20th day.
After the peeping, Mister, let me see the hole.
Who were there romanticizing you eyes?
Was it the star, your chocolate fantasies, or my shadow?

There was a Call-low-quium

Conversations on medicine filled the atmosphere with room temperature of scientific interrogation and scientific matter only. This was the first time that pharmaceutical revelation delivered
itself with fruits of knowledge and experience of the speaker sharing her thoughts and relationship in dealing and handling medical practitioners. All have their pouches opened to queries, even illogical ones were restored to make a big splash, that in my opinion, must be kept unasked. Damn if this will be the flow, I won't be listening and just play my guitar instead! Anyway, the topic was quite interesting but audience didn't love it back. As much as I would like to say something about medicine and the colloquium, I'd just feel the motion of love and cognizance.


The colloquium was unprepared.
The colloquium was good.
The colloquium was informative.
The colloquium was suave.
The colloquium was tedious.
The colloquium was them.
The colloquium might hate me.
The colloquium was the colloquium.
The colloquium, there was.
There was a colloquium.

The Glass was a city and the World was naughty

Phisolophy, ecadution, and raliteture. These were the first batch of topics discussed at the Kapihan lounge yesterday. I intentionally, before you react, chose these topics to infuse indispensable principles, creative flames, and learned lessons in the pedagogical stay of students in the academe. Of course, the revolution I want to embark on, look I murdered the solid array of letters of each word I mentioned in the introduction. Nonsense? No! But nonsense of you if you bury the tradition and smoke away ancient learnings of great thinkers and lack creativity or scarcity of originality- personal copycat sneaker! Take existentialism as an energy drink to refuel the essence of philosophical bindings to contemporary teachings. Beyond the Universal- the transcendental destiny to perfection is what the individual sees to attain union with God, or not with God. Philosophy, education, and literature are cyanide dreams, jagged realities. No filter papers teetering sawdust explanations, because the answer is within your heart.


And as for literature, take this;


The Glass was a city and the World was naughty


Overjoyed. Overruled. Over the bright lights of tears.
My profoundest apologies from the underground
Shaved the grassy filaments in a descent boulevard.
And the whistling wind filled the empty glass a sad happiness,
Losing glitters, losing waters, losing pain and spilled
Me more milk and milk and urine, from the lactating nails.
Blood was the urine and milk streaming heavily and naughtily.
Pissing was art, lactation was quasi-science and she told me-
The Glass was a city and the World was naughty.

Old school rule, a code to journ surface

Is steady performance a prolific story of the old school? Writing is a passion, not a mobile 30-minutes- of- fame exploiting the deliverance of vast messages from various angles stressed out by editors and the stand of the paper. The ripe-old age of the fundamental mode of writing speaks under the blankets of truth, it does not follow the plunge of contemporary news editors though the basics stays right there, but campus journalism is continuously strangled tight by passive voices, basically ineffable truth that must have been spoken out profusely.


Like a contract and if it were designed to call for justice of freedom, editor draws the dotted line for an absolute agreement of the issue; writers push to write, not use name to bite. Therefore the issue of campus journalism must fit like a glove in order for young writers to put their heart and soul on the marketed life of journalism. They, however, hold the touchstoned magnetism in controling and filtering both the negative and positive sides of stories. The home of journalism embarks on the campus exercising the modals of expressions, style, principles, genres, figures (factual results and students' resources) because of its pedagogical studies infused therein.



A democratic body utters everything the paper adheres and resonates from the bizarre to the specific, yet unicameral decision of the sounding reality of objectivity. Amid ethical concerns writers abiding by, there are iniquitous topics raised, still instilled and can never be diminished unless they stand by the philosophical attachment of the campus through old school stampede of the journalist's code of ethics dead in the writer's clutches- no spins.



Alive. Define. Survive.
The writers are the subaltern of truth and free will.
Stand tall...tell all!

Old school rule, a code to journ surface

Is steady performance a prolific story of the old school? Writing is a passion, not a mobile 30-minutes- of- fame exploiting the deliverance of vast messages from various angles stressed out by editors and the stand of the paper. The ripe-old age of the fundamental mode of writing speaks under the blankets of truth, it does not follow the plunge of contemporary news editors though the basics stays right there, but campus journalism is continuously strangled tight by passive voices, basically ineffable truth that must have been spoken out profusely.


Like a contract and if it were designed to call for justice of freedom, editor draws the dotted line for an absolute agreement of the issue; writers push to write, not use name to bite. Therefore the issue of campus journalism must fit like a glove in order for young writers to put their heart and soul on the marketed life of journalism. They, however, hold the touchstoned magnetism in controling and filtering both the negative and positive sides of stories. The home of journalism embarks on the campus exercising the modals of expressions, style, principles, genres, figures (factual results and students' resources) because of its pedagogical studies infused therein.



A democratic body utters everything the paper adheres and resonates from the bizarre to the specific, yet unicameral decision of the sounding reality of objectivity. Amid ethical concerns writers abiding by, there are iniquitous topics raised, still instilled and can never be dimished unless they stand by the philosophical attachment of the campus through old school stampede of the journalist's code of ethics dead in the writer's clutches- no spins.



Alive. Define. Survive.
The writers are the subaltern of truth and free will.
Stand tall...tell all!

'TNT' COME ELECTION FEVER

COUNTING THE DAYS down close to the depths of the senatorial race, which is the talk of the town, seems to speed up the public awareness in the stimulating performance of candidates come election period. This electoral hiatus gives the public a chance to choose for the right candidates by the blessings of their rational cognizance. Voters feel like children waiting for the yuletide season. But in the sultry campaigns held at the Convention Center, San Fernado Pampanga- all gleamed and reawakened not by the wordly glamor, but by the performanmce the public is expecting from them. Whether the finest words on the rostrum are not enough to satisfy change and ignite the bone of contention. Whether there are two parties, independent candidates, the call for the 'right' decision must be inflicted to our political mind-set, socio-cultural charisma, and our religious yet empowering talisman engraved in the kernel of our soul. Whether the right to suffrage is an overkill, an exaggeration for the candidates to use media for political agenda- yes its a cult of personality and I beg to disagree. There are still many ways, not to mention Montano's case.


In the steamy sunny afternoon, manifold batallions of Kapampangans carried by heavy trucks were appointed (by their buying conscience) to witness the proclamation rally of TEAM UNITY. If you were there brushing shoulders, you might get cracked like an egg and fried to perfection for a juicy sandwich in the midst of a motley crowd galloping under the blistering sun. As spicy hot speeches pricked the soft-spongy microphone, I was hearing some old school music from the banks of their vocal cords; distorted sound, broken promises. Though the crowd was jampacked like you were watching on a premier night for a blockbuster film, I coudn't help but notice to sit and look up the confetti wishing it wouln't rain for a bogus celebration, nope, whilst others were standing tall smelling the fame and victory of their bets- dunno if their there to cast their eyes on their favorite celebrities as well as former politicians who became instant celebrities, or by the food and proposed plans straight from the horses' mouths.


But then, the rally, however, ran with flying color until the finishing touch of the hour. Next to the marathon was the moment of truth, the judgment come election day, who's in and who's out? Its up to you! Don't be mesmerized by the full-blown media. There's a kind of rush. Live up to your beliefs. Remember this new explosive TNT on the block that I planted alone on the functioning celebellum of my head. Think now before time tells.

'TNT' COME ELECTION FEVER

COUNTING THE DAYS down close to the depths of the senatorial race, which is the talk of the town, seems to speed up the public awareness in the stimulating performance of candidates come election period. This electoral hiatus gives the public a chance to choose for the right candidates by the blessings of their rational cognizance. Voters feel like children waiting for the yuletide season. But in the sultry campaigns held at the Convention Center, San Fernado Pampanga- all gleamed and reawakened not by the wordly glamor, but by the performanmce the public is expecting from them. Whether the finest words on the rostrum are not enough to satisfy change and ignite the bone of contention. Whether there are two parties, independent candidates, the call for the 'right' decision must be inflicted to our political mind-set, socio-cultural charisma, and our religious yet empowering talisman engraved in the kernel of our soul. Whether the right to suffrage is an overkill, an exaggeration for the candidates to use media for political agenda- yes its a cult of personality and I beg to disagree. There are still many ways, not to mention Montano's case.


In the steamy sunny afternoon, manifold batallions of Kapampangans carried by heavy trucks were appointed (by their buying conscience) to witness the proclamation rally of TEAM UNITY. If you were there brushing shoulders, you might get cracked like an egg and fried to perfection for a juicy sandwich in the midst of a motley crowd galloping under the blistering sun. As spicy hot speeches pricked the soft-spongy microphone, I was hearing some old school music from the banks of their vocal cords; distorted sound, broken promises. Though the crowd was jampacked like you were watching on a premier night for a blockbuster film, I coudn't help but notice to sit and look up the confetti wishing it wouln't rain for a bogus celebration, nope, whilst others were standing tall smelling the fame and victory of their bets- dunno if their there to cast their eyes on their favorite celebrities as well as former politicians who became instant celebrities, or by the food and proposed plans straight from the horses' mouths.


But then, the rally, however, ran with flying color until the finishing touch of the hour. Next to the marathon was the moment of truth, the judgment come election day, who's in and who's out? Its up to you! Don't be mesmerized by the full-blown media. There's a kind of rush. Live up to your beliefs. Remember this new explosive TNT on the block that I planted alone on the functioning celebellum of my head. Think now before time tells.

'TNT' COME ELECTION FEVER

COUNTING THE DAYS down close to the depths of the senatorial race, which is the talk of the town, seems to speed up the public awareness in the stimulating performance of candidates come election period. This electoral hiatus gives the public a chance to choose for the right candidates by the blessings of their rational cognizance. Voters feel like children waiting for the yuletide season. But in the sultry campaigns held at the Convention Center, San Fernado Pampanga- all gleamed and reawakened not by the wordly glamor, but by the performanmce the public is expecting from them. Whether the finest words on the rostrum are not enough to satisfy change and ignite the bone of contention. Whether there are two parties, independent candidates, the call for the 'right' decision must be inflicted to our political mind-set, socio-cultural charisma, and our religious yet empowering talisman engraved in the kernel of our soul. Whether the right to suffrage is an overkill, an exaggeration for the candidates to use media for political agenda- yes its a cult of personality and I beg to disagree. There are still many ways, not to mention Montano's case.


In the steamy sunny afternoon, manifold batallions of Kapampangans carried by heavy trucks were appointed (by their buying donscience) to witness the proclamation rally of TEAM UNITY. If you were there brushing shoulders, you might get cracked like an egg and fried to perfection for a juicy sandwich in the midst of a motley crowd galloping under the blistering sun. As spicy hot speeches pricked the soft-spongy micrpphone, I was hearing some old school music from the banks of their vocal cords; distorted sound, broken promises. Though the crowd was jampacked like you were watching on a premier night for a blockbusted film, I coudn't help but notice to sit and look up the confetti wishing it wouln't rain for a bogus celebration, nope, whilst others were standing tall smelling the fame and victory of their bets- dunno if their there to cast their eyes on their favorite celebrities as well as former politicians who became instant celebrities, or by the food and proposed plans straight from the horses' mouths.


But then, the rally, however, ran with flying color until the finishing touch of the hour. Next to the marathon was the moment of truth, the judgment come election day, who's in and who's out? Its up to you! Don't be mesmerized by the full-blown media. There's a kind of rush. Live up to your beliefs. Remember this new explosive TNT on the block that I planted alone on the functioning celebellum of my head. Think now before time tells.

SWEET AND SOUR VALENTINES

HOW many lonely hearts crave for love? How many lucky hearts stay the same? We don't know how sweet and sour love can be. Just asking questions- answer me. On the 14th day of February, let's be merry as a cricket even if we're such lone wolves in the hood. It is not a perfect day to have a romantic date with your partner or be back once again to your old flame's arms. It is the hey-day of sharing sentiments in silence as it speaks louder than spoken words. Remember the song 'When you say nothing at all,' it is sweet because love moves in mysterious ways but sometimes sourness prevails when cold and numb is the heart for communication.

* * *

Distance is the measure, however, of how far love digs relationships in its true colors. It is a helter-skelter move to be romantic at all times and its an insignia that love don't experience war. Love is war on the leeway to a sweet victory. Sweetness shapes the foundation of a jocund relationship, but sourness challenges that relationship to step up to the plate of time.

* * *

There are sweet and sour valentines served to different customers in different weather condition. But I still wanna know how many lonely hearts crave for love?... how many lucky hearts stay the same? We don't know how sweet and sour love can be. Just asking questions- answer me.

TWILIGHT CINNAMON

TRUE that the 'stream-of-consciousness' style of writing as introduced by James Joyce, initially coined by psychologist William James, is an effective weapon to let the flow of thoughts river on your pen and disperse fragments of words into a lucky sheet. Blessed are the writers who have the redolent ideas ignoring any kind of errors in order to consummate free writing in full Monty. I am aware of this breakthrough in literature because it explores the paradise of the subconscious to come into reality. Oftentimes I try this without pouring much attention on grammatical errors, a terror in the city of the figurative language of this method. However it is like a meditative prayer picturing sundry ideas at the back of your head. Back to your bedside stories. Then back to reality. And like a brewing liquor there is an overflow of ideas over twilight cinnamon.

* * *

Stream-of-consciousness is a phrase used to describe the procession of thoughts passing through the mind. But fictionist James Joyce unravels this method as a kind of selective omniscient point of view of the author. Not arranged in a logical fashion, but an array of sense impression and a bust preserved as a liberation of the human psyche.

* * *

This method is very effective in exploring the metaphysical world and enriching the imaginative perception of things as beings over cloud cuckoo land. Sink your eyes deep into the rivers of the unreal, then on the banks there is reality you can find.

DON'T READ, SAVE THIS

Online newspapers are a complete bollocks- if you get my drift.

I would like to think that print newspaper is more lapidary than online newspaper. Into the sea of visceral observation upon sceptical thoughts, newspapers should preserve orthodoxly the firsthand empirical accounts in a material where readers browse the content in full Monty. Dont mind whether its lackadaisical or not, mostly news are put that way. Digital revolution, for me, does suck. Though modern gadgets are fit to busy people with hectic schedules in a stiff working milieu, still rivulets of ethical flaws are queries left unanswered. Sure enough, youngsters of this generation prefer to use online newspapers. But I nonchalantly, being a youngster of my age, don't patronize this stuff. I LIKE THE OLD-SCHOOL NEWSPAPERS. More reliable, complete and easy on the eye.


Being a keen internaut (only the square PC), a term used to describe an Internet user, I seldom visit the news section because there are manifold links leading one to a rollercoater ride, same format and topic. But in doing so for quite some time, I Had gotten to know their names, in the foreign scene I remember "The Sun," which has news as almost half of the entertainment beat. Giving glimpses of America's ground-breaking news, there's the "The Washington Post" catering not just the sole window of America but the world as well. Last to rupture the ropes is "The Times," specifically "The Sunday Times UK." Obviously when I click BBC News on the web directory, there's a link of The Times which cordially taps my curiosity for a visit. Of course, this online newspaper is akin to the national beat of United Kingdom, as well as international news coverage.


On the other hand and to name a few in the local setting, of course we are proud that news had shifted into a higher gear, that is the solid online news interaction of the time. But I say it over and over again, online newspapers do suck. Its my perception. I like the traditional, old-school ones. Neither call me a stick-in-the-mud who's afraid of change, nor a stolid youngster of poetry... I dont give a damn! Back to business, some prominent online newspapers in the country are "INQ7.net," "Malaya" (online edition), and "The Manila Times." These, prior to information diffusion theory, are innovators in presenting a worldview of the reality and events equipped with videos and commentaries that print newspapers cannot give. Bone dry as the print, yet one can carry them everywhere. Unlike online newspapers, ethical motivation of readers may freeze to explore 'round the clock if their asses stuck on chairs without the 'escape valve' to do so. As media consumers, we have a call to participate and draw feedbacks from editors, who in turn feel the same way on the issue.


According to Dr. Katz, "The answer to newspapers' woes is not electronic. The structure, attitudes, and content of the printed version have not evolved in ways that would have kept the readers it used to have and attracted new audiences, the next generation. Unless papers take a close, critical look inside the newsroom, ventures out into the digital world will not guarantee their future."


I totally agree with Dr. Katz's assumption, yes the media are evolving and we become technocratic literates. But the question is, do media guarantee us with sufficient information (esp. online newspapers) that we inflict in ourselves, our behavior, and our future?


So my statement remains; online newspapers are a complete bollocks. Say you, say me- if you get my drift. Peace out, we're friends!

OUT OF TIME SPRINT

Days are numbered to aggravating the controversial turmoil between First Gentlemen Jose Miguel "Mike" Arroyo and editors from Newsbreak newsmagazine. The tiniest mote of misunderstanding becomes the giant political quandary in the prying eyes of the public. Manifold allegations shoot like rapid darts to besmear Mr. Arroyo's so-called good name, character and reputation as a steadfast public official. It's perturbing to play safe than belting the truth towards a psychedelic
assumptions of his blatant mistakes. Being a lawyer by profession, he must come out to the fold with a clear name and good reputation. But hapless circumstances strike like a bolt from the blue. However, casting doubts and taking strides in an unorthodox fashion might lead him face the music. And it's no wonder he is under stiff public scrutiny.


The recent class action suit against Mr. Arroyo is justified accordingly and the accused claims he was musunderstood. It's unforgivable in the code of ethics for Journalism to rebuff this indispensable principle once and for all. The plaintiffs, which are the editors, shudder in agitation that Mr. Arroyo, in the first place, should not have filed a case against them, which indeed urged them to push the issue and sue him in return. On the contrary, the media throw punches of valid evidences that would constantly oblige them to shove the class suit and settle differences in a complaisant manner. But Mr. Arroyo's arguments are consistent, telling the public that the media's testimonies are based on technicalities and a wrong interpretation of the rules, and other portents that may gradually clear his name are replete with empirical accounts. If people were to judge and rectify reality, it was Mr. Arroyo who misunderstood the role of the press. I, too, do believe him less and less.


In truth, it's not the press that bumps at every post. Take a glimpse at his grungy records... all are a plethora of corruption! Mr. Arroyo should be, more or less, putting his cards on the table before severe accusations slap him again in the face.


So out of time sprint, who do you believe?

OUT OF TIME SPRINT

Days are numbered to aggravating the controversial turmoil between First Gentlemen Jose Miguel "Mike" Arroyo and editors from Newsbreak newsmagazine. The tiniest mote of misunderstanding becomes the giant political quandary in the prying eyes of the public. Manifold allegations shoot like rapid darts to besmear Mr. Arroyo's so-called good name, character and reputation as a steadfast public official. It's perturbing to play safe than belting the truth towards a psychedelic
assumptions of his blatant mistakes. Being a lawyer by
profession, he must come out to the fold with a clear name and
good reputation. But hapless circumstances strike like a bolt
"It's my year, pig it boy!" from the blue. However, casting doubts and taking strides in

an unorthodox fashion might lead him face the music. And it's
no wonder he is under stiff public scrutiny.


The recent class action suit against Mr. Arroyo is justified accordingly and the accused claims he was musunderstood. It's unforgivable in the code of ethics for Journalism to rebuff this indispensable principle once and for all. The plaintiffs, which are the editors, shudder in agitation that Mr. Arroyo, in the first place, should not have filed a case against them, which indeed urged them to push the issue and sue him in return. On the contrary, the media throw punches of valid evidences that would constantly oblige them to shove the class suit and settle differences in a complaisant manner. But Mr. Arroyo's arguments are consistent, telling the public that the media's testimonies are based on technicalities and a wrong interpretation of the rules, and other portents that may gradually clear his name are replete with empirical accounts. If people were to judge and rectify reality, it was Mr. Arroyo who misunderstood the role of the press. I, too, do believe him less and less.


In truth, it's not the press that bumps at every post. Take a glimpse at his grungy records... all are a plethora of corruption! Mr. Arroyo should be, more or less, putting his cards on the table before severe accusations slap him again in the face.


So out of time sprint, who do you believe?