I really hope this pulls through. There's so much potential in this. Maybe none of you feel it as keenly as I do. But this could turn out beautiful.

Oh man. I am so freaking dead. I've racked up a ridiculous amount of debt. I am going to starve for 3 weeks.

So anyway. Zul's party. Then Rouge. Which I must rant about. I tell you that place is ridiculous I swear it was a cunning money making scheme. Firstly, for a UWC party, there were suspiciously few angmohs in the club. Which is such a letdown, because there were absolutely no hotchicks at all.

Not only that, they had bands playing in the club. I mean fair enough they were pretty good actually, but HEY. People come to clubs to dance! And not only that, even when the band left at 1, the DJ started playing some nonsense from the 70s or something it was terrible lah the music.

AND I never got to see my boobies!

I blew about 70 in Rouge. Thanks to its stupid ticketing fiasco which rendered my ticket invalid. I feel like crying now that the gravity of my debts have hit me. Hahaha. Shit lah.

Dear creditors. PLEASE PLEASE Give me time. I'll pay each of you all my pocket money at the start of the week lah I'll draw on my latent debtors to pay off my lunches. Arrgh.

And I believe Essay-Whoring must return. Same rate of Lunch for essay.

He was killed by a cellular phone explosion
They scattered his ashes across the ocean
The water was used to make baby lotion
The wheels of promotion were set into motion.

That summarizes what I was scribbling on my foolscap pad during History. After 2:30 i was sitting there like a dumb dimwit while everyone else around me was frantically scribbling away. This is demoralizing.

Come back please. Don't go.
Its all old material. I hope you know that I still chose to try.

This isn't the solution.
Then again nothing is.

Ow I burnt my finger with a lighter.
There's a tingly sensation with every letter I type.

Therefore no blog entry. Nehninehnipoopoo.

For your information dear, my "lulu" paper also ended up being photocopied for the rest of the level.

Hmmpf.

Its time to recapture what I lost a year ago. Life, in its essence, and the beauty of wonderment.

This entry will be cryptic just to let you know. Anyway I feel like I'm undermining all my altruist principles. But hey, they never got me anywhere. Its not as though I haven't come to grasp reality, its just that I've been refusing to reconcile the two. So perhaps this time it will all work out.

This is so exciting.

I find it quite heartening that child-abusers and paedophiles are ill-treated in prisons and other such criminal institutions.

Because it reflects, quite simply, that amongst all that grime and filth, amongst all the vice and sin, there is still that basic respect for the powerful innocence of a child. Even the worst crimminals have had childhoods, even they lament what it once was to be carefree and innocent. Such repulsion to those who would defile that purity is actually something quite comforting, especially amongst what is supposedly the uncivillized, inhumane and primal segment of society.

Perhaps no one is ever incorrigible. There is always the child to appeal to.

Yixun, on Phillip Larkin:

| RJC.IceGod | being brave lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood says:
MY IDOL!
§-<+!m>-§ abandon thought and let the dream descend~ says:
i know
| RJC.IceGod | being brave lets no one off the grave. Death is no different whined at than withstood says:
I SHALL START LOOKING AT KIDDIE PORN!

As if he hasn't already.

Who's more pathetic? The simple me blogging about my daily troubles and tribulations as a form of dealing with them, or the voyeuristic you who sneaks anonymously around blogs and tags pathetic attempts to be sarcastic and vindictive while you squat in front of your computer thinking about what a failure your life has been? That's a rhetorical question by the way, in case it failed to register in that miniscule thing you call a brain.

This is childish. But, hey.

Haha Ken yeah I remember you telling me once. Long ago. Gah.

This is the night. While the science students mug in all their glory for what would be the arts student's easiest subject: General Paper. This is the night where articles about politics and law are pulled out, in a desperate attempt to beef up the content of that unborn essay that they claim to be their brainchild.

This is the only night where the arts student need not study. And he pays for it with a bombshell of scholarship opportunities, a narrowed path onto the careers of Law, Journalism, or Teaching, and overall, a reputation for being uninterested delinquents who have no passion for studies at all.

One wonders if all is worth it.

Hello darlings =). Fuck all of you!

Anyway I like people who care about me. They let me know my efforts to be tolerable have not gone down the drain into some deep self-absorbed abyss. That's keith and liyana, and the others who asked why I'm moping like a depressed fuck on my blog.

Well this is teenage angst crystallized with the pain of puberty. God I love that line. Zz.

Its time I brought myself back out. I remember vowing to make this blog as impersonal and reader-friendly as possible. Now I decide not. I have suppressed myself too much for far too many people, and I've decided that some just aren't worth it. Brace yourself, the bitch will be back. Soon.

Anyway, today while studying with clara I met julie at guthrie house. Haha I haven't seen her in such a long time. I also found out some very very very disturbing facts about venezia there. Let me share them with you:

1) Have you ever wondered where the ice cream goes when the day ends? Well wonder no more, Tim has the answers! The ice cream is dumped back into this huge pot, where it is mixed with the new batch so that next morning, the poor minions of the evil boss can scoop it out into the pretty tubs you see on display! So much for fresh ice cream everyday.

2) The area of 6th avenue is populated with rich fucks. Rich drunk fucks, I might add. I was studying with clara till about 10:30, when this really red man came in and ordered an ice cream. Then he started screaming his lungs off at hamzah telling her that he's not happy with her attitude and blah blah blah. I told clara in very loud terms that that guy has a problem, but I think he didn't hear. How pathetic.

3) You know the cute colourful plastic spoons you scoop your delicious ice cream in? Well a deep dark secret lurks behind them. 53699535 customers have also used that very spoon you were licking just now. Yes ladies and gentlemen, that godforsaken place reuses their spoons, they get the poor minions to wash the plastic spoons at the end of everyday. So when you eat venezia ice cream, you're actually tasting the leftover saliva of the other 593795 customers who also thought that venezia was a hygenic and pleasantly clean place. It might add flavour though, who knows?

4) The boss there is a mean fuck. He gives a measly 5 dollars per hour, and treats his employees like poopoo. Enough said.

That's all for Tim's Fun-Facts on Venezia at Guthrie House. Till next time =)

Disclaimer: All that is written on this blog is purely the opinion of the writer. The writer does not seek to defame venezia in anyway whatsoever, nor to make any comment on the standard of sanitation in that godforsaken place. All information here is privy to the writer and may not be quoted in any form whatsoever, and the writer will not be responsible for any damages arising from the use of his opinions.

Random: liyana its quite scary the way we blog about the same thing.

Okay I am feeling better now. With whatnot positive influences in my life. To be more specific, ln2 = ln times 2. Oh my god I still cannot stop laughing.

But tomorrow I will face all of you again. And tomorrow it will depress me once more.

I'm so happy there's lit S. It makes school worth going for. No this isn't an open invitation to suck up to purvis, its really one of the lessons that I learn something from and I feel engages me intellectually. Its something that can actually inspire me to read on and whatnot. Bah if only all my lessons were "S" I'm sure I could find it in myself to become involved and interested in them. Econs especially, not that blaps is a bad teacher, but I think its a subject that could be so much more open for argument and discussion, especially now that it's macroeconomy. Though its a pity really, the lecture system. Its devoid of intimacy with the teacher. Hmm that sounded quite gross.

Oh I was just reading the scholarship section of the papers today. And I am very depressed. The only one I look remotely interested in is the Teaching Scholarship, where they allow for languages. Otherwise clearly no one else wants me. They have all the nonsensical science scholarships which remind me of the foolishness of taking the arts course, and they also have associated "Outstanding CCA Records and Leadership Qualities" peppered across the page, which on seeing I immediately push that scholarship to the back of my brain.

I'm doomed to a life of mediocrity. So much for my immortality.

It just struck me today, what's different about me:

I. Have. Become. More. Sensitive.

Ooh revelation revelation.

The logical question of course would be in which way sensitive? Haha oops sorry not doing G.P. I tell you the logical question approach is quite silly, if you ask me frankly. Not that I have anything against Veluri, but really, as if there is a need to state the obvious mental link between stating something and explaining it. I should think it comes naturally, for when writing essays the desire is to communicate, and thus in order for someone to understand what you're writing about, the most fundamental criteria is that you explain what you're saying. But nevermind that silly lengthy rant about the stupidity of the GP approach.

I think I've become more sensitive in both ways. Unfortunately neither with very good outcomes. I've become more sensitive to people, but conversely, that has had a negative effect on myself. I've become more inhibited, because I'm so afraid of offending, and sometimes I get so many mixed signals and differing interpretations I become trapped in my own intertia, thinking too much into too many things. I miss my simple directness and cutting frankness that could convey completely my sincerity. But well. I guess it explains my new-found shyness in meeting new people as well, I'm all too aware of how so many things can offend.

I've also become more sensitive in terms of being affected. The only person who really hurt me emotionally before was. Well. Someone. One person. But yes, besides that, secondary school life never had the emotional dimensions of my life now. It was fun-filled slime-fest where the kick was in seeing who could push the boundaries furthest in terms of insults. Now I find myself affected by simple actions on the part of others, simple actions that probably don't have that much meaning, simple actions that don't carry as much rejection as I think they do. Lots of things disturb me and make me feel forgotten these days. Things I know wouldn't have had such a distressing effect on me before.

I'd hate to admit it, but one of my life's desires is to be on everyone's mind forever.

I screw myself up as I grow up. I wonder what will happen when I hit 34. Yes Nasty, I wonder.

I write this in the hope that all understand. This very act is pathetic in the extreme, the obvious reflection of all that is written.

Is this naught but a selfish act of redemption?

There is no way out. Every path leads to potential disaster. Simple "I hope you feel betters" do cliched nothings. To list your options would seem cuttingly pragmatic, emotionally unflinching and cold. Yet to say that I empathise is presumptuous, because I am not in your predicament. I tread softly on these grounds, because every footstep is potential for an emotional pitfall.

Comfort is a tangly business. No where else can intent be so easily lost in the miasma of sorrow and frustration.

For all it takes is a quick lash of the tongue. The sharp recognition that all is for personal katharsis in the end. To assauge the need to do something in the face of the trauma. Once it is acknowledged, though, there can be no turning back. Its acknowledgement cuts off the spring from which such sentiments rise, clogs it with the silt of self-righteousness and necessity.

Perhaps you will understand why I am silent. Maybe you will forgive my fumbled efforts. Know that it is with these considerations that I chose still to try, and know that such odds, are simply undefeatable.