It's late at night again. It appears that I am only able to write at unearthly hours, perhaps I could ask my future universities to organize specially-timed examinations to coincide with these hours.
The Catholic News (My Mother's, I must emphasize) encourages christians to boycott The Da Vinci Code, and now my mother has warned me rather benignly that I am Not to watch that infernal satanic movie. I will make bookings shortly.
But on a less rebellious note I wish the church had more faith in its followers. It is rather easy to observe that the conspiracy theory in the Da Vinci Code is: a) hyped-up and probably exaggerated, b) draws very shaky links from even more shaky evidence, c) would hardly affect anyone who honestly believes in christianity. Faith is suspension of thought - Thus anyone who is sufficiently indoctrinated with faith would dismiss it as all hogwash instantly. If you ask me such a test of faith is useful in sieveing out the strong believers and also to gauge if their followers do actually understand what they believe in. The church is just scared of losing face la.
Elections are very silly. I won't put my two cents worth on the gomez issue, but Sylvia Lim sums it up very nicely when she says she's amazed at the number of permutations the PAP has come up on this. Permutations - what a lovely, mechanical mathematical methodological word. It event starts with a "P" too. She should take lit, that woman.
Last note: Ideas do not feel. They do not cry, do not bleed, they do not love. Yes I know this is from V for Vendetta. But to shed blood and tears, to tear down people's lives for the sake of an idea, to sacrifice oneself and one's loved ones and future for an ideal they cannot cry over, bleed for or love... I do not understand how there are people who manage to do so - the idea must be so captivating. Such an experience must be enriching indeed.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Ok I shall stop being boring and do what I do best - Whine.
You know how they say that the SAF is Suffering Agony and Frustration? Well you don't have any of that here in OETI, seeing how the most strenuous activity is probably the march from the monologue (What on EARTH is this anyway, how did a bunch of steel pipes that look like exhaust chimneys come to be called a monologue?) to the cook house. Which serves quite good food, fortunately. But I digress.
Anyway, yes, no Suffering Agony and Frustration, only Stupidity Apathy and Frumpiness. This place can make even the most cheerful people grumpy assholes, I tell you. Firstly, it is a bleeding workshop. That means a strange assortment of grease, exhaust and petrol permeates the air. To add on to that, everything in here (and the blasted goddamn army, because they have no sense of colour coordination), is green or grey. I know camo prints are in (actually I think they're out now but I still see these Project Runway wannabes on the streets who cut up their No.4 and use it as bermudas) but surely there is no need to convert the blasted COVERALLS for to camo print for god's sake. No one is going to try and find and shoot the unarmed PES C mechanic when there are dangerous commandos and guardsmen lurking around, duh.
And because this place is commanded by Warrant Officers (Read - inflexible old penises) it is a stickler for rules. Granted, they most of them are jolly fatherly figures, but the inflexibility of the school is ridiculous. Due to the financial year (Yes, segments of the SAF actually do run out of money) we were unable to obtain coveralls and safety boots for the first month, so for the whole blasted month we had to change in and out of smart 4 just to go for lunch. Why? Oh, CO say so, vest slack cannot go cookhouse. Duh.
Side note: CO looks like a pansy. He's white, fat, and sweats alot when he runs, which I have had the rare opportunity of seeing once in my entire stay in OETI thus far.
That said though, this is probably the best one can get in the army. At least I don't have to run up the hill, down the hill, round the hill, and along any other physical dimension the hill might probably have. The place is probably collapsing anyway, judging from the state of the building, and if it does then we'll all die a young tragic death. Yep, heaven in the army is a dingy workshop with Uncle Mimi. *
*Uncle Mimi – Affectionate term used for WSM 2WO Suhaimi, who bounces ever-so-slightly when he does a sedi ya.
You know how they say that the SAF is Suffering Agony and Frustration? Well you don't have any of that here in OETI, seeing how the most strenuous activity is probably the march from the monologue (What on EARTH is this anyway, how did a bunch of steel pipes that look like exhaust chimneys come to be called a monologue?) to the cook house. Which serves quite good food, fortunately. But I digress.
Anyway, yes, no Suffering Agony and Frustration, only Stupidity Apathy and Frumpiness. This place can make even the most cheerful people grumpy assholes, I tell you. Firstly, it is a bleeding workshop. That means a strange assortment of grease, exhaust and petrol permeates the air. To add on to that, everything in here (and the blasted goddamn army, because they have no sense of colour coordination), is green or grey. I know camo prints are in (actually I think they're out now but I still see these Project Runway wannabes on the streets who cut up their No.4 and use it as bermudas) but surely there is no need to convert the blasted COVERALLS for to camo print for god's sake. No one is going to try and find and shoot the unarmed PES C mechanic when there are dangerous commandos and guardsmen lurking around, duh.
And because this place is commanded by Warrant Officers (Read - inflexible old penises) it is a stickler for rules. Granted, they most of them are jolly fatherly figures, but the inflexibility of the school is ridiculous. Due to the financial year (Yes, segments of the SAF actually do run out of money) we were unable to obtain coveralls and safety boots for the first month, so for the whole blasted month we had to change in and out of smart 4 just to go for lunch. Why? Oh, CO say so, vest slack cannot go cookhouse. Duh.
Side note: CO looks like a pansy. He's white, fat, and sweats alot when he runs, which I have had the rare opportunity of seeing once in my entire stay in OETI thus far.
That said though, this is probably the best one can get in the army. At least I don't have to run up the hill, down the hill, round the hill, and along any other physical dimension the hill might probably have. The place is probably collapsing anyway, judging from the state of the building, and if it does then we'll all die a young tragic death. Yep, heaven in the army is a dingy workshop with Uncle Mimi. *
*Uncle Mimi – Affectionate term used for WSM 2WO Suhaimi, who bounces ever-so-slightly when he does a sedi ya.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Being in the army has changed me, I have become less of an intellectual snob than I once was.
I once thought that the mark of intelligence was sophisticated expression of complex ideas. It was once the reason why I dreaded conscription so much; the thought of having to live with people of differing minds seemed like such a lonely fate. I was afraid that no one would think of the same ideas I thought, no one would express them to me in a way I would understand, or worst of all, that everyone would just be just terribly shallow.
True enough, this was the case when I first entered BMT. I remember lamenting how every sentence was peppered with "fuck" and "cheebye" from both the superiors and my bunkmates. Worst of all, the only conversation topic that seemed to be popular was about girls, the only humour was about breasts dicks and other genitalia (that's reproductive organs, by the way). It cemented my impression of the ugly, stupid and horny army boy, and I often retreated to the smoking point in those days so that I could mope.
After all, there is some sort of nobility to be found in solitude, the dissociation of oneself from the masses.
And yet now I find that these people have true gems of wisdom to offer. True, they may not be well versed in the art of eloquence, and they may struggle sometimes in finding a sophisticated way to express. But sometimes their statements radiate with so much truth that even bad grammar, foul hokkien and broken sentences cannot smother them. More importantly, these people have found ways to express complex ideas using the crudest analogies and metaphors, methods which some would find distasteful or low-class, but I find intriguingly clever.
Intelligence comes in two parts. First, it is the ability to conceptualize and explore complex ideas. To take a concept, twist it around in one's mind, and build a three dimensional blueprint of the hows, whys and what ifs of these ideas. Secondly, intelligence is the ability to communicate these ideas to another, through the means that is most effective and most precisely describes the idea.
The ability to conceptualize and explore an idea is not easy. Take for example the statement "God exists". From a person's reaction to this statement we will see a spectrum of intelligences exhibited. From the unintelligent person we would see a simple acceptance without any questioning: The statement "God exists" enters his brain and stays there without forming any connections whatsoever with the rest of his life and experience. This person belongs on the Stupid side of the spectrum.
As we go up the spectrum we find more complex thought; the person may accept the statement, and then relate how his life experiences and other pieces of information connect to this idea of God existing. For example, he may think about how his life has been relatively smooth sailing, and that he has had many lucky breaks. Since God exists (this statement is taken to be true here), and God by its definition is a benevolent thing, his lucky breaks are evidence of God's existence. Or he may question the statement, citing examples of terrible disasters where god seems to have failed to intervene. Further up the spectrum of intelligence we will find individuals questioning the implications of these connections; If God exists, but disasters still happen, does this imply that God is not benevolent? Or that he is powerless? Or simply apathetic? Does God exist merely for some but not for others then?
To cut a long story short, intelligence is a mapping out of different pieces of information, forming strong connections between them by questioning every facet of the idea. The more of these connections that are formed, the more intelligent a person is. By itself, however, this facet of intelligence is useless, just as the artwork that no one understands is meaningless. The proof, and validation, of this intelligence lies in the ability of one to express it.
By the expression of a concept I mean using words, sounds or any other form of communication to allow another person to form these precise concepts. The words "God exists" therefore communicates the base idea, the words in the bible communicates the connections from this base idea. Yet sometimes one form of communication does not work: it is why the church employs pastors or preachers, people to select the most appropriate words to communicate in the most effective way the concept of god to the people in the church.
The Bible is an ingenious piece of literature, because it is so persuasive and yet its language seems to be deceptively simple. Using simple metaphors, simple parables, it communicates extremely complex ideas in a matter of words. For example, the concept of "Suffering" is examplified beautifully in the short story of Job, and communicates at once the nature of Suffering and God in a short, effective way.
Sometimes the most effective way constitutes of long, relatable stories. Sometimes they constitute using the least, but most relevant words possible. Prose, and poetry. Grandmother Stories, and Chinese Proverbs.
It is thus erronous to condemn a person who uses crude language as stupid and shallow. Just as it is erronous to commend a bookworm for being intelligent. The army has given me the opportunity of meeting counterexamples for both these erronous conclusions.
The old warrant officer who tells you grandmother stories is no less intelligent than the quiet bookworm who can only superficially scratch at the idea. The WO's story may be long, it may be full of grammatical errors, it may have foul language inserted at certain points. But at the end of the day the story is compelling - you realize that it is an effective example of the concept he is trying to illustrate, and it forms the connection between the idea and other ideas. Of course this is arguable if you're picky about bad grammar, but presumably the story is one that is sufficiently relatable to. Furthermore, the story alone covers most of the questions you would want to ask about the topic.
Take the flipside then, the bookworm. He will quote to you direct passages from the book about the topic he has read, but question him and he will falter. He may quote to you another passage, or worse, he will not understand what you are asking. Worse, he may try to use mathematical formulae, or sophisticated language, to cover up his inadequacy.
Intelligence, as I have said earlier, constitues of the conceptualization of an idea and the expression. The WO succeeds in both, as examplified by his story - not only is it a neat, accessible way of relating the idea, but it also covers all the connections that should be formed from that idea. The bookworm, however, fails to understand the concept in his inability to answer your question, and fails to express it in his mindless regurgitation of passages/formulae. The use of bombastic words and formulae, hence, is Not an indicator of intelligence.
Arguably, it may be true that sophisticated language is the most effective, precise and accessible way of expressing an idea. Yet a truly intelligent person will understand the need to communicate ideas, and hence to use other forms of expression at times when eloquence fails. The Stupid do no such thing.
The Stupid are not those who use "cheebye". Rather, the Stupid are the superficial - those who throw big concepts around without giving sufficient thought. They are the people who will swallow the Seven Core Values of the SAF whole, and they are also the people who will say Army Sucks. They are the ones who will tell you ScHoOL SucKs!, and at the same time say they feel a Deep Indescribable Nostalgia That Runs Through Every Corpuscle Of Their Veins Everytime They Walk Down The Memory Lane of School. Because these people are simply chanting these mantras because they are fashionable, and not because they truly understand any of it. They are moulded by the strongest ideas of the moment. And hence the Stupid are those with no personalities, no views, no opinions to defend - because the world tears each of these things down easily due to their inability to justify them.
Side note:
Coming to the realization that I don't need any more friends is liberating indeed. I love all that I have now, and I cannot afford any more.
I once thought that the mark of intelligence was sophisticated expression of complex ideas. It was once the reason why I dreaded conscription so much; the thought of having to live with people of differing minds seemed like such a lonely fate. I was afraid that no one would think of the same ideas I thought, no one would express them to me in a way I would understand, or worst of all, that everyone would just be just terribly shallow.
True enough, this was the case when I first entered BMT. I remember lamenting how every sentence was peppered with "fuck" and "cheebye" from both the superiors and my bunkmates. Worst of all, the only conversation topic that seemed to be popular was about girls, the only humour was about breasts dicks and other genitalia (that's reproductive organs, by the way). It cemented my impression of the ugly, stupid and horny army boy, and I often retreated to the smoking point in those days so that I could mope.
After all, there is some sort of nobility to be found in solitude, the dissociation of oneself from the masses.
And yet now I find that these people have true gems of wisdom to offer. True, they may not be well versed in the art of eloquence, and they may struggle sometimes in finding a sophisticated way to express. But sometimes their statements radiate with so much truth that even bad grammar, foul hokkien and broken sentences cannot smother them. More importantly, these people have found ways to express complex ideas using the crudest analogies and metaphors, methods which some would find distasteful or low-class, but I find intriguingly clever.
Intelligence comes in two parts. First, it is the ability to conceptualize and explore complex ideas. To take a concept, twist it around in one's mind, and build a three dimensional blueprint of the hows, whys and what ifs of these ideas. Secondly, intelligence is the ability to communicate these ideas to another, through the means that is most effective and most precisely describes the idea.
The ability to conceptualize and explore an idea is not easy. Take for example the statement "God exists". From a person's reaction to this statement we will see a spectrum of intelligences exhibited. From the unintelligent person we would see a simple acceptance without any questioning: The statement "God exists" enters his brain and stays there without forming any connections whatsoever with the rest of his life and experience. This person belongs on the Stupid side of the spectrum.
As we go up the spectrum we find more complex thought; the person may accept the statement, and then relate how his life experiences and other pieces of information connect to this idea of God existing. For example, he may think about how his life has been relatively smooth sailing, and that he has had many lucky breaks. Since God exists (this statement is taken to be true here), and God by its definition is a benevolent thing, his lucky breaks are evidence of God's existence. Or he may question the statement, citing examples of terrible disasters where god seems to have failed to intervene. Further up the spectrum of intelligence we will find individuals questioning the implications of these connections; If God exists, but disasters still happen, does this imply that God is not benevolent? Or that he is powerless? Or simply apathetic? Does God exist merely for some but not for others then?
To cut a long story short, intelligence is a mapping out of different pieces of information, forming strong connections between them by questioning every facet of the idea. The more of these connections that are formed, the more intelligent a person is. By itself, however, this facet of intelligence is useless, just as the artwork that no one understands is meaningless. The proof, and validation, of this intelligence lies in the ability of one to express it.
By the expression of a concept I mean using words, sounds or any other form of communication to allow another person to form these precise concepts. The words "God exists" therefore communicates the base idea, the words in the bible communicates the connections from this base idea. Yet sometimes one form of communication does not work: it is why the church employs pastors or preachers, people to select the most appropriate words to communicate in the most effective way the concept of god to the people in the church.
The Bible is an ingenious piece of literature, because it is so persuasive and yet its language seems to be deceptively simple. Using simple metaphors, simple parables, it communicates extremely complex ideas in a matter of words. For example, the concept of "Suffering" is examplified beautifully in the short story of Job, and communicates at once the nature of Suffering and God in a short, effective way.
Sometimes the most effective way constitutes of long, relatable stories. Sometimes they constitute using the least, but most relevant words possible. Prose, and poetry. Grandmother Stories, and Chinese Proverbs.
It is thus erronous to condemn a person who uses crude language as stupid and shallow. Just as it is erronous to commend a bookworm for being intelligent. The army has given me the opportunity of meeting counterexamples for both these erronous conclusions.
The old warrant officer who tells you grandmother stories is no less intelligent than the quiet bookworm who can only superficially scratch at the idea. The WO's story may be long, it may be full of grammatical errors, it may have foul language inserted at certain points. But at the end of the day the story is compelling - you realize that it is an effective example of the concept he is trying to illustrate, and it forms the connection between the idea and other ideas. Of course this is arguable if you're picky about bad grammar, but presumably the story is one that is sufficiently relatable to. Furthermore, the story alone covers most of the questions you would want to ask about the topic.
Take the flipside then, the bookworm. He will quote to you direct passages from the book about the topic he has read, but question him and he will falter. He may quote to you another passage, or worse, he will not understand what you are asking. Worse, he may try to use mathematical formulae, or sophisticated language, to cover up his inadequacy.
Intelligence, as I have said earlier, constitues of the conceptualization of an idea and the expression. The WO succeeds in both, as examplified by his story - not only is it a neat, accessible way of relating the idea, but it also covers all the connections that should be formed from that idea. The bookworm, however, fails to understand the concept in his inability to answer your question, and fails to express it in his mindless regurgitation of passages/formulae. The use of bombastic words and formulae, hence, is Not an indicator of intelligence.
Arguably, it may be true that sophisticated language is the most effective, precise and accessible way of expressing an idea. Yet a truly intelligent person will understand the need to communicate ideas, and hence to use other forms of expression at times when eloquence fails. The Stupid do no such thing.
The Stupid are not those who use "cheebye". Rather, the Stupid are the superficial - those who throw big concepts around without giving sufficient thought. They are the people who will swallow the Seven Core Values of the SAF whole, and they are also the people who will say Army Sucks. They are the ones who will tell you ScHoOL SucKs!, and at the same time say they feel a Deep Indescribable Nostalgia That Runs Through Every Corpuscle Of Their Veins Everytime They Walk Down The Memory Lane of School. Because these people are simply chanting these mantras because they are fashionable, and not because they truly understand any of it. They are moulded by the strongest ideas of the moment. And hence the Stupid are those with no personalities, no views, no opinions to defend - because the world tears each of these things down easily due to their inability to justify them.
Side note:
Coming to the realization that I don't need any more friends is liberating indeed. I love all that I have now, and I cannot afford any more.
Friday, March 10, 2006
It is 1:50 AM now. I could sleep, and I should, considering that I have what nonsense reflection trail later at 0815, but I am not in the mood.
Life is too short to be wasted away sleeping now. Tekong may finally be over, but the SAF will never stop taking my time from me, time that has now become precious and scarce. The Army will win you over not through NE, not through the numerous talks that your officers will give you, but simply by taking your time. By forcing you to make the best out of your time in camp, you are forced to invest in a life as a soldier ; by taking away time outside camp, they wash away your life as a civilian.
Rush to wait, wait to rush.
When I book out these days I feel like driftwood when I walk down Orchard. The people seem strange and foreign to me, I walk into people and bump into them, and then I just bumble along without a polite sorry. Sometimes I forget to stop at traffic lights, and someone has to pull me back. I no longer walk with the sense of direction and purpose I once had, and by that I mean that I no longer know exactly where I want to go, what I want to do there, and who I'm going to meet. Somehow I just feel that I've lost touch with so many things, with fashion, with music and books, and most importantly, with people.
Each book out lasts approximately 28 hours, give or take 3 hours.
Social interaction with people often involves an activity. The most common of these is, of course, breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Cancel breakfast due to the paying back of sleep debt, and we are left with two - dinner on saturday, lunch on sunday. These two windows are, to put it simply, insufficient. It is insufficient to meet all my friends, spend time with my family, and settle my own administrative matters. And so the solution is to cast away people - the judging process occurs, I decide which friends are be cut loose, and then proceeds to allocate priorities to those left. Right now I am able to comfortably allocate time for everyone (I hate the phrase - it is as those these people are nothing more than units that I must allocate resources to, when they are worth so much more than that), but I resent that I had to give up so many just to retain these few. I am left with less people in my life.
Admin time is 2130 to 2230
Administrative time is given every night so that the soldier can attend to his daily matters. These daily matters include the washing of clothes, bathing, sleeping, and other necessary day to day activities. It is said that a busy man is a happy man - only because he is too busy to think. Morale is high during route marches because the songs take your mind away from the fatigue. I am not depressed in camp - but that is only because I have not realized how miserable life as a soldier is, and what a shallow, unintelligent human being I have now become.
But I digress - my point is that I have too little time now, too little time for friends, for love, and for self.
Life is too short to be wasted away sleeping now. Tekong may finally be over, but the SAF will never stop taking my time from me, time that has now become precious and scarce. The Army will win you over not through NE, not through the numerous talks that your officers will give you, but simply by taking your time. By forcing you to make the best out of your time in camp, you are forced to invest in a life as a soldier ; by taking away time outside camp, they wash away your life as a civilian.
Rush to wait, wait to rush.
When I book out these days I feel like driftwood when I walk down Orchard. The people seem strange and foreign to me, I walk into people and bump into them, and then I just bumble along without a polite sorry. Sometimes I forget to stop at traffic lights, and someone has to pull me back. I no longer walk with the sense of direction and purpose I once had, and by that I mean that I no longer know exactly where I want to go, what I want to do there, and who I'm going to meet. Somehow I just feel that I've lost touch with so many things, with fashion, with music and books, and most importantly, with people.
Each book out lasts approximately 28 hours, give or take 3 hours.
Social interaction with people often involves an activity. The most common of these is, of course, breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Cancel breakfast due to the paying back of sleep debt, and we are left with two - dinner on saturday, lunch on sunday. These two windows are, to put it simply, insufficient. It is insufficient to meet all my friends, spend time with my family, and settle my own administrative matters. And so the solution is to cast away people - the judging process occurs, I decide which friends are be cut loose, and then proceeds to allocate priorities to those left. Right now I am able to comfortably allocate time for everyone (I hate the phrase - it is as those these people are nothing more than units that I must allocate resources to, when they are worth so much more than that), but I resent that I had to give up so many just to retain these few. I am left with less people in my life.
Admin time is 2130 to 2230
Administrative time is given every night so that the soldier can attend to his daily matters. These daily matters include the washing of clothes, bathing, sleeping, and other necessary day to day activities. It is said that a busy man is a happy man - only because he is too busy to think. Morale is high during route marches because the songs take your mind away from the fatigue. I am not depressed in camp - but that is only because I have not realized how miserable life as a soldier is, and what a shallow, unintelligent human being I have now become.
But I digress - my point is that I have too little time now, too little time for friends, for love, and for self.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Hee hello I'm back!
And very amused after hearing about chongs' escapades in new town secondary.
Anyhow, results in 1 hour. I am currently bald and coughing bloody hell up, because the disease from tekong never quite leaves you. Also, I am overwhelmed by the amount of news I missed during camp: Booking in only to find that Phillipines AND Thailand are in political booboos, Taiwan is being cheeky with China, bird flu is back, budget has strange not-so-inexplicable deficit and what not is a mental overload for me. Which is not good, considering i have a 38.6 degree fever.
Or so the thermometer says. I suspect that my body can't regulate its own temperature, hence in the sun my temperature just rises and my brain cells get fried but I don't notice at all. Until I realize that I can't quite process the simple movment of Holmar Senja Ta, (however you spell that) unless the clouds come and give shade.
Alternatively, it might just be the smoking that's causing my short term memory losses. Smoking Reds, Menthol Lights, and the occasional Sampoerna for the past 7 weeks has probably filled my lungs with black gooey tar that has somehow found its way into my brain and blotted out my memory cells.
Must do BMT reflections now. Oh whoopee.
And very amused after hearing about chongs' escapades in new town secondary.
Anyhow, results in 1 hour. I am currently bald and coughing bloody hell up, because the disease from tekong never quite leaves you. Also, I am overwhelmed by the amount of news I missed during camp: Booking in only to find that Phillipines AND Thailand are in political booboos, Taiwan is being cheeky with China, bird flu is back, budget has strange not-so-inexplicable deficit and what not is a mental overload for me. Which is not good, considering i have a 38.6 degree fever.
Or so the thermometer says. I suspect that my body can't regulate its own temperature, hence in the sun my temperature just rises and my brain cells get fried but I don't notice at all. Until I realize that I can't quite process the simple movment of Holmar Senja Ta, (however you spell that) unless the clouds come and give shade.
Alternatively, it might just be the smoking that's causing my short term memory losses. Smoking Reds, Menthol Lights, and the occasional Sampoerna for the past 7 weeks has probably filled my lungs with black gooey tar that has somehow found its way into my brain and blotted out my memory cells.
Must do BMT reflections now. Oh whoopee.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
I am very irritated.
I know its silly to be awake at 5AM. Added to the fact that I'm crashing orientation tomorrow, I really should be getting to sleep. But I am very annoyed with some people, to the point that whenever I close my eyes imaginary arguments run through my mind, and I find myself searching for truths that will hurt these people the most.
Betrayal is betrayal, wherever you find it. By betrayal I mean pretending to be on my side and then doing the opposite. I cannot believe that I wanted to trust these people - the utter stupidity of it all is more insulting than any other damage my reputation could suffer. I am hurt not so much by the divulgence of this, but rather the people who divulged it - people who not too long ago persuaded me that they could be trusted, that they were my friends, and that they would never do anything to jeopardize what I have now.
I have nothing else to say. I just hope I will not have to wade through a pack of lies tomorrow before I can assess the extent of damage and find out just exactly who is liable.
Goodnight.
I know its silly to be awake at 5AM. Added to the fact that I'm crashing orientation tomorrow, I really should be getting to sleep. But I am very annoyed with some people, to the point that whenever I close my eyes imaginary arguments run through my mind, and I find myself searching for truths that will hurt these people the most.
Betrayal is betrayal, wherever you find it. By betrayal I mean pretending to be on my side and then doing the opposite. I cannot believe that I wanted to trust these people - the utter stupidity of it all is more insulting than any other damage my reputation could suffer. I am hurt not so much by the divulgence of this, but rather the people who divulged it - people who not too long ago persuaded me that they could be trusted, that they were my friends, and that they would never do anything to jeopardize what I have now.
I have nothing else to say. I just hope I will not have to wade through a pack of lies tomorrow before I can assess the extent of damage and find out just exactly who is liable.
Goodnight.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Time is a great deadener. People forget, get bored, grow old, go away.
-Jeanette Winterson
The chapter Deuteronomy in Oranges is perhaps the most comprehensive chapter in any growing up book. Who would've thought that the Nature Of Time would be a concern in the developing stages of teenage puberty? But Time is important. How we make sense of the past dictates our identity - how we force fit it until it looks the way we think it is. In one over-arching chapter she touches on Identity, Voice, and Sexuality.
But this is not a Winterson review. Allow me to expound on my half-assed thoughts on the past. Its nothing new, I know. But they are significant to me this period.
The fact is that the past is a nebulous thing. Airy, gassy, ethereal. The events of the past do not have any real shape, they do not take form and press down on our memory. No, all we are bound to in our reimagining of the past is the physical objects that we are surrounded by.
And even then what are those? Inanimate objects - no mind, no voice. One may say, for example, that an empty glass of water is proof of the previous event of me drinking it, but who is to say the glass was not empty in the first place? Who is to say it was not someone else who drank it?
The person who saw me drink it. We then establish a very important point - the past is dictated by humans, making sense of the objects around us.
Those with minds bend the past to their will all the time. We choose to forget, we choose to remember, we choose to add siginificance, exaggerate, play down. Our power to do this is limited, of course, by the number of people who would oppose our will. If twenty people saw me drink the glass of water, for example, it would be hard for me to say otherwise.
And so in public events, the past is dictated by the collective will of the majority. But what of the private events then - what of those events that occur between two people, what of those events that occur within ourselves?
A question that has always haunted me (and I'm quite sure many others), was that if we were able to tamper with everyone's memory, would we then have the power to change the past? A useless philosophical question, no doubt, since it would be impossible to tamper with everyone's memory. But in the private context it takes on a damning importance.
I know this is old, but the fact is that everyone sees an event differently. When I say the collective will of the majority, then, I mean an averaging out of all the different perspectives. Some may have thought I drank the glass of water quickly, some may have thought I took forever - but all would agree that I drank it. The averaging out of perspectives is what goes on in history books, in diaries and records. "Seraphically free from taint of personality", to quote EM Forster's The Machine Stops.
An event that everyone sees holds no special meaning for me, just as a lecture that everyone agrees on holds no meaning for Kuno. I am not interested in this.
But when events occur between two people - that is where it gets complicated.
I believe that the reason why people often tell others their deepest darkest misdeeds, is simply to establish a stronger hold on the reality s/he perceives has happened. Because the deepest darkest misdeeds hold the most significance for us - the past of the event is elaborately crafted purely by our mind, and our mind alone. In our exposition of this event, then, to a trusted friend or confidante, what we really do is enforce the reality of the situation - we try to make our version the averaged perspective.
But why this insecurity?
Because events that happen between two people are terrifying. They are terrifying because they could very well not be happening - an event that you choose to deny, and I choose to deny, could very well not find its way into the world's averaged perspective. If I drank the glass of water with a good friend, I could persuade him to agree not to tell anyone that I did. Assuming I succeed, the glass of water could very well have been empty for all eternity.
People do not like this, of course. My friend is not likely to cooperate. because to bend the past to your will is an exhibition of power - no one likes to know that you're getting your way all the time.
Every event that happens between two people spawns two realities, assuming that these two people have minds. From these two realities, one reality will make it into the averaged perspective, the collective consciousness of the world. This one reality will be the product of the power clash between two realities, the product of the two people making sense of the event. The one with the stronger mind will have more influence to bend this event to their will, of course, the weaker, less.
The reality that enters the collective consciousness is a bit like a baby - it is these two people's contribution to the world. It is showered with love in the same way parents dote on their child as well - in order to gain attention from it.
So the fundamental insecurity over our grip on the past is understandable. Love is a zero-sum gain. If I love you, more than someone else, it is as good as saying I do not love this someone else. Milan Kundera illustrates it in Immortality, I'm too lazy to drag out the anecdote. Suffice to say though that the addition of "more than someone else" is superfluous - superfluous to the point that it betrays the speaker's euphemisms.
And so people will fight over the past, they will gossip, squeeze it into history books, write diaries, letters, videotape and snapshot. Ultimately we want to derive love from the world through our contribution to it. Private events are our babies - that is its significance. From birth, parents fight over what they want their babies to become when they grow up and go out into the world, they say he has the father eyes, the mother's chin, etc. etc. In the same way our perspectives on an event are coloured by our wills - our will to bend the world into the shape we desire, be it utopia or dystopia.
Monday, November 14, 2005
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Sunday, October 30, 2005
I am very fedup.
Perspective is an amalgam of interests, nothing more. People only see events in a certain way, from a certain angle, because it interests them that way - perspective is delusion.
I don't want a perspective. I want to know the truth, independent of people's interests, including my own.
Show me.
Perspective is an amalgam of interests, nothing more. People only see events in a certain way, from a certain angle, because it interests them that way - perspective is delusion.
I don't want a perspective. I want to know the truth, independent of people's interests, including my own.
Show me.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Hmm. My mother is vicious, indeed. I have a sore throat, and every dish on the table has copious amounts of chilli in it.
I suppose it is no secret that I am arguing with my family again, seeing how I stormed into school in very attention-grabbing civvies grumbling very loudly about how I got pseudo-thrown out of the house. (By pseudo, I mean that they will probably call me at night and ask when the bloody hell I'm coming back home, so it's not really counted). I swear my mother is a loony-bin sometimes - women, in general, are irritatingly menopausal twits.
On a side note, I really wish that people wouldn't ask me things like "eh don't you hate your mom" or tell me to report her etc. etc.
Every family interacts in different ways. To quote Leo Tolstoy, "All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Since not many families can claim to be happy, it thus follows that most families are unhappy, and hence unhappy in their own way. When you put four people together under the same roof for 18 years, the amount of contact and interaction is simply too much for all four to be happy. Heck, we have trouble finding lifetime happiness between two people, what more four?
But in the same vein, the 18 years has developed a system of interaction, a framework in which all four of us work to minimize the unhappiness as much as possible (Or to maximise the happy moments, but I feel pessimistic today). Me running into school and grumbling and whining is really part of this system of interaction - my mother knows, to some extent, that I have featured her as the Evil Witch Of The East amongst my friends. She accepts it, just as I accept that she will always be a crazybitch at times. In the same way, I accept that they will always impress upon me the fact that I owe them a living, and I accept that they will always pull this up when I argue with them. It cannot be helped, this is how it has always been done. The children will argue, the children will lose, the children will go out and cry boo-hoo.
Admittedly I have been unfair to them, demonizing them does little justice to the care and concern that they have, at times, shown me. Unfortunately, care and concern is never really appreciated by the children. As my mother often says (in hokkien), "sometimes feeding dog is more worth it than feeding children." It is a hokkien proverb - I think that in itself should say something about the system of interaction in most chinese families.
I hope you see that at the end of the day, all this childish provoking of each other is simply a time-worn drama that we have been playing out all our lives.
So I really wish people wouldn't ask me to hate her or report her or do other things that would tear down this delicate framework. I'm aware that this would appear to be the logical thing to say, but it simply shows that they don't understand. To do so would truly be ungrateful - not just to the effort my parents have spent bringing me up, but also to this constant system of interaction that we can always fall back on. You may have different ways of interacting with your family, and in the same vein so do I. If I don't stand on the moral perch and go "tsktsktsk" at my mother, I don't see why you should either.
Sigh I wish Suwee were here. She'd understand.
I suppose it is no secret that I am arguing with my family again, seeing how I stormed into school in very attention-grabbing civvies grumbling very loudly about how I got pseudo-thrown out of the house. (By pseudo, I mean that they will probably call me at night and ask when the bloody hell I'm coming back home, so it's not really counted). I swear my mother is a loony-bin sometimes - women, in general, are irritatingly menopausal twits.
On a side note, I really wish that people wouldn't ask me things like "eh don't you hate your mom" or tell me to report her etc. etc.
Every family interacts in different ways. To quote Leo Tolstoy, "All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." Since not many families can claim to be happy, it thus follows that most families are unhappy, and hence unhappy in their own way. When you put four people together under the same roof for 18 years, the amount of contact and interaction is simply too much for all four to be happy. Heck, we have trouble finding lifetime happiness between two people, what more four?
But in the same vein, the 18 years has developed a system of interaction, a framework in which all four of us work to minimize the unhappiness as much as possible (Or to maximise the happy moments, but I feel pessimistic today). Me running into school and grumbling and whining is really part of this system of interaction - my mother knows, to some extent, that I have featured her as the Evil Witch Of The East amongst my friends. She accepts it, just as I accept that she will always be a crazybitch at times. In the same way, I accept that they will always impress upon me the fact that I owe them a living, and I accept that they will always pull this up when I argue with them. It cannot be helped, this is how it has always been done. The children will argue, the children will lose, the children will go out and cry boo-hoo.
Admittedly I have been unfair to them, demonizing them does little justice to the care and concern that they have, at times, shown me. Unfortunately, care and concern is never really appreciated by the children. As my mother often says (in hokkien), "sometimes feeding dog is more worth it than feeding children." It is a hokkien proverb - I think that in itself should say something about the system of interaction in most chinese families.
I hope you see that at the end of the day, all this childish provoking of each other is simply a time-worn drama that we have been playing out all our lives.
So I really wish people wouldn't ask me to hate her or report her or do other things that would tear down this delicate framework. I'm aware that this would appear to be the logical thing to say, but it simply shows that they don't understand. To do so would truly be ungrateful - not just to the effort my parents have spent bringing me up, but also to this constant system of interaction that we can always fall back on. You may have different ways of interacting with your family, and in the same vein so do I. If I don't stand on the moral perch and go "tsktsktsk" at my mother, I don't see why you should either.
Sigh I wish Suwee were here. She'd understand.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
What is this sudden influx of jap-trance on puroeuro.com?! There's this song that goes Du-Du-Di-Da-Du-Du-Di-Du?!
Nevermind it sounds quite trashy, I like.
I am also slightly distraught that they won't play trance at onyx for post-prom. But I suppose, for the Greater Good, some personal sacrifices must be made.
Oh well. Cooped up at home studying and reading books in-between. Reading John Sloman Economics 4th Edition, attempting AJC Math Paper 1, Copying out Home Burial and reading Old Man and the Sea. Sounds very productive, yay.
Du-du, Di-Da!
Nevermind it sounds quite trashy, I like.
I am also slightly distraught that they won't play trance at onyx for post-prom. But I suppose, for the Greater Good, some personal sacrifices must be made.
Oh well. Cooped up at home studying and reading books in-between. Reading John Sloman Economics 4th Edition, attempting AJC Math Paper 1, Copying out Home Burial and reading Old Man and the Sea. Sounds very productive, yay.
Du-du, Di-Da!
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
You know when you write testimonials, characters blend into each other, and sometimes it feels like you're writing about yourself.
Or maybe I'm just Kookoo.
Any old how! Prelims have been encouraging, although not spectacular. Under the perhaps presumptuous assumption that my Lit is an A, (which pwns that livejournal-intellectually-pretentious-loser upside down nyeheheheheheheh) the grades that sit in the bag are now ABBC. Which is nice, but can be nicer, of course.
To the two J1s, good luck for promos and go get those As! Or Bs. Whatever. You shouldn't be reading this anyway you should be studying.
Life has been - what do you girls call it again? - Peachy, as of late.
Or maybe I'm just Kookoo.
Any old how! Prelims have been encouraging, although not spectacular. Under the perhaps presumptuous assumption that my Lit is an A, (which pwns that livejournal-intellectually-pretentious-loser upside down nyeheheheheheheh) the grades that sit in the bag are now ABBC. Which is nice, but can be nicer, of course.
To the two J1s, good luck for promos and go get those As! Or Bs. Whatever. You shouldn't be reading this anyway you should be studying.
Life has been - what do you girls call it again? - Peachy, as of late.
Friday, September 30, 2005
I don't understand how anyone can love rainy days.
How do you appreciate the gloominess that comes as thunderclouds gather? As they block out the blue sky, garnering darkness that becomes so oppressive it weighs down on the trees, birds, edging in on everything, rushing towards the inevitable point: self.
The rain comes and the cold, the cold. Being caught in the rain is all fine and dandy, the feeling of submitting oneself to the elements. But in your four-walled apartment, when the chill enters the room and the flip the switch for the florescent light, while the rain is outside tapping on your window. The chaos outside, trees dancing in a wild frenzy, flowers tossed by the wind, the man-made landscape in a rebellious fit of vitality.
You, inside. Cold, and alone with your dry desk and an empty picture frame.
When it rains, the heavens part and shed life-giving sorrow to the land. But I feel more isolated, more alone. I can only sit at the window-ledge, knees tucked in, and gaze wistfully outside.
The cold, the cold. It oozes through your every pore and sets in your bones, reminding you that your body alone is not enough to keep you warm.
How do you appreciate the gloominess that comes as thunderclouds gather? As they block out the blue sky, garnering darkness that becomes so oppressive it weighs down on the trees, birds, edging in on everything, rushing towards the inevitable point: self.
The rain comes and the cold, the cold. Being caught in the rain is all fine and dandy, the feeling of submitting oneself to the elements. But in your four-walled apartment, when the chill enters the room and the flip the switch for the florescent light, while the rain is outside tapping on your window. The chaos outside, trees dancing in a wild frenzy, flowers tossed by the wind, the man-made landscape in a rebellious fit of vitality.
You, inside. Cold, and alone with your dry desk and an empty picture frame.
When it rains, the heavens part and shed life-giving sorrow to the land. But I feel more isolated, more alone. I can only sit at the window-ledge, knees tucked in, and gaze wistfully outside.
The cold, the cold. It oozes through your every pore and sets in your bones, reminding you that your body alone is not enough to keep you warm.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
For some odd reason I find that I've very little to say whenever I come here nowadays, so much that when I see the white box I just type something random like "I'm bored" and decide that it isn't worth posting too many random one-liner entries.
It appears that today isn't one of those cases.
But any old how, I think that's probably because I've been too preoccupied with prelims to let my mind wander about the usual mopeydopey subjects. Prelims have been terrorizing most of my brainspace, leaving me little time to think about love and other such womanly issues that make for good blogging material.
Which is not a good thing, seeing how Lit S looms tomorrow. I humbly assert that I'm probably sufficiently prepared for a love question, but other than that I have no idea what I'm going to write about! I tried finding books that gave depressing perspectives on the human condition, but (and I know this is a very lame excuse) I haven't had time to read them! I probably wouldn't get through them anyway, I'll just huddle up in the middle of the book and cry into my blanky. I know I got very upset after reading Bell Jar (okay technically that isn't the futility of human condition, it's just whiny teenage angst, but still. It's powerful whiny stuff.)
Stupid girl fluff.
Jeanette Winterson is, however, very good. She is teh love guru, and she pwns everyone, and makes me happy in my bed eating chocolate under the sheets. See. Out there someone understands, that love is wanting to destroy and be destroyed. (Oranges are not the only fruit)
It appears that today isn't one of those cases.
But any old how, I think that's probably because I've been too preoccupied with prelims to let my mind wander about the usual mopeydopey subjects. Prelims have been terrorizing most of my brainspace, leaving me little time to think about love and other such womanly issues that make for good blogging material.
Which is not a good thing, seeing how Lit S looms tomorrow. I humbly assert that I'm probably sufficiently prepared for a love question, but other than that I have no idea what I'm going to write about! I tried finding books that gave depressing perspectives on the human condition, but (and I know this is a very lame excuse) I haven't had time to read them! I probably wouldn't get through them anyway, I'll just huddle up in the middle of the book and cry into my blanky. I know I got very upset after reading Bell Jar (okay technically that isn't the futility of human condition, it's just whiny teenage angst, but still. It's powerful whiny stuff.)
Stupid girl fluff.
Jeanette Winterson is, however, very good. She is teh love guru, and she pwns everyone, and makes me happy in my bed eating chocolate under the sheets. See. Out there someone understands, that love is wanting to destroy and be destroyed. (Oranges are not the only fruit)
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Monday, September 12, 2005
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Sunday, September 04, 2005
Anyway, I was thinking about ladder theory a few hours back, and, of course, wondering about the validity of its assertion with respect to girls being bitches. Are girls really power-grubbing bitches who will only take men who can give them as much as possible? Or is there some truth the the other attributes that they so often claim to be attracted to?
Part 1: Sincerity
Girls often claim that sincerity moves mountains. As though their hearts were mountains. Although some of them are fat enough to be.
Anyway! Sincerity. Yes it is often said that if a guy shows himself to be sincere enough, a girl's heart can be moved from the dark pits of despise to that warm fuzzy feeling, love. It is as though sincerity was some otherworldy quality that can drive the girl's thoughts away from her worldy concerns to accept him.
Nonsense.
What is sincerity to a girl? It is constant affection, sending gifts every occassion, writing cards constantly, buying roses every date. One must note, however, that the feeling that she is constantly on the mind of the other can swing both ways. What one girl calls sincerity, another calls desperation. Which term the girl chooses, is highly dependent on how ready she was to accept him in the first place.
Because sincerity is simply how much the guy is prepared (or thinks he is prepared) to give for the girl. (Not To, For.) And, surprise surprise, this is of course limited by how much the guy CAN give in the first place! The poor pauper cannot afford to be sincere! Girls cite stories of guys waiting at house gates in the pouring rain, but really now, doesn't the poor pauper have money to earn instead of sitting like some lovesick fool at a girl's gate? It takes more than a few hours of rain to wash away the petty complaints of a girl.
The truth is, the claim to sincerity is a sneaky ploy by girls to continue making themselves desirable to as many guys as possible. Sincerity is like the stick that dangles the carrot (the carrot here being the girl herself, for those of you who fail to see the metaphor). It drives the stupid donkey, and the idiot animal never realizes that he is being led. He believes he is fulfilling some higher ideal of sincerity, that he is allowing the girl look past worldy concerns into the deep richness of his heart. He is also, egregariously, an ass.
There is no one in love who will say his love his false, and no one whose love is false will let his prey think otherwise. Sincerity is a wasted word in these proceedings.
Part 1: Sincerity
Girls often claim that sincerity moves mountains. As though their hearts were mountains. Although some of them are fat enough to be.
Anyway! Sincerity. Yes it is often said that if a guy shows himself to be sincere enough, a girl's heart can be moved from the dark pits of despise to that warm fuzzy feeling, love. It is as though sincerity was some otherworldy quality that can drive the girl's thoughts away from her worldy concerns to accept him.
Nonsense.
What is sincerity to a girl? It is constant affection, sending gifts every occassion, writing cards constantly, buying roses every date. One must note, however, that the feeling that she is constantly on the mind of the other can swing both ways. What one girl calls sincerity, another calls desperation. Which term the girl chooses, is highly dependent on how ready she was to accept him in the first place.
Because sincerity is simply how much the guy is prepared (or thinks he is prepared) to give for the girl. (Not To, For.) And, surprise surprise, this is of course limited by how much the guy CAN give in the first place! The poor pauper cannot afford to be sincere! Girls cite stories of guys waiting at house gates in the pouring rain, but really now, doesn't the poor pauper have money to earn instead of sitting like some lovesick fool at a girl's gate? It takes more than a few hours of rain to wash away the petty complaints of a girl.
The truth is, the claim to sincerity is a sneaky ploy by girls to continue making themselves desirable to as many guys as possible. Sincerity is like the stick that dangles the carrot (the carrot here being the girl herself, for those of you who fail to see the metaphor). It drives the stupid donkey, and the idiot animal never realizes that he is being led. He believes he is fulfilling some higher ideal of sincerity, that he is allowing the girl look past worldy concerns into the deep richness of his heart. He is also, egregariously, an ass.
There is no one in love who will say his love his false, and no one whose love is false will let his prey think otherwise. Sincerity is a wasted word in these proceedings.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
You know I was thinking of that Lit S question, the bit about there are standards in villany as well.
Is very true!
My ideal villian has to be someone intelligent. Snape comes to mind. But yes I cannot settle for big brawny villians because they are quite simply, fit for nothing more than henchmen work. It is the brains that set the standard for villany. The evil mastermind, the insidious double-crosser, the sneaky thief. I used to play Tenchu on the PS, and once you've played that game you'll realize that simple hack and slash is no fun! It's creeping behind your prey, slitting his throat from behind, killing him so efficiently and silently that he'll never know what hit him, and leaving without a trace.
My ideal villian has elegance about him. His plots and schemes work flawlessly, they flow from planned event to orchestrated situation, leaving a trail of subtle deceit. He has every situation mapped out, has considered all possible circumstances and has weaved his intricate web of deceit seamlessly. And so from a seemingly simple act, the ideal villian will steer events along his planned route, leading whosoever he desires to play his designated role in the grand scheme. Cunning and charisma are his weapons, not brute strength and a scary physique. The ideal villian manipulates, he does not maim. He plants the seeds, and lets evil take root and grow.
And so I was telling Uni once that if I had to be an animal I would pick a snake. The serpent. Original sin was satan's greatest triumph, and very elegant at that too. In enticing eve to eat the fruit, the serpent planted temptation and doomed man for all eternity.
Is very true!
My ideal villian has to be someone intelligent. Snape comes to mind. But yes I cannot settle for big brawny villians because they are quite simply, fit for nothing more than henchmen work. It is the brains that set the standard for villany. The evil mastermind, the insidious double-crosser, the sneaky thief. I used to play Tenchu on the PS, and once you've played that game you'll realize that simple hack and slash is no fun! It's creeping behind your prey, slitting his throat from behind, killing him so efficiently and silently that he'll never know what hit him, and leaving without a trace.
My ideal villian has elegance about him. His plots and schemes work flawlessly, they flow from planned event to orchestrated situation, leaving a trail of subtle deceit. He has every situation mapped out, has considered all possible circumstances and has weaved his intricate web of deceit seamlessly. And so from a seemingly simple act, the ideal villian will steer events along his planned route, leading whosoever he desires to play his designated role in the grand scheme. Cunning and charisma are his weapons, not brute strength and a scary physique. The ideal villian manipulates, he does not maim. He plants the seeds, and lets evil take root and grow.
And so I was telling Uni once that if I had to be an animal I would pick a snake. The serpent. Original sin was satan's greatest triumph, and very elegant at that too. In enticing eve to eat the fruit, the serpent planted temptation and doomed man for all eternity.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Happy birthday weixian =)
Anyway I must blog down this scene at rouge.
Was around 10:30 I think, and they started to have this poetry recital in the middle of the club. So the hiphop music toned down, and this really pretty woman, dressed in a shimmering gold top and faded jeans, took the podium. She was carefree in her opening words: "Hello I came all the way from LA, can I have a little more applause?"
And then out came her poems. Her poems weren't the intelligent, short kinds that we're used to doing PC on. They were long, bordering on rambling epics. But they were heartfelt. Her images were beautiful, of playing scales like the rainbow, of God's smile in a clothes line. I remember closing my eyes in the middle of her poem on God and just smiling. No intelligent punchlines, no ending on a climax as purvis advocates.
It was not so much the poems. It was her, her gestures, her voice. She wanted to communicate the beautiful world she saw, to the dark club seething with savage energy. It was her hapless futility that captured my mind.
Did she know what she was doing? Did she? Here was a lady, a woman filled with an appetite for life, someone who saw the brilliance in colours and the vigour in movement. What was she doing, wearing the shimmering gold bareback top, standing on a podium that would later be filled with sweaty bodies, reciting poetry through speakers that five minutes ago blared bass and sex?
It was tragic. I don't care about the others who came after her, their poems sounded more like rap, it was in synch with the club. They talked of love, freedom, and other ideals in fashion. But here was a woman, the spotlight giving her an almost angelic halo, reciting poetry to nothing more than pretentious applause. Mid-poem she made eye-contact. I looked away. How many others looked away that night, before she found sincerity to hold her gaze?
Anyway I must blog down this scene at rouge.
Was around 10:30 I think, and they started to have this poetry recital in the middle of the club. So the hiphop music toned down, and this really pretty woman, dressed in a shimmering gold top and faded jeans, took the podium. She was carefree in her opening words: "Hello I came all the way from LA, can I have a little more applause?"
And then out came her poems. Her poems weren't the intelligent, short kinds that we're used to doing PC on. They were long, bordering on rambling epics. But they were heartfelt. Her images were beautiful, of playing scales like the rainbow, of God's smile in a clothes line. I remember closing my eyes in the middle of her poem on God and just smiling. No intelligent punchlines, no ending on a climax as purvis advocates.
It was not so much the poems. It was her, her gestures, her voice. She wanted to communicate the beautiful world she saw, to the dark club seething with savage energy. It was her hapless futility that captured my mind.
Did she know what she was doing? Did she? Here was a lady, a woman filled with an appetite for life, someone who saw the brilliance in colours and the vigour in movement. What was she doing, wearing the shimmering gold bareback top, standing on a podium that would later be filled with sweaty bodies, reciting poetry through speakers that five minutes ago blared bass and sex?
It was tragic. I don't care about the others who came after her, their poems sounded more like rap, it was in synch with the club. They talked of love, freedom, and other ideals in fashion. But here was a woman, the spotlight giving her an almost angelic halo, reciting poetry to nothing more than pretentious applause. Mid-poem she made eye-contact. I looked away. How many others looked away that night, before she found sincerity to hold her gaze?
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Sigh I am bored.
Let's see. Simple Plan is playing on the winamp now. You know that song they're playing behind the lost trailer these days? Aye. It's times like this that I realize how bizzare I am. Most people would hear self-piteous songs like this and indulge in them by identifying with the angst. But no, yours truly has to project these feelings onto a figment of imagination, and feel a sudden urge of motherly protectiveness.
I think I was meant to be a mother sometimes.
Anyway, I'm downloading Kidnap The Sandy Claws. Which is such a delightful song I could run around in my room chanting it again and again. They don't make songs like that anymore, like the munchkin song in wizard of Oz that becky/yixun sent me the other day. Or Superfragilackalisticespidelladocious. Mmhmm. Now its all angst or sex.
Oh whoopee it's done-
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS!
Let's see. Simple Plan is playing on the winamp now. You know that song they're playing behind the lost trailer these days? Aye. It's times like this that I realize how bizzare I am. Most people would hear self-piteous songs like this and indulge in them by identifying with the angst. But no, yours truly has to project these feelings onto a figment of imagination, and feel a sudden urge of motherly protectiveness.
I think I was meant to be a mother sometimes.
Anyway, I'm downloading Kidnap The Sandy Claws. Which is such a delightful song I could run around in my room chanting it again and again. They don't make songs like that anymore, like the munchkin song in wizard of Oz that becky/yixun sent me the other day. Or Superfragilackalisticespidelladocious. Mmhmm. Now its all angst or sex.
Oh whoopee it's done-
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS!
I'm sorry but I cannot help this -
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
LOCK HIM UP REAL TIGHT
THROW AWAY THEY KEY AND THEN
TURN OFF ALL THE LIGHTS
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
THROW HIM IN A BOX
BURY HIM FOR NINETY YEARS
THEN SEE IF HE TALKS
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
TIE HIM IN A BAG
THROW HIM IN THE OCEAN THEN
SEE IF HE IS SAD!
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
BEAT HIM WITH A STICK!
LOCK HIM UP FOR NINETY YEARS
SEE WHAT MAKES HIM TICK
Omg. That was therapeutic.
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
LOCK HIM UP REAL TIGHT
THROW AWAY THEY KEY AND THEN
TURN OFF ALL THE LIGHTS
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
THROW HIM IN A BOX
BURY HIM FOR NINETY YEARS
THEN SEE IF HE TALKS
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
TIE HIM IN A BAG
THROW HIM IN THE OCEAN THEN
SEE IF HE IS SAD!
KIDNAP THE SANDY CLAWS
BEAT HIM WITH A STICK!
LOCK HIM UP FOR NINETY YEARS
SEE WHAT MAKES HIM TICK
Omg. That was therapeutic.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Ooh I forgot to blog that - I felt a wave of aggression that day at Chinablack.
You know. When the pug-ugly guy came up with a pug-ugly face and wanted to whack Changwen. Really, such specimens of the human race shouldn't be allowed to exist, it's a disgrace to the rest of our species. I swear if he had done anything I'd have torn his eyes out. And broken his specs. And. I don't know. Mutilate him.
Which is funny, because I've never felt that violent. Must have been the alcohol.
So many Nasty Things have reawakened inside me this year. Sigh.
You know. When the pug-ugly guy came up with a pug-ugly face and wanted to whack Changwen. Really, such specimens of the human race shouldn't be allowed to exist, it's a disgrace to the rest of our species. I swear if he had done anything I'd have torn his eyes out. And broken his specs. And. I don't know. Mutilate him.
Which is funny, because I've never felt that violent. Must have been the alcohol.
So many Nasty Things have reawakened inside me this year. Sigh.
I am terribly sleepy still.
First things first I would like to thank tanyixun for bringing me to Morton's where I've probably had one of the best meals in my freaking 17.99999 years of life. Although there really was too much steak. Hah but I finishd it all I told you I was capable of great things. Along with generous servings of whipped potato and yummy mushrooms and broccoli the size of changwen's head. Souffle for two too!
Second things second I would like to congratulate Laichangwen on finally conquering his dreaded arch-nemesis, Chinablack. You'd think a life-changing club would have better decor though. And better music.
Third things third I have wasted the entire of today sleeping playing maplestory and moping. In other words, anything but studying. Fortunately all is not lost, it is 12AM and is just the perfect time to begin math, which due to its demonic nature is best left to the wee hours of the morning.
There is no fourth.
Now to tackle the life-changing decision:
Maplestory or Math.
The choice is clear.
First things first I would like to thank tanyixun for bringing me to Morton's where I've probably had one of the best meals in my freaking 17.99999 years of life. Although there really was too much steak. Hah but I finishd it all I told you I was capable of great things. Along with generous servings of whipped potato and yummy mushrooms and broccoli the size of changwen's head. Souffle for two too!
Second things second I would like to congratulate Laichangwen on finally conquering his dreaded arch-nemesis, Chinablack. You'd think a life-changing club would have better decor though. And better music.
Third things third I have wasted the entire of today sleeping playing maplestory and moping. In other words, anything but studying. Fortunately all is not lost, it is 12AM and is just the perfect time to begin math, which due to its demonic nature is best left to the wee hours of the morning.
There is no fourth.
Now to tackle the life-changing decision:
Maplestory or Math.
The choice is clear.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
You see, the problem with character change is that you can only do it from within.
No one. Not your friends, not your family, not even your beloved half can make you change successfully.
Because quite simply, we all express ourselves in ways we feel most comfortable. What dictates how comfortable we feel is our world view, how we view ourselves in relation to the world, and how we think the world views us.
And so the only thing that will change the world view is experience. Your peers may seek to alter certain ways in which you express it, but like that stupid law in econs, it's simply addressing a symptom that will manifest itself in other ways when you clamp down on it. The problem isn't in the expression. It is the expressor.
The end result of such engineering will be very contrived, I suspect. Life is complicated enough without having to add another layer between the thought and expression.
There are no shortcuts to change. Character flows with the ebb of time, and the currency of change is experience, or simply - life.
On another note:
It is odd. To come out top in society you must despise it, and society detests you for doing so. Yet if you do not despise society, it will, eventually, come to despise you.
No one. Not your friends, not your family, not even your beloved half can make you change successfully.
Because quite simply, we all express ourselves in ways we feel most comfortable. What dictates how comfortable we feel is our world view, how we view ourselves in relation to the world, and how we think the world views us.
And so the only thing that will change the world view is experience. Your peers may seek to alter certain ways in which you express it, but like that stupid law in econs, it's simply addressing a symptom that will manifest itself in other ways when you clamp down on it. The problem isn't in the expression. It is the expressor.
The end result of such engineering will be very contrived, I suspect. Life is complicated enough without having to add another layer between the thought and expression.
There are no shortcuts to change. Character flows with the ebb of time, and the currency of change is experience, or simply - life.
On another note:
It is odd. To come out top in society you must despise it, and society detests you for doing so. Yet if you do not despise society, it will, eventually, come to despise you.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Since tanyixun refuses to assure me that I am not insipid, I shall come back here to talk to myself again.
Attention span is very short. I feel like sleeping now, again, after spending most of this day doing nothing else but sleeping. Is it possible to be addicted to sleep?
An interesting question. If you notice, all other addictions are, after all, not unlike sleep. Cigarettes, Drugs, Alcohol, they all serve to send us into a state of oblivion where we stop mulling about life. Cough Syrups included. Is sleep, after all, not also a state of oblivion? If so, then is it not also possible that sleep is addictive?
I have stumbled upon a terrible fact of life. That thing we do at night, you know? We have become subconsciously dependant on it. And like all addictions, the more you indulge, the worse it gets. Come to think of it, withdrawal symptoms are quite similar to sleep deprivation symptoms.
This is ridiculous life is now an accumulation of addictions. Does this mean that the meaning of life is to run away from it?
Attention span is very short. I feel like sleeping now, again, after spending most of this day doing nothing else but sleeping. Is it possible to be addicted to sleep?
An interesting question. If you notice, all other addictions are, after all, not unlike sleep. Cigarettes, Drugs, Alcohol, they all serve to send us into a state of oblivion where we stop mulling about life. Cough Syrups included. Is sleep, after all, not also a state of oblivion? If so, then is it not also possible that sleep is addictive?
I have stumbled upon a terrible fact of life. That thing we do at night, you know? We have become subconsciously dependant on it. And like all addictions, the more you indulge, the worse it gets. Come to think of it, withdrawal symptoms are quite similar to sleep deprivation symptoms.
This is ridiculous life is now an accumulation of addictions. Does this mean that the meaning of life is to run away from it?
Today on the treadmill.
You know, treadmills have those little display things in front of you? Where you key in the nonsense like age and whatnot that doesn't really matter anyway? Anyhow, today I was jogging on the treadmill, and I realized that while you jog the machine displays a big red heart, on the display screen that you're constantly jogging towards.
And I burst out laughing.
You know, treadmills have those little display things in front of you? Where you key in the nonsense like age and whatnot that doesn't really matter anyway? Anyhow, today I was jogging on the treadmill, and I realized that while you jog the machine displays a big red heart, on the display screen that you're constantly jogging towards.
And I burst out laughing.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
It's happening again.
Being Aunt Aggie is a very trying job, I should think. I mean, cliched notions of emotional stress aside, one wonders what happens to a person when he hears about the joys and sorrows about everyone else.
For me?
I've come to realize how empty my life is. Sometimes Aunt Aggie wishes she had more problems herself so she wouldn't be sitting at home reading about everyone's problems.
She asks what is wrong. If I can empathise with these people how is it that I don't go through all these life-enriching trials and tribulations that they ungratefully bemoan about?
And then she realizes that empathy is only useful for living life vicariously.
Being Aunt Aggie is a very trying job, I should think. I mean, cliched notions of emotional stress aside, one wonders what happens to a person when he hears about the joys and sorrows about everyone else.
For me?
I've come to realize how empty my life is. Sometimes Aunt Aggie wishes she had more problems herself so she wouldn't be sitting at home reading about everyone's problems.
She asks what is wrong. If I can empathise with these people how is it that I don't go through all these life-enriching trials and tribulations that they ungratefully bemoan about?
And then she realizes that empathy is only useful for living life vicariously.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Moosic maek you lose kontrol!
Yawn I am so bored these National Day holidays have been so unproductive I have bummed at home doing absolutely nothing besides reading 1 chapter of Tarling and 1 history outline and beginning to read George Eliot. I still feel like wrangling the nitwit who stole my sloman, and yes all in all I'm still grumpy.
I did fall asleep in the sun yesterday though so perhaps I could add an accidental tan to my list of productive activities this holiday.
Five Weeks/Thiry Three Days to prelims according to Bao-en's doomsday clock. I feel like whining already lah. I've never felt so unprepared, for a major exam, for O's I'm quite sure I had the syllabus twirling in my fingers a month before prelims. Probably because I actually listened in class and stuff. Sigh. I'm only seventeen! I shouldn't have to deal with this kind of nonsense stress. My life should be mine to live! I shouldn't have to pander to this nonsense paperchase rubbish!
Sigh ok stop. We all know what must be done.
Moosic maek you lose kontrol!
Yawn I am so bored these National Day holidays have been so unproductive I have bummed at home doing absolutely nothing besides reading 1 chapter of Tarling and 1 history outline and beginning to read George Eliot. I still feel like wrangling the nitwit who stole my sloman, and yes all in all I'm still grumpy.
I did fall asleep in the sun yesterday though so perhaps I could add an accidental tan to my list of productive activities this holiday.
Five Weeks/Thiry Three Days to prelims according to Bao-en's doomsday clock. I feel like whining already lah. I've never felt so unprepared, for a major exam, for O's I'm quite sure I had the syllabus twirling in my fingers a month before prelims. Probably because I actually listened in class and stuff. Sigh. I'm only seventeen! I shouldn't have to deal with this kind of nonsense stress. My life should be mine to live! I shouldn't have to pander to this nonsense paperchase rubbish!
Sigh ok stop. We all know what must be done.
Moosic maek you lose kontrol!
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
Love changes changes everything
Love makes you fly and break your wings
doo doo doo doo ooh doo!
Love changes changes everything
Love makes the rules from fools to kings
Hahaha what a delightful song! Just makes you want to jump around in your room as though you were a fourteen year old who's just been asked on a date, doesn't it?
Love makes you fly and break your wings
doo doo doo doo ooh doo!
Love changes changes everything
Love makes the rules from fools to kings
Hahaha what a delightful song! Just makes you want to jump around in your room as though you were a fourteen year old who's just been asked on a date, doesn't it?
There is another aim.
Basing itself on similar foundations, when two souls collide, they become so inextricably intertwined that even when the harsh forces of reality tear them apart, neither can say that he has not been changed by the other. That is the aim - to live on in the other, it's like leaving behind offspring, it is another offshoot of that overriding motive that governs life -
Immortality.
Basing itself on similar foundations, when two souls collide, they become so inextricably intertwined that even when the harsh forces of reality tear them apart, neither can say that he has not been changed by the other. That is the aim - to live on in the other, it's like leaving behind offspring, it is another offshoot of that overriding motive that governs life -
Immortality.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Since I am very bored and still refuse to touch statistics, I'm going to see how much nonsense I can write now before I get tired of this.
Let's see. Right, now, I'm listening to Bizarre Love Triangle, you know, the one that goes everytime I see you falling get down on my knees and pray. Dismal, really, I have such a thing for songs that are high pitched and bimbo. For example, the song before this was Love Changes (changes everything) by someone else lah I forgot. But it was nice. I made the tempo quicker using that sound thing I have and now no other song quite captures that heady notion of love for me.
In front of me is Lady Lazarus. Which also reminds me that my LitS is probably going down the ga-gloop drain. I still haven't decided what to do, and after michael informed me that I'm not allowed to do Milan Kundera I'm left with one less option in the exam. Fortunately, it appears that it is one of the last papers in the prelims. Having added Death of a Salesman to my repertoire, perhaps there is time yet.
I have grown very attached to my room. In all certainty, I declare that I could spend the rest of my life cooped up in this cosy little getaway. The arrangement is so personalized sometimes I feel like this little room is an extension of me. It is alive, you know. It has a portrait of scorpio on the southern wall, and it pulsates with electronic bass. The only thing that stops me is the hideous green blinds (green!), and of course, Brian Lagman Ang, who insists that I go to school and waste my life away.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware
That woman is psycho.
And I have gotten tired.
Let's see. Right, now, I'm listening to Bizarre Love Triangle, you know, the one that goes everytime I see you falling get down on my knees and pray. Dismal, really, I have such a thing for songs that are high pitched and bimbo. For example, the song before this was Love Changes (changes everything) by someone else lah I forgot. But it was nice. I made the tempo quicker using that sound thing I have and now no other song quite captures that heady notion of love for me.
In front of me is Lady Lazarus. Which also reminds me that my LitS is probably going down the ga-gloop drain. I still haven't decided what to do, and after michael informed me that I'm not allowed to do Milan Kundera I'm left with one less option in the exam. Fortunately, it appears that it is one of the last papers in the prelims. Having added Death of a Salesman to my repertoire, perhaps there is time yet.
I have grown very attached to my room. In all certainty, I declare that I could spend the rest of my life cooped up in this cosy little getaway. The arrangement is so personalized sometimes I feel like this little room is an extension of me. It is alive, you know. It has a portrait of scorpio on the southern wall, and it pulsates with electronic bass. The only thing that stops me is the hideous green blinds (green!), and of course, Brian Lagman Ang, who insists that I go to school and waste my life away.
Herr God, Herr Lucifer
Beware
Beware
That woman is psycho.
And I have gotten tired.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
I have realised that perhaps I should move blog, if only to get away from the irritating name of pand3monia which I maturely selected in sec4.
In other news - Boycotting Prom seems like a splendid idea. Of course, that is only IF we get it to work.
First and foremost, while I don't deny the number of people saying they don't want to go prom is high, chances are most of these people are just saying that they're not going because alot of people are complaining and the correct conformist view is thus to boycott prom. However, on the basis of conformity, they will also realise sooner or later that everyone IS intending to go prom after all, and that they were just bitching because, well, JC life is about bitching. Thus chances are that they will also be sheepherded into going for prom.
Of course, this problem can be solved, if an alternative is given early enough. IF, and if, an alternative event is organized now, it can ride on the wave of bitchiness incited by the extravagant $88 that the stupid J1 councillors are charging us, and thus become an overwhelming success! Once a few people start subscribing for the alternative event, the sheepherd instinct plus the price factor will inevitably compel the rest of the population to follow suit.
Unfortunately, this is also the hardest part. No one will organize an alternative, because people are just too darn lazy.
As for me? I think I'll follow the crowd, sit around and bitch. Prom is after all a once-in-a-lifetime thing, even if it is a 88-mother-fucking-dollars thing.
In other news - Boycotting Prom seems like a splendid idea. Of course, that is only IF we get it to work.
First and foremost, while I don't deny the number of people saying they don't want to go prom is high, chances are most of these people are just saying that they're not going because alot of people are complaining and the correct conformist view is thus to boycott prom. However, on the basis of conformity, they will also realise sooner or later that everyone IS intending to go prom after all, and that they were just bitching because, well, JC life is about bitching. Thus chances are that they will also be sheepherded into going for prom.
Of course, this problem can be solved, if an alternative is given early enough. IF, and if, an alternative event is organized now, it can ride on the wave of bitchiness incited by the extravagant $88 that the stupid J1 councillors are charging us, and thus become an overwhelming success! Once a few people start subscribing for the alternative event, the sheepherd instinct plus the price factor will inevitably compel the rest of the population to follow suit.
Unfortunately, this is also the hardest part. No one will organize an alternative, because people are just too darn lazy.
As for me? I think I'll follow the crowd, sit around and bitch. Prom is after all a once-in-a-lifetime thing, even if it is a 88-mother-fucking-dollars thing.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
You know, they had it right in the time of sorcery.
Pissed off? Conjure up a fireball and incinerate those irritants! Bored with life? Go slay a dragon! Adolescent problems? Go jousting or save a damsel in distress!
This is the appeal of the online MMORPG. It is the chance to create a life, and solve all its problems with a set of ready-made solutions. All through the reflective monitor screen.
Oh, if only I had the power to conjure fireballs. Or rise from the dead like Lady Lazarus -
And I eat men like air.
Mm. Yummy. *burp*
Pissed off? Conjure up a fireball and incinerate those irritants! Bored with life? Go slay a dragon! Adolescent problems? Go jousting or save a damsel in distress!
This is the appeal of the online MMORPG. It is the chance to create a life, and solve all its problems with a set of ready-made solutions. All through the reflective monitor screen.
Oh, if only I had the power to conjure fireballs. Or rise from the dead like Lady Lazarus -
And I eat men like air.
Mm. Yummy. *burp*
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Ey ey ey ey ey ey ey ey.
I finished heart of darkness.
Apart from that, today has been happily unproductive, because my father doesn't want to teach me math. I have this sudden urge to go to school, and I am quite shocked. This is quite hopeless lah solitude is unbearable and the social scene is intolerable. Two ends of a string, with love dangling tensely in the middle.
Tomorrow then, I shall to go school and shuffle down the line.
Of course I must first figure out how to deal with the Case Of The Missing MC.
I finished heart of darkness.
Apart from that, today has been happily unproductive, because my father doesn't want to teach me math. I have this sudden urge to go to school, and I am quite shocked. This is quite hopeless lah solitude is unbearable and the social scene is intolerable. Two ends of a string, with love dangling tensely in the middle.
Tomorrow then, I shall to go school and shuffle down the line.
Of course I must first figure out how to deal with the Case Of The Missing MC.
This is most annoying
My father has found some erratic way to block Maplestory which has annoyed me to no end. To pay him back I shall spend the rest of the day figuring exactly how to get round this technological barrier he has imposed, and therefore, NOT studying.
See if you had just left it at that I would have played for about 4 hours and then gone happily off to Integration.
This is all your fault, Mr. Ng Tze Beng.
My father has found some erratic way to block Maplestory which has annoyed me to no end. To pay him back I shall spend the rest of the day figuring exactly how to get round this technological barrier he has imposed, and therefore, NOT studying.
See if you had just left it at that I would have played for about 4 hours and then gone happily off to Integration.
This is all your fault, Mr. Ng Tze Beng.
Monday, August 01, 2005
It is interesting to hear about the social structure of our juniors. To note the similarities, the petty differences, and all in all, to see how similarly (or differently) two batches of Junior College students can turn out.
You know, I scare myself. Booth was telling us, in heart of darkness, about this "first cause" that turns its light and dark side. Sometimes I think I struggle inside as well, I have a heart that's continually rotating on its axis showing different sides at different times. I can love someone one minute and curse him bitterly the other. I can be all smiles and all dagger stares the next. I attribute it to PMS jokingly most of the time, but I know that's just an excuse, albeit a rather appropriate one.
It is quite scary though. Booth was also telling us about how those who are sensitive, those who understand and believe in the ideals are Also the most vulnerable to savagery and violence (i.e. Kurtz), ala "extermine the brutes". Aiee what if you're right what if I grow up to be a psycho killer.
Imagine me laughing manically over some mutilated body, leaving a trademark sign carved in flesh and inscribing it on the walls in blood.
This is terrible.
You know, I scare myself. Booth was telling us, in heart of darkness, about this "first cause" that turns its light and dark side. Sometimes I think I struggle inside as well, I have a heart that's continually rotating on its axis showing different sides at different times. I can love someone one minute and curse him bitterly the other. I can be all smiles and all dagger stares the next. I attribute it to PMS jokingly most of the time, but I know that's just an excuse, albeit a rather appropriate one.
It is quite scary though. Booth was also telling us about how those who are sensitive, those who understand and believe in the ideals are Also the most vulnerable to savagery and violence (i.e. Kurtz), ala "extermine the brutes". Aiee what if you're right what if I grow up to be a psycho killer.
Imagine me laughing manically over some mutilated body, leaving a trademark sign carved in flesh and inscribing it on the walls in blood.
This is terrible.
Saturday, July 30, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
I don't usually do this.
But I am very happy today, because I passed NAPFA with a silver, which means I won't be shipped off to some tekong island right after prom! No rolling around in mud and filth right after the night of glitz and glam! No early induction into the ways of the military!
Yes I am very satisfied today.
But I am very happy today, because I passed NAPFA with a silver, which means I won't be shipped off to some tekong island right after prom! No rolling around in mud and filth right after the night of glitz and glam! No early induction into the ways of the military!
Yes I am very satisfied today.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Ow papercut.
12 to 1 is the dangerous hour. The hour when the world is asleep and you are not quite sure why you're still awake. It is the hour when brooding notions enter your mind. When despairs seeps in. 12 - 1 is the hour of Self-Piteous Thoughts, when the pit is at its widest.
In times like this we turn to people, or we go to sleep.
When we turn to people we expect a sympathetic ear. After all, most of us are more or less aware that we are indulging in self-pity when we whine. It is cathartic after all, and at the same time an indulgence in the ego, whining is always done so intensely or eloquently so as to portray the hapless whiner as trapped in a solution-proof crisis of catastrophic proportions that no one can understand or solve. But at the end of the day we all know what must be done.
And when we sleep? Oblivion, or dreams.
12 to 1 is the dangerous hour. The hour when the world is asleep and you are not quite sure why you're still awake. It is the hour when brooding notions enter your mind. When despairs seeps in. 12 - 1 is the hour of Self-Piteous Thoughts, when the pit is at its widest.
In times like this we turn to people, or we go to sleep.
When we turn to people we expect a sympathetic ear. After all, most of us are more or less aware that we are indulging in self-pity when we whine. It is cathartic after all, and at the same time an indulgence in the ego, whining is always done so intensely or eloquently so as to portray the hapless whiner as trapped in a solution-proof crisis of catastrophic proportions that no one can understand or solve. But at the end of the day we all know what must be done.
And when we sleep? Oblivion, or dreams.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
If I didn't know better I'd swear firas is -
Oh wait I don't.
Aye Aye am very happy. Have succeeded at self-discipline for 4 days! Now everything just needs to go my way and I won't get pissy.
Well actually, truth be told I've just traded in one evil for another. I downloaded maplestory out of utter boredom and pissiness one day and now all I do at home is whack up bouncing orange mushrooms.
In other news - I have to go to school at 7:30 now. I need to find things to inspire me to wake up other than brian ang's pissed-off face, which really will only have an effect for a few days, knowing me. Mmhm.
I swear though school is the utter waste of time, lessons are boring, no one notices if I don't show up anyway, and I'd be much better off at home whacking up slimeballs and studying. At home I'm in my element, at school I feel pissy. I swear the earlier I get out of the wretched institution the better off I'll be - if school weren't so downright sucky I wouldn't need to find all these methods of escape.
Is depresssing! The drab white-green-hospital-esque architecture, the dirty grey cement that makes the place look like a concrete prison. The off-white-green walls and dark blue chairs everything in this bleeding school lacks vibrancy. The only colourful place are the little small rooms on the third and fourth levels, but it's always taken up by twitty J1s and other J2s who rush to those rooms to mug. Miss Kathleen Tan is one of them very irritating when I want some isolation from school I run up to the 3rd floor and I see Miss Kathleen Tan doing her econs furiously in one of them. ALWAYS you know. Pisses the hell out of me.
Plus its always raining these days the bloody corridors are like a sewer lah there are puddles of disgusting blackish water lying around. I have to tiptoe around school, so that my precious new shoes don't get soaked in god-knows-what's-been-in-there water. And the place starts to smell whenever it rains. It smells of new concrete. The smell of a new building is intolerable. So, weather bad, environment bad, mood bad.
How do you keep your spirits up when the first thing you see right out the school windows is a FREAKING columbarium?! The air smells of smoke, and subconsciously, dead bodies. RJC, new or old, is not a conducive environment to study in. Heck, to call it an ENVIRONMENT even is being euphemistic. A hellhole would be more accurate. Mildly appropriate if you ask me, first this living hellhole, next up the fires of the columbarium. It's a wonder no one's committed suicide.
And don't get me started on classes. It would make me say alot of things that aren't fit for publishing. Suffice to say that there are only that many classes worth going for. The rest would be more productive if they were Breaks.
Forgive me if I sound whiny - I think in terms of complaint.
My ass hurts from playing maplestory too much. I need new chairs, or to play maplestory less.
Oh wait I don't.
Aye Aye am very happy. Have succeeded at self-discipline for 4 days! Now everything just needs to go my way and I won't get pissy.
Well actually, truth be told I've just traded in one evil for another. I downloaded maplestory out of utter boredom and pissiness one day and now all I do at home is whack up bouncing orange mushrooms.
In other news - I have to go to school at 7:30 now. I need to find things to inspire me to wake up other than brian ang's pissed-off face, which really will only have an effect for a few days, knowing me. Mmhm.
I swear though school is the utter waste of time, lessons are boring, no one notices if I don't show up anyway, and I'd be much better off at home whacking up slimeballs and studying. At home I'm in my element, at school I feel pissy. I swear the earlier I get out of the wretched institution the better off I'll be - if school weren't so downright sucky I wouldn't need to find all these methods of escape.
Is depresssing! The drab white-green-hospital-esque architecture, the dirty grey cement that makes the place look like a concrete prison. The off-white-green walls and dark blue chairs everything in this bleeding school lacks vibrancy. The only colourful place are the little small rooms on the third and fourth levels, but it's always taken up by twitty J1s and other J2s who rush to those rooms to mug. Miss Kathleen Tan is one of them very irritating when I want some isolation from school I run up to the 3rd floor and I see Miss Kathleen Tan doing her econs furiously in one of them. ALWAYS you know. Pisses the hell out of me.
Plus its always raining these days the bloody corridors are like a sewer lah there are puddles of disgusting blackish water lying around. I have to tiptoe around school, so that my precious new shoes don't get soaked in god-knows-what's-been-in-there water. And the place starts to smell whenever it rains. It smells of new concrete. The smell of a new building is intolerable. So, weather bad, environment bad, mood bad.
How do you keep your spirits up when the first thing you see right out the school windows is a FREAKING columbarium?! The air smells of smoke, and subconsciously, dead bodies. RJC, new or old, is not a conducive environment to study in. Heck, to call it an ENVIRONMENT even is being euphemistic. A hellhole would be more accurate. Mildly appropriate if you ask me, first this living hellhole, next up the fires of the columbarium. It's a wonder no one's committed suicide.
And don't get me started on classes. It would make me say alot of things that aren't fit for publishing. Suffice to say that there are only that many classes worth going for. The rest would be more productive if they were Breaks.
Forgive me if I sound whiny - I think in terms of complaint.
My ass hurts from playing maplestory too much. I need new chairs, or to play maplestory less.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
I'm fine I'm fine.
It is, after all, very unseemly to just collapse into pieces and become a blubbering sobbing slump. Tsktsk. So undignified.
Yes anyway the new mantra of my life is self-respect. Which I must stop throwing away so easily. Mhmm so therefore I shall start by saying no to the badbad things that I do in dark secluded staircases. One step at a time! Just keep chanting "no no no no" and I'll be fine.
Oh dear what if I become a prude now?
It is, after all, very unseemly to just collapse into pieces and become a blubbering sobbing slump. Tsktsk. So undignified.
Yes anyway the new mantra of my life is self-respect. Which I must stop throwing away so easily. Mhmm so therefore I shall start by saying no to the badbad things that I do in dark secluded staircases. One step at a time! Just keep chanting "no no no no" and I'll be fine.
Oh dear what if I become a prude now?
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Very randomly -
I'm developing a very unhealthy attraction to this bracelet-watch that my mother bought for HERSELF. It isn't very gorgeous or anything, but I'm just drawn to it. I suspect soon I shall wear it and find it actually looks quite good on me and then make another fatal fashion disaster.
Sigh.
I'm developing a very unhealthy attraction to this bracelet-watch that my mother bought for HERSELF. It isn't very gorgeous or anything, but I'm just drawn to it. I suspect soon I shall wear it and find it actually looks quite good on me and then make another fatal fashion disaster.
Sigh.
Friday, July 22, 2005
You should know something -
This isn't me.
Nope it isn't. I lost little old me a long time ago. So don't expect sincerity here. This is what all of you want to see, no wait - This is what I want to see.
You coined the term yixun - This is projectego.
In other news. Matthewseet's livejournal is annoying. Almost as annoying as Ken Jom's essay that Veluri photostacted. I may be annoying in hiding behind cliches and being afraid to say what I want to say, but these people lie at the other end of the spectrum. The disgusting self-indulgence and delusion is nauseating. The worst part is that they really don't have anything to back up these pompous claims.
If you think about it being conformist and being as deliberately different as possible are not quite polar opposites. In the end both seek to cover the self - the conformist assimilates into the collective identity, while the rebel uses it as a battering shield - all to cover up our fundamental insecurities about the moderate self we hide from the world.
This isn't me.
Nope it isn't. I lost little old me a long time ago. So don't expect sincerity here. This is what all of you want to see, no wait - This is what I want to see.
You coined the term yixun - This is projectego.
In other news. Matthewseet's livejournal is annoying. Almost as annoying as Ken Jom's essay that Veluri photostacted. I may be annoying in hiding behind cliches and being afraid to say what I want to say, but these people lie at the other end of the spectrum. The disgusting self-indulgence and delusion is nauseating. The worst part is that they really don't have anything to back up these pompous claims.
If you think about it being conformist and being as deliberately different as possible are not quite polar opposites. In the end both seek to cover the self - the conformist assimilates into the collective identity, while the rebel uses it as a battering shield - all to cover up our fundamental insecurities about the moderate self we hide from the world.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Love is escape.
Watch people, watch as they hook up in pairs and walk away from this world. Love is escape, it is, as Nette has told me Nicole Kidman said, two people agreeing to step into a fantasy bubble. Everything I have read has agreed on this: Love is defiance of the world, the escape from the Creator's Model as Milan Kundera puts it, or as Jeanette Winterson puts it, an escape like death.
Who would want to return to this world, once we have tasted love? Love, love, where time stops and there is only you and me. When they do return they are changed, burned, jaded, more mellow. Like embers clinging on for a breath of life-
They yearn for one more chance to escape and die.
Watch people, watch as they hook up in pairs and walk away from this world. Love is escape, it is, as Nette has told me Nicole Kidman said, two people agreeing to step into a fantasy bubble. Everything I have read has agreed on this: Love is defiance of the world, the escape from the Creator's Model as Milan Kundera puts it, or as Jeanette Winterson puts it, an escape like death.
Who would want to return to this world, once we have tasted love? Love, love, where time stops and there is only you and me. When they do return they are changed, burned, jaded, more mellow. Like embers clinging on for a breath of life-
They yearn for one more chance to escape and die.
Hellohello
Chalet fees are overdue! And as chee has VERY POLITELY reminded me, they need to be collected. Which means those of you who came and didn't stay pay SGD18, those who stayed pay SGD36 because we had such a measly number of people. Total bill's about 360 with drinks, yesyes so do pay.
(This is really more of a personal reminder, actually)
Chalet fees are overdue! And as chee has VERY POLITELY reminded me, they need to be collected. Which means those of you who came and didn't stay pay SGD18, those who stayed pay SGD36 because we had such a measly number of people. Total bill's about 360 with drinks, yesyes so do pay.
(This is really more of a personal reminder, actually)
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
I'm now taking a momentary break from math before the letters X and Y drive me insane. I swear math is the devil. Even studying history would be less torturous I swear grrr all these numbers dancing aroung the page in parabolic curves.
Math aside, once I'm done with this rather do-able inequalities tutorial I shall probably annotate another poem on frost before I continue on with The Powerbook. It is getting abit repetitive, though, as Winterson sometimes does. I mean, repetition for emphasis must be applied with caution, or it can lead to repetition ad nauseum. Nevertheless, its a good book for my idle horny mind to dwell upon just before I slumber off to lalaland. Especially the cover. Such tasteful nudity hehehe.
Yes but it's true you know. Book covers are very important. There is, after all, a reason why the dusty old versions are still stuck on the bookshelves, and why they need to continually find new covers to reprint classics. After all, apart from enriching the mind, books are also ornaments to be kept on a bookshelf.
I suppose I should insert a little bit here about CTs, which I am sincerely quite happy about, given the effort I've put in. We all need those little assurances that the effort we're putting in is getting us somewhere, and these CTs, beside Math of course, have been reassuring. Reassuring, but one must be careful of complacency.
Moonlight streams in from the window above. I curl up in my bed, dreaming of you as Jeanette Winterson educates me on love.
Okay forgive me. I must romanticize my life after all.
Hmm. It appears I have learnt nothing from The Powerbook.
Math aside, once I'm done with this rather do-able inequalities tutorial I shall probably annotate another poem on frost before I continue on with The Powerbook. It is getting abit repetitive, though, as Winterson sometimes does. I mean, repetition for emphasis must be applied with caution, or it can lead to repetition ad nauseum. Nevertheless, its a good book for my idle horny mind to dwell upon just before I slumber off to lalaland. Especially the cover. Such tasteful nudity hehehe.
Yes but it's true you know. Book covers are very important. There is, after all, a reason why the dusty old versions are still stuck on the bookshelves, and why they need to continually find new covers to reprint classics. After all, apart from enriching the mind, books are also ornaments to be kept on a bookshelf.
I suppose I should insert a little bit here about CTs, which I am sincerely quite happy about, given the effort I've put in. We all need those little assurances that the effort we're putting in is getting us somewhere, and these CTs, beside Math of course, have been reassuring. Reassuring, but one must be careful of complacency.
Moonlight streams in from the window above. I curl up in my bed, dreaming of you as Jeanette Winterson educates me on love.
Okay forgive me. I must romanticize my life after all.
Hmm. It appears I have learnt nothing from The Powerbook.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Sunday, July 17, 2005
This stinks.
I'm alone at home now. Normally I would enjoy the liberty and freedom that comes with the absence of my mother, but I just feel plain shitty now. I've rearranged my room, placing the hi fi speakers at the sweetspots for sound, but that provides little distraction. Not even the booming bass is enough to fill this room now.
It's too empty.
I'm alone at home now. Normally I would enjoy the liberty and freedom that comes with the absence of my mother, but I just feel plain shitty now. I've rearranged my room, placing the hi fi speakers at the sweetspots for sound, but that provides little distraction. Not even the booming bass is enough to fill this room now.
It's too empty.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Okay after that incredibly gross episode with my toenails, I come to you now, blogging with clean-cut toes that could do with a little filing and buffing.
And Then I find I have nothing to say -
So hence, Goodnight Ladies and Gentlemen,
Yes, the fifteen to thirty of you that come here each day -
May my next entry be more hygienic and fitting to your tastes.
And Then I find I have nothing to say -
So hence, Goodnight Ladies and Gentlemen,
Yes, the fifteen to thirty of you that come here each day -
May my next entry be more hygienic and fitting to your tastes.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
I am very upset. Very Very Upset. Completely Totally Upset. Four thousand years will not be enough to alleviate the distress I feel now. And you know that when I use hyperbole I am hardly ever serious.
But I am upset! My plans for this weekend have been dashed. To smithereens. I suppose I shall have to shelve everything I planned for another day. Oh woe betide me.
My day has been utterly ruined!
Whinewhinewhine.
But I am upset! My plans for this weekend have been dashed. To smithereens. I suppose I shall have to shelve everything I planned for another day. Oh woe betide me.
My day has been utterly ruined!
Whinewhinewhine.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
I am not myself today. I don't think I shall go school tomorrow.
I am filled with the emotions of others right now, dread, heartbreak, hope, confusion. It is strange, to be a vessel for these emotions which have no direct cause. I feel the heavy limbed weight of dread, the agonising ache of disappointment, the fantastical fluttering of hope and the whirl of confusion all at once. It is not tearing me apart, I am strong with these things. But nevertheless, I lose sense of myself. I cannot concentrate on this source based study I'm supposed to be doing.
I must do something. I must distract the dread, I must uplift disappointment, I must delude with hope, and I must sort out confusion. I must do something, but I cannot. The causes are not my own, I cannot find the solutions. Forgive me if I stumble, I am only trying to find your way in the dark. Or am I?
Rage has not infected me. No, emotions foreign to you do not demand that you do something for them as well. You do not understand his indignance, you do not understand his rage, you do not understand his betrayal. Can you really assert altruism in your efforts? I don't think so -
Catharsis must occur - You are really as selfish as anyone else Tim.
I am filled with the emotions of others right now, dread, heartbreak, hope, confusion. It is strange, to be a vessel for these emotions which have no direct cause. I feel the heavy limbed weight of dread, the agonising ache of disappointment, the fantastical fluttering of hope and the whirl of confusion all at once. It is not tearing me apart, I am strong with these things. But nevertheless, I lose sense of myself. I cannot concentrate on this source based study I'm supposed to be doing.
I must do something. I must distract the dread, I must uplift disappointment, I must delude with hope, and I must sort out confusion. I must do something, but I cannot. The causes are not my own, I cannot find the solutions. Forgive me if I stumble, I am only trying to find your way in the dark. Or am I?
Rage has not infected me. No, emotions foreign to you do not demand that you do something for them as well. You do not understand his indignance, you do not understand his rage, you do not understand his betrayal. Can you really assert altruism in your efforts? I don't think so -
Catharsis must occur - You are really as selfish as anyone else Tim.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
As you fall
Over me
Think of me
Think of me
Think of me
Think of me
Only me.
Kiss the rain
Whenever you need me
Kiss the rain
Whenever I'm gone too long
If your lips
Feel lonely and thirsty
Kiss the rain
And wait for the dawn
Keep in mind
We're under the same sky
And the nights
As empty for me as for you
If you feel
You can't wait till morning
Kiss the rain
Kiss the rain
Kiss the rain.
I think I've found a new favourite song. Abit old, true. But well.
Over me
Think of me
Think of me
Think of me
Think of me
Only me.
Kiss the rain
Whenever you need me
Kiss the rain
Whenever I'm gone too long
If your lips
Feel lonely and thirsty
Kiss the rain
And wait for the dawn
Keep in mind
We're under the same sky
And the nights
As empty for me as for you
If you feel
You can't wait till morning
Kiss the rain
Kiss the rain
Kiss the rain.
I think I've found a new favourite song. Abit old, true. But well.
I think - Please don't laugh now.
Nah. Anyway, I think the underlying issue of every human relationship is this: Emotional dependency. All relationships are defined by the degrees of emotional dependency, not just your dependency on the other, but also his/her dependency on you. The further the disparity between the two, the more messed up the relationship tends to get, I should think.
Take the example of a mother and son/daughter relationship. Mothers, especially, are extremely emotionally dependent on their children, they confide in their children, they love their children, they understand their children in a way no other human being can, and therefore come to be inextricably affected by their actions and decisions. Yet there comes a time when the mother must realize that she must step out of her offspring's life: She cannot allow her offspring to take up so much of her heart because inevitably, the son/daughter will leave. It is a painful realization that must occur though.
It arises from the conflicts of love, as I've learned in litS. The conflicts of love, because the daughter/son will come to love himself, his friends, and his life more than his mother. One could also say that the child becomes less emotionally dependent on his mother, he finds friends to confide in, he finds partners to cuddle with, he finds acquaintances who do not demand the tiresome level of tact and understanding a mother demands as a result of her emotional dependency. Perhaps they are part of the same thing.
I'm no expert on human relationships - I don't think anyone is as well. But, if you would forgive how unqualified I am, and give in to my assertion of equating emotional dependency with love, we see how maintaing love really is a balancing act, because disparity in the dependency will eventually kill love. I would think thats why relationships go bad - When we start out we find the dependency alluring - to take care of someone for men, and to be taken care of for women. (a gross simplification, I know, but let's stick with stereotypes). But as we go along the level of dependency changes. One finds that he's always listening to the other's problems, and becomes tired of it. One finds that the other is indifferent to what he does, and decides to drift from it. One is hurt that the other doesn't show the level of care and concern he expects, and cries over it. Too much, too little, too wide a disparity in the level of dependency is probably what kills relationships - we have to adjust accordingly.
To commit too much feeling too quickly to someone is fatal, when you don't know how dependent s/he is on you. Too much will stifle him. Too little is not so much of a problem, since the other cannot expect more in return, the worst is that the other will give up hope, and if that happens you haven't exactly "lost" anything. But give him too much and he will become complacent, because as becky the wise has once wisely told me, why does the other have to commit anything when s/he already "has" you in that sense? Give exactly how much the other is prepared to give as well - that takes intelligence and perception to figure out, and alot of experience. But I'm sure I'll get it right one day.
I think I have. For now.
Nah. Anyway, I think the underlying issue of every human relationship is this: Emotional dependency. All relationships are defined by the degrees of emotional dependency, not just your dependency on the other, but also his/her dependency on you. The further the disparity between the two, the more messed up the relationship tends to get, I should think.
Take the example of a mother and son/daughter relationship. Mothers, especially, are extremely emotionally dependent on their children, they confide in their children, they love their children, they understand their children in a way no other human being can, and therefore come to be inextricably affected by their actions and decisions. Yet there comes a time when the mother must realize that she must step out of her offspring's life: She cannot allow her offspring to take up so much of her heart because inevitably, the son/daughter will leave. It is a painful realization that must occur though.
It arises from the conflicts of love, as I've learned in litS. The conflicts of love, because the daughter/son will come to love himself, his friends, and his life more than his mother. One could also say that the child becomes less emotionally dependent on his mother, he finds friends to confide in, he finds partners to cuddle with, he finds acquaintances who do not demand the tiresome level of tact and understanding a mother demands as a result of her emotional dependency. Perhaps they are part of the same thing.
I'm no expert on human relationships - I don't think anyone is as well. But, if you would forgive how unqualified I am, and give in to my assertion of equating emotional dependency with love, we see how maintaing love really is a balancing act, because disparity in the dependency will eventually kill love. I would think thats why relationships go bad - When we start out we find the dependency alluring - to take care of someone for men, and to be taken care of for women. (a gross simplification, I know, but let's stick with stereotypes). But as we go along the level of dependency changes. One finds that he's always listening to the other's problems, and becomes tired of it. One finds that the other is indifferent to what he does, and decides to drift from it. One is hurt that the other doesn't show the level of care and concern he expects, and cries over it. Too much, too little, too wide a disparity in the level of dependency is probably what kills relationships - we have to adjust accordingly.
To commit too much feeling too quickly to someone is fatal, when you don't know how dependent s/he is on you. Too much will stifle him. Too little is not so much of a problem, since the other cannot expect more in return, the worst is that the other will give up hope, and if that happens you haven't exactly "lost" anything. But give him too much and he will become complacent, because as becky the wise has once wisely told me, why does the other have to commit anything when s/he already "has" you in that sense? Give exactly how much the other is prepared to give as well - that takes intelligence and perception to figure out, and alot of experience. But I'm sure I'll get it right one day.
I think I have. For now.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
I am about to cough.
You write beautifully?
Now I have coughed.
Hadri I think you're right you know the heyas have this whole network in school where they gather online and say nasty bitchy things that reveal the truth - they too are no more beautiful than us inside, no more talented than us, and no less arrogant or bitchy as their harmless facades would like us to believe. And it is a pity - the self delusion is simply nauseating.
You write beautifully?
Now I have coughed.
Hadri I think you're right you know the heyas have this whole network in school where they gather online and say nasty bitchy things that reveal the truth - they too are no more beautiful than us inside, no more talented than us, and no less arrogant or bitchy as their harmless facades would like us to believe. And it is a pity - the self delusion is simply nauseating.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
I am still bored. I have asked Hadri what to do with this newfound boredom with life. I have also asked Weixian. Hadri has, as usual, given me nonsensical answers. Except for that little bit about having a dream to give direction. Weixian has told me I don't have time to make my life interesting anyway, given the As. Which is also true.
So since I have found no solution to this problem, I shall just throw this problem away. Time to find a new thing to whine about.
I dwell on things too long anyway.
So since I have found no solution to this problem, I shall just throw this problem away. Time to find a new thing to whine about.
I dwell on things too long anyway.
Identifying too much with a fictional character is never a good thing.
The simple reason - All fictional characters are screwed up.
In their own right.
Now if all fictional characters are screwed up, and these characters are but figments of the author's imagination, we can say that the author's imagination is screwed up. If the author's imagination is screwed up, part of his brain is screwed up, and since, seeing how brains function, you cannot have only a PART of your brain screwed up, therefore whole brain must be screwed up. Since we think, therefore we are, so if our brain is screwed up our thinking is screwed up, and so is our existence.
I really am quite bored. That made absolutely no sense I can't even construct a proper argument, with all the weak links and unsteady foundation this one has. I suppose there has to be fictional characters that aren't screwed up, now lets see. Hmm. Oh dear the "screwed up brain" seems to have shut down that thought branch as a defense mechanism against its screwed up logic.
Can you? Even Snow White had her moment of stupidity, Cinderella and Rapunzel had poor lots in life, The Three Little Pigs had to lose two houses, Aladdin longed for a love that had to be wished for by cosmic mystical genies, and Beauty and the Beast was a premature love story.
What happens after Happily Ever After? Does Snow White develop an irrational phobia for Apples? Does Cinderella become pampered and spoilt, after rising to riches from rags? Does Rapunzel ever cut her hair? Do the three little pigs suffer domestic violence? Can Aladdin deal with the inferiority complex that every street rat who marries a princess must go through?
And most saddening of all - What if Beauty doesn't love Beast anymore because he isn't hairy and scary? If you ask me Prince Charming looked really pussified. I liked Beast better. At least the Disney one. With the furry mane and the regal purple cloak. So much more majestic and dignified.
I'm rambling nonsense again.
The simple reason - All fictional characters are screwed up.
In their own right.
Now if all fictional characters are screwed up, and these characters are but figments of the author's imagination, we can say that the author's imagination is screwed up. If the author's imagination is screwed up, part of his brain is screwed up, and since, seeing how brains function, you cannot have only a PART of your brain screwed up, therefore whole brain must be screwed up. Since we think, therefore we are, so if our brain is screwed up our thinking is screwed up, and so is our existence.
I really am quite bored. That made absolutely no sense I can't even construct a proper argument, with all the weak links and unsteady foundation this one has. I suppose there has to be fictional characters that aren't screwed up, now lets see. Hmm. Oh dear the "screwed up brain" seems to have shut down that thought branch as a defense mechanism against its screwed up logic.
Can you? Even Snow White had her moment of stupidity, Cinderella and Rapunzel had poor lots in life, The Three Little Pigs had to lose two houses, Aladdin longed for a love that had to be wished for by cosmic mystical genies, and Beauty and the Beast was a premature love story.
What happens after Happily Ever After? Does Snow White develop an irrational phobia for Apples? Does Cinderella become pampered and spoilt, after rising to riches from rags? Does Rapunzel ever cut her hair? Do the three little pigs suffer domestic violence? Can Aladdin deal with the inferiority complex that every street rat who marries a princess must go through?
And most saddening of all - What if Beauty doesn't love Beast anymore because he isn't hairy and scary? If you ask me Prince Charming looked really pussified. I liked Beast better. At least the Disney one. With the furry mane and the regal purple cloak. So much more majestic and dignified.
I'm rambling nonsense again.
There's school tmrw! Or today. Whichever you choose.
I am languishing with boredom. Being the jaded disillusioned teenager is a stereotype that's boring to fall into, boring to play out, and too comfortably boring. Boring-boring-boring. I'm not sick of it. I'm just bored. In the way the owner watches his dog chase its tail. It isn't a "I hate my life fuck the world" angst that would perhaps be more inspired or at least petulant. No, it's I am bored - That is a fullstop at the end of this sentence. And this one. So is this. Yes that kind of boredom.
Or maybe I'm just sleepy.
[edit] I could be interesting now but I might blow your mind. Away. To smithereens. So tata and goodnight. [/edit]
I am languishing with boredom. Being the jaded disillusioned teenager is a stereotype that's boring to fall into, boring to play out, and too comfortably boring. Boring-boring-boring. I'm not sick of it. I'm just bored. In the way the owner watches his dog chase its tail. It isn't a "I hate my life fuck the world" angst that would perhaps be more inspired or at least petulant. No, it's I am bored - That is a fullstop at the end of this sentence. And this one. So is this. Yes that kind of boredom.
Or maybe I'm just sleepy.
[edit] I could be interesting now but I might blow your mind. Away. To smithereens. So tata and goodnight. [/edit]
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Have finished watching Closer. Am now in a state of emo-ness, to use liyana's terms.
Is so sad. Sigh.
Anyway, I have of course done what I set out to do right after CTs - Get Piss Drunk. Which I did last night, with minimal vomitting! Haha ah yes while the taste of alcohol may suck balls it's all worth the delirious happiness and all that uninhibited talk. The world seems so full of possibilities, everything seems to be open to change.
I'm losing control, falling falling.
Anyway, since I couldn't go up to my house looking like a red lobster I stoned around at my swimming pool, and called up alot of people to keep me entertained. I think my phone bill has skyrocketed by now. And when I got tired of talking I just lay down and looked at the sky, with the stars dancing in my drunken stupor.
And then it was time to go back up.
Is so sad. Sigh.
Anyway, I have of course done what I set out to do right after CTs - Get Piss Drunk. Which I did last night, with minimal vomitting! Haha ah yes while the taste of alcohol may suck balls it's all worth the delirious happiness and all that uninhibited talk. The world seems so full of possibilities, everything seems to be open to change.
I'm losing control, falling falling.
Anyway, since I couldn't go up to my house looking like a red lobster I stoned around at my swimming pool, and called up alot of people to keep me entertained. I think my phone bill has skyrocketed by now. And when I got tired of talking I just lay down and looked at the sky, with the stars dancing in my drunken stupor.
And then it was time to go back up.
Friday, July 01, 2005
I hate multiple punctuation marks. It's very grating. Why the heck do people feel the urge to type with mutliple question marks?????? Or exclamation marks!!!!!
There is a limit to these things, as well as my patience. ONE question mark. (?) Or exclamation mark. (!) To express extreme disbelief/shock you may mix the two. (?!) NOTHING MORE.
So annoying.
There is a limit to these things, as well as my patience. ONE question mark. (?) Or exclamation mark. (!) To express extreme disbelief/shock you may mix the two. (?!) NOTHING MORE.
So annoying.
Boys and Girls of Every Age
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
I watched Nightmare Before Christmas yesterday. And I've just watched Home at the End of the World.
The book was much better. The movie turned it into mostly a single perspective from Bobby, which took away alot of the tension between the three characters that one experiences when reading the book. As a story illustrative of the relationships between three people and one mother, in choosing to use four perspective the book achieves an intimacy with the characters and hence a deeper understanding of their frustrations and failures that the movie loses in its one-sided rendition.
That sounded mildly like a lit essay. Oh well. Clearly not out of commons mood yet.
Next on the DVD watching spree - Closer. Have watched abit, beginning is good although the crash scene is a little corny. But since I experienced too many disruptions in my home I think I shall watch it again tomorrow when the house is quiet in the afternoon. Good movies require privacy and immersion.
Perhaps I'll embark on Lost In Translation before giving it to Yixun. Oh wait he already has it. Ey I remember I promised him something else, but I forgot what it was. Oh well. Finally, must rewatch Eternal Sunshine. No movie has ever made me happier.
Kirsten Dunst is so pretty in the movie! In the Gwyneth Paltrow kind of way. Tragic kind.
On a side note: The females in these four movies all have red hair. Sally, Clare, Alice (in the beginning), and Clementine. Interesting. What is it with women and red hair?
Wouldn't you like to see something strange?
I watched Nightmare Before Christmas yesterday. And I've just watched Home at the End of the World.
The book was much better. The movie turned it into mostly a single perspective from Bobby, which took away alot of the tension between the three characters that one experiences when reading the book. As a story illustrative of the relationships between three people and one mother, in choosing to use four perspective the book achieves an intimacy with the characters and hence a deeper understanding of their frustrations and failures that the movie loses in its one-sided rendition.
That sounded mildly like a lit essay. Oh well. Clearly not out of commons mood yet.
Next on the DVD watching spree - Closer. Have watched abit, beginning is good although the crash scene is a little corny. But since I experienced too many disruptions in my home I think I shall watch it again tomorrow when the house is quiet in the afternoon. Good movies require privacy and immersion.
Perhaps I'll embark on Lost In Translation before giving it to Yixun. Oh wait he already has it. Ey I remember I promised him something else, but I forgot what it was. Oh well. Finally, must rewatch Eternal Sunshine. No movie has ever made me happier.
Kirsten Dunst is so pretty in the movie! In the Gwyneth Paltrow kind of way. Tragic kind.
On a side note: The females in these four movies all have red hair. Sally, Clare, Alice (in the beginning), and Clementine. Interesting. What is it with women and red hair?
CTs are over and this post is one day overdue.
LitS was okay I guess. I didn't feel very insightful doing it though, so although I spam pages as I always do in Lit, I don't think I'll do very well.
Maths was a pleasant surprise! I think I can pass! Hoho.
I'm Hungry. I have weird Cravings I think I'm pregnant.
LitS was okay I guess. I didn't feel very insightful doing it though, so although I spam pages as I always do in Lit, I don't think I'll do very well.
Maths was a pleasant surprise! I think I can pass! Hoho.
I'm Hungry. I have weird Cravings I think I'm pregnant.