Friday, August 8, 2003
06:51 p.m.
i wonder why everybody's blog is so depressing to read. the only exceptions are probably jik and kiat and kumweng and some mf my seniors like like sz and jh, but by god! and people like mike and cheeho please cheer up? i mean there's -got- to be something you like doing right? man... i know jik's Life Is Like A Sine Curve theory is quite true, but for some reason the dy/dx of your lives are like always <0. try to keep your chin up ya?
i admit there are times that can be very depressing [like i was really depressed the last two days, and self-mutilation is not a viable solution for all those who think about it. i know. trust me.] but these times do end regardless of how you think about it. there's always light at the end of the tunnel. if there isn't, just dig till you see that there is.
if you need someone to talk to, i'm always here. i don't wanna see 02.4o dissolve cos of things like too much work work, relationships and stuff. if there's too much work, dun do it. if it's relationships, break up. if it's parents, run away from home or something. or you know just talk. we've been through a lot and whether you believe it or not, i do care. it's depressing to read mike's and chee's blogs. there's so much more to life than just moaning and grovelling in self pity.
and to kumweng, if you're reading this here's my answer: i've thought about it and i've decided to just keep things the way they are now. i like to live in the moment as you know, and i think i'll keep it this way. thanks for everything dude. you're a great person to talk to.
the red letters on my wrist don't hurt now. they're healing as time heals everything. everytime i look at them, i remind myself of why i did it. it's hard to understand. but as long as you look again and remember, it's okay if it isn't there anymore. the heart holds the real thing, no matter what anybody tells you.
to her, you know i love you.
thanks for being there.
Sunday, August 3, 2003
10:18 p.m.
oh baby...
tommy's fridge [for jan]
Sunday, August 3, 2003
06:00 p.m.
there's a fridge in tommy's kitchen.
it's white, square and it hums; like something from out of this world. and when you open the door, the cold steam rolls out and the light comes on, that same yellow white light like the ones in movie spaceships when the visitor comes out with his three fingered wave.
past the light there is the food.the top shelf has the drinks: the water, the chilled 1984 caberet sauvignon, the adidas squueze bottle of absolut citron and orange juice that he cops mouthfuls from. like a tonic to keep him happy through the day.
happy potion number 10
the solid stuff are at the bottom two shelves. the slightly smoky and icy shelves cos cold air sinks remember? there's the packaged left over chicken dinner from last night, the bottles of achar and sichuan picked tofu which he has never touched, the bags of fugi apples and australian plums he munches on when he gets peckish at night. a box of ginseng at the back of everything. eggs still in their carton.
and there's ice cream in the freezer, a small leg of lamb, the marinated chicken wings he bought on a whim. and tommy is confused. cos there's food in both the freezer and the refrigerator and he doesn't know which to choose from cos they're both just as good.
and so when he opens the freezer, he thinks of the food in the refrigerator and when he opens the refrigerator, he thinks of the food in the freezer. so he decides to alternate between the two; eating from one on one day, and the other the next. but he still has that naggy feeling of longing for the food in the other. the grass is always greener on the other side as we all know.
and eventually he thinks of a brilliant idea.now this is easy to solve, thinks tommy and off he goes to eat the food in both. chicken and plums for dinner and the ice cream [cookies and cream] as dessert. and he has the best of both worlds.
or so he thinks.
wool
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
09:50 p.m.
i like it,
its white in black, hidden silver
for a pirate to steal,
a pirate like me; to fondle to fondle.
if only you could talk
gray curves a gaping maw
silent like a whale.
you are my valkrie, you are the gail to my dwight,
i am overcome by
even the dark ozozo-ness, its smooth tension under the skin.
you are a landscape i sink into
like a downy quicksand. i sink to
the center
and it's pain like wooly wire cardiac arrest.
but it's not my heart that has stopped.
i cry myself to sleep
thinking of you. my zen.
we are as
bare rock on cold bare tile.
floss
Tuesday, June 10, 2003
09:05 p.m.
the warm concrete is against my back
steady, reasurring, something that is there
not like my head, flitting like a sprite
through the holes of a net. and if
i open my eyes and look straight ahead
i can see the moon, not full yet, not yet half
crowned in it's long spires of brilliance.
but there's gray in the white and the moment
is no longer perfect.
i lie under the warmth of the night
sweltering heat like a mother's womb
the moon's silver swords spear me like an umbilical cord.
under the words the
national junior college, there are webs in the crevices
muddy dust snug in their homes between the big plastic
Ts and Ns and As. i am
lower than dust and mud. they frame my hand
as i reach towards the moon and it's silence.
your face in my mind a tumour
your voice in my head a pounding blood clot,
the rabid alien is part of me.
and the phone beckons but it is not you
hadn't been for the past half hour
and i fall deeper in my pit as the moon stares on.
crane
Saturday, June 7, 2003
11:12 p.m.
never try to see the sun they said
it will blind you, make you dry and hollow
inside like the stems.
but in my square bubble high above
beyond even the ground's hold
i stay to reign, i am like a bug
under an enormous eye that i cannot reach.
the yellow melts into the sky
it is a palette of water-colours
that shimmers with brush-strokes.
i see the sun everyday i tell them.
and it doesn't blind me but i am
i am hollow inside i am diseased
i am dry like the cool metal
that surrounds myself.
solitaire update
Sunday, May 25, 2003
02:26 p.m.
new top score of 9304 in a time of 81 seconds.
Friday, May 23, 2003
10:40 p.m.
and i jut want her to know that
every waking moment of my life
i'm thinking of you
and nothing can change that
i love you.
[first nice blog entry]
Friday, May 23, 2003
09:59 p.m.
i think something is seriously wrong with my blog. i always thought blogs were supposed to be like some sort of diary online, which probably explains why diaryland.com is called diaryland.com. but my blog seems to be quite out of the ordinary.
i seem to be writing this on a request basis.
i plop an entry down here only when some people make some noise about me going to "start updating my damn blog!" and then i just dedicate the next entry to that person, and that's it. pretty weird huh?
kinda suits my slacker image i guess.
oh well, just got back form reading ol' jik's blog. it's quite an interesting read. i'll give it a four out of five popcorns. hey jik, maybe it's just hcjc, but in nj, most of the geppers are kinda cool and funky. there's people like me and haogen and some other geppers like mervyn from dunman and fabian from raffles. kiat doesn't count cos that fool actually studys some and doesn't look like the slackers like the rest of us are.
me and haogen are like just bumming around in nj and digging at each other with silly little insults everytime we meet in the canteen. the guy called mervyn generally just swaggers around and yells obscenities all day everyday. wonder how his throat takes it. he's a kiat kinda guy. he used to have orange-y hair and he has a earhole. the dude called fabian bums around with me when i'm not bumming with pretty gals [which is most of the time. haha!]. he has two lazy eyes and that probably got to his head and made him think that it was therefore alright to be like his eyes as well. me and him are like the resident assholes in class who sit at the back and crack lame jokes and encourage the class to do the wave when the teacher's not looking. and eating and drinking. and vandalising tables. etc. like a smaller version of the peepz in 4o. and no one believes me, fabian, or mervyn when we tell people we're like actually geppers. maybe cos our marks aren't stellar and we dun actually go around eating tys for breakfast, textbooks for lunch and you get the idea.
and it doesn't make a difference to anyone if we're form gep or not. no one cares i think. we mix pretty well, and people just laugh when we say we're geppers, say "No WaY?!" and generally forget about it by their next sentence.
or maybe it's just nj.
all i know is that the gep hasn't really done much for me other than allow me to have the same experiences as jik and mixing with some wonderful people. and a single dog.
the rest of the gep is jut bullshit. teachers just yell at you a lot. some teachers just laugh a lot. and generally, it doesn't really matter cos you're not so different from the rest in character and marks. only the iq points and that untapped potential there that may not even be there. i generally feel and know i'm smarter than my peers, but that's about it.
but oh well.
[for shaozhen who requested this]
Tuesday, May 20, 2003
10:08 p.m.
you said you wanted an entry so i give you one
with nothing to sketch save you
but i bet you didn't know that
the ink wells around your nose drowns me
they make me fall too deep too far, away into
marble illnesses, like slabs of cold stone in rain.
and maybe you didn't know that
i'm a predator2k2 to break your heart
and toy with the diseased doors of skin over your ribs
stretch my fingers over wounds like shattered dreams
the nine-ball that scratches the lonely violin strings.
i want to see, want you to see the velvet plush
that is inside of me, areas virgin to explore
i'm a mcdermott heartbreaker to trouble your balance.
the coolness in my fingers like sand in wind
the leaves by the road when the bus swings
i am the stuff that makes up dreams
and maybe you should know that before you throw you in,
i am shadow i drift between the sun and the land.
you ask whether i ever fall and i tell you
all the time all the time
a ball that curls up and dies
the shattering of the crystal chimes
that scar my flesh, my eyes. the blood on my lips is bitter.
meat of the heavens, its white fruit pure like poison
that sizzles on my tongue
its a slice of me that i peel off, cut neatly along
its perforated edge
and it is bitter but i like it.
for it is mine to know and keep.
hi-score
Sunday, May 4, 2003
07:34 p.m.
okay solitaire update.
new high score of 9215 in 82 seconds.
still far from haogen's insane scores though.
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