pacmen get indigestion too

hoo cootoo

2007-03-16T01:20:00.000-07:00

THE URGE TO WRITE IRRELEVENCE GROWS STRONG, BELIEVE YOU ME.
(but I must resist for the sake of ...oh crap. any help here?)

The blockhead tests, at least. And my staying in SAJ.
Meanwhile, I do occasionally post on my lj of same address, mainly because it's easier. ]
Taaa.

Stripes! Mary holy Martha Stewart's prison collection! I've got three words for you Miss Thing, no, no, no, and four words, yesterday!

2007-02-18T01:07:00.000-08:00

My teachers have been singing greek choruses of the tragedy that is my writing style.

...alright, drama aside, they all complain that my long-windedness undermines my expression of ideas.And I'm concerned because this applies to all my writing. If I ever want become a renowned (hahah!) ghostwriter, I've gotta be more ...terse. Brevity is the soul of writ, and all that jazz.

HOKAI. (world's not gonna end)A sentence a day (almost) to sum it all up. Less than three lines. If I miss any days, I make them up. Prepare to have your Friends pages flooded because I'll be doing it on my LJ. Hurr.

They say it like it's, "Thks Fr Th Mammaries"!

2007-02-16T22:46:00.000-08:00

I say no, thank you. :p

Warning! Emo incoherence. HEY WAIT. That's every post. 2x :p

You know what pains me the most, the knowledge that I can't be there for people I care about in their deepest and darkest, that though I want to stand by them and help, I somehow don't or can't or just don't see it because I'm too stupid, or end up falling asleep on them on the phone. And then they come through it, and there's that painful distance, that dichotomy of information, that I wasn't there at their sharing of self, and I missed the memo, and that extra splinter distances people.

Is distance beauty? Maybe, but some people get tired of the aesthetic experience after ODing on it. Raw, politically incorrect, no-holds-barred, meanness, realness. Within reason of course, in order to avoid ugliness and petty backstabbing.. but then again, that's controlled rawness, and not raw anymore. Oh, what the fuck. I just like the idea of wildness because I'm tired of social niceties. Though they may have reason, social contracts are printed on sandpaper that wears the soul past due dates.

Collect my fines, lovelies. Steal my books back from me and read
between my lines. It's okay.

When I Say Shotgun, You Say Wedding

2007-02-14T05:18:00.000-08:00

With this post, my new blog would have officially caught up with my old blog, theidfunk. A milestone by more means than just counting the number of posts I have, it sort of measures or marks ...a period, several phrases, and thousands of seconds spent crapping and epiphany-ing. It feels like we sit on the cusp of change, whether the plates have shifted or not in negligable, but in just sitting we, okay well, I, realise just how goddamned far I've come. And somehow, through my wandering and fumbling with life as of now, through the little failures and peaks that daily life dishes, I feel ...proud. I don't feel like I've achieved anything significant except existence, however significant that might be (or not). Somehow time agrees with me, for now at least.

Rawr.

You'd ask what exactly is the difference between now and then, besides the obvious time gap.

Okay, events, obviously. Writing-wise? Drama? Being an official slave to the K? (not bloody likely) Affirmation from the relationships I break and make and cultivate? ...Grades? Getting over people I haven't seen in a year and their consequent lack of contact, or a certain realisation of self that might or might not be a consequence of the above mentioned factors?

Mebbeh. I think it is the intangibility of my turning point that's what keeps my little epiphanic tirade going, in search of point to make, but really, just a farce of an argument. Isn't that what waxing lyrically or not-so-lyrically is; build-ups to climaxes that will never come?

Ahah. I wish that through all this, I somehow could cure myself of my faux or not-so-faux afflictions. How do you combat insecurity if all self-conviction seems to be lost?

The Pickle King was a simple, sweet, fabulous comedy. The transition of the emotions could've been better, especially for Sasha, but I loved the symbolism and the magical realism of it all. And the dancing. And the lines. Okay I'll shut up now. Lazy to write a review. Yes, kick me if you see me in school. Amanchi, give me your brinjals!

2007-02-11T07:58:00.000-08:00

HEHEHEH. See that Malaysian flag in the middle? Adorable. When it was first loading, I thought they were playing the Brokeback Mountain guitar-isque theme song. Brokeback Cubicle. NOW THAT'S AN IDEA.

my blog is so not interesting and it bothers me. somewhat.

2007-02-06T07:09:00.000-08:00

One thing.
Independent study is facing your waterloo.
You look yourself in the face like you haven't done in ages, and you say:
HOKAI, Rakky. This is one motherfather that has proven Tough To Beat. So WHADDYAGONNADOABOUTIT.

And there's no distraction, no dependence (much), no half-hearted getting through it that can save you.
The slacker's dilemma.
For strength, I pray. Because there's no other "lean-on-me,-brother" like one who might not be there, but because you'd like to think so, he exists.

While religion might be the sigh of the oppressed, music is the reverberating echo of the stuff crushed underneath. All while listening to a blues song whose intro reminds me of the magic school bus theme song.

Indie Study Hurhur

2007-02-04T11:49:00.000-08:00

PACMEN'S CATCHING UP WITH IDFUNK!
Hurr. Sorry. New blog versus dead blog. Well. Deader than this one anyway. *beauty qveen smile a la the leonger*

HALLRIGHTY. Since I've been ...preoccupied, and have almost left you all for dead, I, speaking from gratituous guilt, will gumptiously gratify you good people with a grand new layout! Hooray.
It will come up soon. Really. Reallly, I'm telling you.

Anyway. Life has been... alright. The highs of friends balanced out like checkbooks of love, or otherwise. Been partially ill, high on throat medication (mmmm), bhangra-ed at my sister's Terribly Bolly Bhangra Birthday Bash (don't you just want to keel over from the alliteration), been worried sick about my I/S, had bursts of ideas for projects that I would SO love to do (and prolly will in my time la procrastinatia)...

I watched Thank You For Smoking on Saturday, while cooped up at home and lying to myself that I was a sick sick dog who couldn't finish her KI I/S in the state that she was in. Heheh. What an kick-ass movie. I shall write about it in detail in my next post. (Ah, incentive!) I have to go now.

I leave you with a quote from Rabindranath Tagore:

"When we were together, we mostly played with words and tried to laugh away our
best opportunities to see each other clearly ... Whenever there is the least
sign of the nest becoming a jealous rival of the sky [,] my mind, like a
migrant bird, tries to take ... flight to a distant shore. "

Infinite brownie points, and cake points too, to the kook who can decipher that.

'St. James, you melt me.

2007-01-24T07:14:00.000-08:00

YOGA ALUMNAE
MAYA ANGELOU

A Lotus, A Cobra, A Downward-Facing
Dog,
Names of positions long since mastered,
Marked on your
exams.

You, created only a little saner than
The Moonies, have
crouched eight weeks in
The candlelit classroom,
Have lain as
long
Facedown in extreme pain,
Your mouths spilling chants
Learned
phonetically.

The Instructor cries out today, you may stand on your
head,
But do not hurt your neck.

Each of you a spacy
hippie,
Delicate and spookily thin,
From eating nothing but miso
soup.
Yes, today I call you to your classrooms,
And you will study yoga no
more. Come,
Clad in leotards and I will play the music
The CD Store Guy
gave to me when I asked if
He had any John Tesh.

So teach the
Yuppie, the Muscle Boy, the Geek,
The Working Mom and the Scary Punk
Squatter, the Clique,
The Wannabe, the Hipster, the Star, the Snob,
The
Pickup Artist, the Model, the Slob.
They stretch. They all stretch
The
muscles of the Soul.

Come to me, here beside the Exercise
Mat.
Plant your shoes in a locker, sit beside the Exercise
Mat.

Each of you, graduate of some passed
Two-month course, has
been paid for.

Here on the pulse of this new day
May you have
the grace under pressure to look
Straight into your student’s eyes,
into
Your pupil’s face, your acolyte
And say simply
Very simply
With
hope—
I’m sorry you threw your back out, please for the love of God don’t sue
me.

I WILL ALARM ISLAMIC OWLS
WILLIAM CARLOS
WILLIAMS

I will be alarming
the Islamic owls
that are
in
the barn

and which
you warned me
are very
jittery
and susceptible to loud noises

Forgive me
they see so
well in the dark
so feathery
and so dedicated to Allah

Going through my old bookmarks, from the Holy Tango of Literature.

:D I am infinitely re-tickled.

Because I miss seeing my words in pretty yellow Georgia

2007-01-12T21:41:00.000-08:00

The week's been good, dammit.
Last Sunday, I spent the whole night awake and yatterin' to meself, mainly for KI.
Inspired and wide-eyed until about mid-day, I didn't ace the presentation, but at least the Leonger thought it was goodenough. Mid-day was when I zonked out in school. Gave up on Math, and snuck off to the benches for a ninety minute nap. The 'mates thought I fell asleep on the toilet.

Tuesday, a blur of lazing about, cursing the Gorilla, and calling the poor hospitalized K.
Wednesday was Ozymandias, CIP heaven spent talking and playing catchin' with the kids.

Joke of the week when being caught by Arvin the policeman in Police and Thief:
"Excuse me, ma'am. You were speeding along the highway. I have to write you a speeding ticket."
HAAAAA. And I wasn't even running that fast.

Also, David, upon drawing a phallic-shaped object on my hand and copying it onto Yix's:
"Poonana!"
Thus, the erm. Poonana Pals.

Also. ..."Hello, my name is Gurphal--Gurphal Mugarashibanthijerosoondrajawdatialipravingurismailnathan.", "Luke Skywalker, Muthusami Ravindran, my mother Octavia, my son Oedipus, and Mrs Oedipus Gwee akka Anjax-pseudo-fabuloso." ;) The class is a buncha kizool fools.
Special mention to the night on the (printing) town with Bob.
It's sheer tragedy (that word!) that I can't remember what else I've been laughing at/with this past week.
Maybe it's the freedom. Or the settling of things, or the weather. Or the constant company. Whatever it is..

"I'm so fulla love!"
"...You're so fulla something."

Quasi-Bohemian, my pinky shit.

2007-01-04T06:01:00.000-08:00

Trashing Edgar Allan Poe's emo poetry at 4.54 in the morning and reading your old PSLE TYSs, with crap like:
"Q6a) How could the seedlings have grown in the cotton wool in the first place? [1]
~~Because~~ Somebody planted them there."

It's times like these make you snigger and grin maniacally to yourself. What a idiot I was.

To Kevii and Ching Chong: PWNAGE (omgwtfbbqobs. That word!!) hanging, d00ds. To amusing and traumatising! ;D
To Bob (the household): Thanks for sleeping with me at Yoshinoya, lowe. ^_~
To the Shit, Aud, Netta and Su: Good times, babies, good times. Blushing like bananas, kidnapping dicaprio, panicking! at the discounts, magnetically opposite hi-fives and ok-go escalator copycats.

choke back tears
and keep tellin' yourself that I'm a DIVVAAAA

Far Surpassing The Sap Factor

2006-12-31T03:22:00.000-08:00

Anjali: TOTALLY, yaar.
And omg. I tried the Butter Chicken recipe from nigella.com last night!! (To butter for) :D Made DIY rasmalai the other day too. Hurrrrrr. ^_~

Noo' Years eve at the club, lounging reluctantly in the lap of cheena luxury, lunch and Math by the pool, siblin' in-jokes and tiramisu goodness. It's been a interesting week. I have spent ridiculous amounts of money on a ridiculous number of things, but somehow, life's been dandy.

Somehow, you get this feeling, that the next year's gonna be good.
Despite everything ELSE, like mad timetables, the Big One, things to drive you towards nervous breakdowns and swerve right before, you just know it.
I can't believe I'm quoting her, but like Gloria said, "a new year with no regrets and ready to love."

Happy Noo' Year everybody. ;) Unique Noo' York style.

yo-vo-vich

2006-12-29T12:09:00.001-08:00

Hokai. I know it's a really old movie, but I love the Fifth Element. AND I WANNA GUSH ABOUT IT, SO DEAL. Hurr.
It's your typical ass-kicking sci-fi, one fella out to save the universe, product of mankind's fascination with justifying his existence somehow. Yeh yeh yeh, I know, but UGH.

The soundtrack is awesome!
Eric Serra's variety, gosh, synth beats all over the place, and at parts you can hear Italian opera and Middle Eastern beats.. It just goddamned works.
Okay, I'll admit opera and ass-kicking are a potential roll-your-eyes combo, but not when it's so well done! :D

The outfits, by Jean *spit and growl your Js* Paul Gaultier, are adorable.
It's better than any idiot line of models trotting, sorry, running down runways.
From the Leeloo's white thermal strap outfit to the orange rubber suspenders, from Zorg's glass cap and his little tipped wig to Ruby's empire dress, his flight attendents' cups (hahah), the Diva's tubey thingies...
Apparently the aesthetics were designed by Jean Giraud and Jean-Claude Mezieres, with "a strong European comic book-like look and feel. (wiki said so.)

Bruce Willis, with a peroxide blonde combover, has the best hair he's ever had. Seriously.
Chris Rock is classic as Ruby! Every scene he's in, people want to slap him!
Hahah. Well. Flight attendents too, if you count the lifting off countdown sequence. Hurhur.
I just loved Milla Jovovich's whole yattering in gibberish nuthead routine.
Again, stereotype of character, being a fragile but perfect creature, but hell. The red dreads contrasted with eyes of pale blue made up for it. Basically, it's a favourite action movie. Not much plot, but well-timed explosions, a great soundtrack, and nice performances.

As a side note to all who know of the 12 days of Indian Christmas, Leeloo Minai Lekarariba-Laminai-Tchai Ekbat De Sebat =yeleven syllable names! :D

wu-shu, wu-li

2006-12-26T00:23:00.000-08:00

it's really sad when people think you're a geek when you're not that terribly smart.

not that it's happened to me. hahah.
merry x'mas, everybody!
bah, hum and bug. ")

[edit] Awesomer. ")

[/edit]

krazr and koo'

2006-12-20T05:59:00.000-08:00

Just like the sms: _____(yes/no), i am a pig.
I thought yes and no were correct answers to different questions.
Are you a pig?
Yes, I am a pig! :D

Are you not a pig? / Are you a banana?
No, I am a pig! :D

But apparently, it's Mu, I am a pig. Hahah!
(shaun, I found it!)

mu /moo/
from dict dot com (yehyeh say it out loud)
The correct answer to the classic trick question "Have you stopped beating your wife yet?". Assuming that you have no wife or you have never beaten your wife, the answer "yes" is wrong because it implies that you used to beat your wife and then stopped, but "no" is worse because it suggests that you have one and are still beating her. According to various Discordians and Douglas Hofstadter the correct answer is usually "mu", a Japanese word alleged to mean "Your question cannot be answered because it depends on incorrect assumptions". Hackers tend to be sensitive to logical inadequacies in language, and many have adopted this suggestion with enthusiasm. The word "mu" is actually from Chinese, meaning "nothing"; it is used in mainstream Japanese in that sense, but native speakers do not recognise the Discordian question-denying use. It almost certainly derives from overgeneralisation of the answer in the following well-known Rinzei Zen teaching riddle: A monk asked Joshu, "Does a dog have the Buddha nature?" Joshu retorted, "Mu!" :D

Le sigh.

...I love it when she forgets to put her tongue back in after licking herself and it's left sticking out, slight pink on a sea of white and grey, still tasting the December air.

I am having chicken soup. It's warm, but it's not healing my soul.

2006-12-20T03:39:00.000-08:00

Nope. Still isn't. I checked. Anyway.
Stephala; thanks for that. You're such a lahling. And such sense you make! Luff you like pigs luff mud! :p
Noreen; thanks for the support, babe. Hope you sort things out. ") Loves.
Jill; I still don't get how I remind you of a pirate. But that would join other things, like Nietzche and sushi. Heh.

Just as a warning, this might be an emo post, so please bear with me. I'm sorting through my debris, my flotsam 'n' jetsam.

This is from a journal entry do-over sent to Big K because she insisted my last one was crap. Everytime I email her, and the sent confirmation page loads, I think: This is it, Rakky. Your fate is sealed.

Anyway, here it is:

"I thought if I were suggestive and cryptic long enough, one {here referring to big k} might extend a line and guess from there. Well, okay, since that didn't work out...

Real Issues.
A Journal Do-over.

Struggling. Don't we do that from time to time? (Yes, I say that to comfort myself.)
You struggle with originality of writing, sometimes because you feel that they're all you have. I often wonder if the actual struggle already contradicts the belief that words are 'all you have'. For some, it comes so easily. Or so it seems.. (Or is that another comfort line?) You again question what you mean by 'all you have'. Why does that phrase come up in desperate attempts to justify yourself? Why does it echo in your head? Why do people cling to what they 'have'?

You wonder so often what has made you, what defines you. If you are a mixture of an inherent nature (which is often assumed to be behind all your responses) and all experiences in life, what stands to define exactly what you are?
People are easily generalised, right? So easily objectified by social labels, anthropology, psychology, psychiatry. Perhaps we're just traveling vats of hormones and H2O. Maybe reduced to electrical synapses and behavioural patterns. Or we could probably be points on graphs, moving in our own circuits forged by predefined axes. So often we forget the wonder that people actually exist and function and relate (or fail to) when dealing, no, being with them.

Digressing from digression, it's what you've been taught that seems to define you. I distinguish this from the stuff of great, or not so great, teachings. Information does not make who you are. Your responses to situations, whether instinctive or carefully calculated, your actions, your words, do. Yet when your basic essence is questionable, you inevitably realise nothing you have is really your own. The morals that you adhere to, if any, are instilled, the judgments you make of people are often conditioned, and the people you love, like, dislike and get annoyed with are reflections of qualities you appreciate or abhor or attempt to emulate in yourself. Predictable people are easy to be around. The language that we use so frequently, understandably even, veers towards clichés because they're safe; they're grammatically, if not so dramatically, correct. The conventional structure of language is comfortable. Effectively, if we are a combination or collection of so much culture, societal constructs and emotional mores, are we merely still swirling mixtures, or new solutions with varying properties, combustions waiting to happen?

All right, I'll admit. Maybe the best way to define an intrinsic nature is to calculate things that one would gravitate towards; hobbies, likes, dislikes, tastes. Which is an answer that was already there, making my questions seem irrelevant. Which additionally makes it seem like the cause to objectify good aesthetic taste (as opposed to it being subjective) seem as worthy as trying bite our own teeth.

So why do we cling to what we have? Perhaps it wasn't so much of what are people, or of how to define them, but more of how we define ourselves, re-examining the foundations upon which we base our self-worth on. A false dichotomy hides amongst my verbiage. In a time when comforting yourself that being 'a child of God' just doesn't suffice, you cling to what people have told you as a child is worth striving for, what society recognises; talent, luck, genetic luck (don't we love oxymorons), doggedness, success in what you do.
Bringing in success, of course, is a whole other ball game, for it is where you fail that you relatively succeed.

But because we love happy endings...
True triumph lies in recognising that what you think you're worth is based on possibly false foundations. (Comfort line no. 3947) As Jiahui likes to say, refusing to let numbers on report cards define you. Maybe even slapping yourself into ceasing to waste your time on trying to approximate a price on yourself, and actually doing something worthwhile. (For the good of others! I've volunteered my services to Very Special [yes, a horrible euphemism] Arts.)
Not to gain a sense of ego-stroking of telling myself how selfless I am, because very often I'm not (this passage is proof of that), but because society says it's humanitarian. Therefore, in this seemingly infinite rut of regress (for few can escape society), I am, no, I do. I gladly do.

Parenthetically yours,
Rak{ky}."

Serious 'Percussion, Okay.

2006-12-14T03:27:00.000-08:00

I think Disney might be the death of society. Think about it. The whole generation of kids being weaned on idealistic cliches. "Just be yourself!" "My mom is great!" & "Sometimes I have problems, which I inevitably solve with the help of my best friends/sidekicks, but mostly it's just dandy." etc. Erk.

You know. I would like to profess my love of blogger. I have never lost an entry ever, not since I started with 'em back the day... (Okay la. October 4th 2004.) Not that long ago. THANK YOU, BLOGSPOT. I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE SCREWING AROUND WITH GOOGLE, but okay. Prolly some socially correct merger. I understand.

Even so... some of us like it dramatically incorrect. Heh.
As a completely irrelevent note on the margin,
"Actors are the opposite of people."
-Tom Stoppard.
Heheheheh. I find that absolutely hilarious. I suppose they don't have the same rights too. Well, they've definitely got the right to freedom of sexuality down. ;) Nyah.

I can't listen to Mae's The Ocean without the nostalgia. The memories that accompany it are ..overwhelming.. Recollections of late January, of lost hope for TSD, of living for the escapism that was Whose Line at 4.30 on weekdays, the floundering loss of a mother and a best friend, and I'm not being poetic here. Two people whom I depended on so, maybe too much?, for affirmation and support. Oh fuck.

Uh. I hope this jarred entry has convinced you that I really am in no state to blog. The window of recuperation closed the week I got sick and sneezed myself into the edges of doors and sides of sidetables, and was forced to postpone my roadtrip, so yep.

Copeland's Pin Your Wings is gooood. Heals the emo moods. Mmm.

KILL THAT MESSENGER! Until he dies from it!

2006-12-03T23:52:00.000-08:00

I failed Nanowrimo's November Writing Month. No report card, no long-drawn crappy/non-crappy story, no big fat A+ for my 50 000 words. I barely got past 5000 words. "( And even that I dare not show because of dangerously high levels of suck. Pathetic.

This I can actually attribute to my lack of discipline. Writers need discipline. And a proper desk/desktop. And commitment to a particular story, whether or not it tastes like dung huts in Tanzania. But most importantly, a period of time religiously set aside to worship the word-constructing mechanism that is the keyboard (or oldschool pen), and systematically build a story without the annoyance of the INNER EDITOR.

I SUCK!

Okay, I kinda enjoyed that. BUT. Pity Party over. How about a Pithy Party instead. Where everyone can bask in each others' collective wit. Ha.

An excerpt from one of my auto-writing exercises:

"just a little notebooking.

the air has changed. it smells different in the mornings now. a sharper, chillier, december scent.

somewhat nostalgic of thailand, somehow, clear mornings when you feel your life's in order for once, and you're fucking with that order by sleeping at 6.53am because dammit, you want to. ") Joanne Harris' lyrical French culture on the rusty fire escape listening to the tuk-tuk drivers wake their wives for breakfast.

just hearing chiangmai wake up. mmmgorgeous."

yesithas.

Off to throw vegetables at a friend's band at Gas Haus! Buying kailan later.

Btw. I love Dooce. She just makes so much sense to me.

In Reply: (because i just saw 'em)

2006-11-20T13:33:00.000-08:00

to the comments on "I THINK I'M BALDING":

Anonymous,
Ah! but then we are left to question the purpose of this quasi-missive in point-form, for if I had effectuality in mind, then to voice my comments, I would've gone straight to the source.
Point noted, respect appreciated, and, I must say, your succintness is impressive. Very noir kungfu movie. Verbosity tends to be my Achilles' heel.

Father/ben,
Yes, hooray that it wasn't hatemail. Hahah. I'd believe that's your natural accent. You write that way as well. Well, thanks for the ...affirmation.

and Maggie, whereever you are. RAWR!

2006-11-20T13:31:00.000-08:00

To clear some things up. Text in bold=untrue.
1. I hate wristwatches.
2. I'm in love!
3. I'm a pro' at Adobe Photoshop.
4. My ultimate dream in life is to run away to pick fruits for a living in a foreign land and write poetry.
5. I made Singlish koo'.
6. My lower back hurts when I don't get enough sleep.
7. I tattooed a henna moustache on my 11-year-old brother once. (I only wanted to. Heheh.)
8. I'm rediscovering my yindian roots.
9. I've gotten tipsy on tiramisu before.
10. I play Dota. (Erm. NO.)
11. I'm thinking of becoming Christian. (Erm. Also. Not my cup of genetically modified tea.)
12. I frequently talk of my secret stash of bong.
13. I think bed hair is da bomb.
14. I can lick my toes.
15. I frequently jive to techno, Japanese, German and the like.
16. I recently found out my name was KK SNP in a past life. (To all who thought this was true.. WHAT!)
17. I hate public speaking.
18. I've been to Cheeky Monkey.
19. I started reading at the age of one and a half.
20. I have a strange habit of smelling things.

There ya go.

let fly on awesomer wings

2006-11-20T12:47:00.000-08:00

Hokai i know i'm s'posed to be on hiatus, but i just had to type this out.
even while sneezing and tearing like nuts at 440 in the morning because in a sudden neurotic fit, i cleared up the entire mess that was my room.

you know the recent gst hike?
everyone's raving about it. people complaining, taxi drivers (how ARE my road-roving bruthers out there?) boring their customers to death about it, articles written, activists ..activated, petitions started, and even the heroicly proportioned gayle goh has written a long missive on what she personally feels deep down inside about the subject.

but you know what else?
i don't care. 17 years on this island have just reduced me to resignation. i can't even begin to articulate exactly why i hate this place. maybe one day i'll attempt that. when i'm older and wiser and can legally crash into other vehicles. it's sad, really.
i'd join the petition, to help the cause of all those burdened by the gst hike, people who really don't need bread being a dollar more and petty bills eating into their , but damn.
here. go sign the petition. let's see if socialist is the new buzzword.

you're what happens when went and worth collide

2006-11-16T11:41:00.000-08:00

AND BY ALL ACCOUNTS I REALLY SHOULD'VE/ MIGHT AS WELL HAVE DIED.
Kudos to Kloee.
Hahah. Going on hiatus, dear people.
A few highlights: Will be going on road trip. Around pathetic Singapore, but bunking at the beach and the park and people's places. Or so I've planned. ")
Art classes generally planned as well.
Feeling very strange lately.
But feelings, as we all know, are strictly for the professionals.
What're therapists for? :D
(really, nothing.)

"What's a pound of flesh or two between friends??"
Love that.

I THINK I'M BALDING.

2006-11-06T09:32:00.000-08:00

Okay. Enough tricological updates. I was actually planning to write a long missive on how bad ACJ's play was. But since I'm too bloody lazy (sorry folks), some points on it's freakily high suck factor will have to suffice.

1. The story was not a classic, it's too rehashed and tired and old and cliched--hey. I could go on, but you know what I mean. It was as stale as a suckathon of yeast-factory visits. Or some would say, the final season of PCK Pte Ltd. Beauty and Beast?? GIMME A BICARDI AND A FAKE CIGARETTE. Ultimately it's just bad decision making in the directing/script-department. Ergh.

2. Her name was Beauty because it was the first word she said. Genius.

3. The goddamned angmoh accents. And not only with the practised fellas; Creffields (the director) had everyone attempting them. Ugh. They were terrible and terribly inappropriate for such a play. If they were desperate for accents, they should have gone back to the play's French roots at least!

4. The dragginess of the NUMEROUS and REHASHED dance scenes. I've seen similar routines in their previous productions. Okay, reuse material if it's good. But for the love of God, use it appropriately. The problem with art forms nowadays is that you cannot just be pretty. People want more to watch than lousy excuses to be aesthetically appealing and suddenly go annoyingly abstract. They want their buttons pushed! They want to smirk and have their laughter catch in their throats as they watch real performances which make them have epiphanies and paroxyms and orgasms of appreciation! Well, at least this critic does. Hahah.

5. Sorry. Again, on the dancing. I swear the finale was a fake sex scene. The part where the male dancer slowly lifts his female counterpart into the air and she throws her head back, curls her toes and arcs her spine in mock ecstacy... Please.

6. The Beast's monosyllabic lines. Think *heavy breathing* "No!" *more heavy breathing* "Tomorrow!" *almost asthmatic now* "Fool!", to which Beauty interprets correctly and blithely replies, "No, Beast, I don't think you're a fool.." How sweet. The one-liners must really have done it for her.

7. Lines once more. Question. How can you possibly play up pathos and expect anybody to sympathise with your pathetic plight if you speak about yourself in the third person??

8. The worst portrayal of magical realism I've seen in a while. 'Nuff said.

9. Two dimensional characters!! Oh my lord. The Beast had monosyllablic lines, Beauty loved roses, her sisters were prospective cast members of Vanity Fair (though it should've been the Bonfire of the Vanities), her Father barely had a name.

10. What kept the show afloat was the comedy relief, even if it was slightly slapstick, that the Beast's servants provided. They simulated robots, and the audience couldn't help but laugh at one of the automatised servants' interpretation of Tina Turner shaking her tatas. Too much, la.
The Father's jokes fell flat, and God forbid, I can't even quote because I don't remember what they were.
The Brothers Three pulled off some cute lines though, the lovable bumbling yoinks that they were.

11. All in all, my verdict is the fault lay in the lousy script. And the directors of course. Whose imaginations Barney and gang tragically abducted. The actors weren't that bad. I'd have to commend the awesome clock-tickers and narrators, the Beast for his heavy breathing and pretty muscular arms and the girl playing the eldest sister for pulling off Shallow Bitch with a capital S - B. It was just in her face. The production was, as per AC tradition, well-meaning and excellently executed, but with nothing behind a pretty face. I'm not a cynic, I'm a disappointed optimist, and I expected more. Or maybe wanted more. The line between optimist and idealist does grow blurry. Do remember, my fruities, that in the end, all brawn and no brains maketh not an entertaining production.

And dammit, you still owe me my twenty bucks.

By All Accounts You Really Should've Dieeeed

2006-10-30T19:54:00.000-08:00

You know, I feel a compelling urge to do this. Because it's so unproductive. Hurr.

One. Think of 15 short bits of interesting stuff about yourself. And they've gotta be true.

Two. Come up with 5 false statements regarding yourself, but for fun's sake keep them in the threshold of believability.

Three. Jumble them all up together and list them in any order.

Four. Post them on your blog and let people guess which the five false ones are!

Five. Get 6 others to do the same.

1. I hate wristwatches.

2. I'm in love!

3. I'm a pro' at Adobe Photoshop.

4. My ultimate dream in life is to run away to pick fruits for a living in a foreign land and write poetry.

5. I made Singlish koo'.

6. My lower back hurts when I don't get enough sleep.

7. I tattooed a henna moustache on my 11-year-old brother once.

8. I'm rediscovering my yindian roots.

9. I've gotten tipsy on tiramisu before.

10. I play Dota.

11. I'm thinking of becoming Christian.

12. I frequently talk of my secret stash of bong.

13. I think bed hair is da bomb.

14. I can lick my toes.

15. I frequently jive to techno, Japanese, German and the like.

16. I recently found out my name was KK SNP in a past life.

17. I hate public speaking.

18. I've been to Cheeky Monkey.

19. I started reading at the age of one and a half.

20. I have a strange habit of smelling things.

Tags: Ann a la Maria, Angie, Rubs, AnJARli, Jeanetta and Pre.

Guess away, luvs!

Like Bad Cheese

2006-10-16T09:48:00.000-07:00

You know when you've eaten something rotten on the inside and the bad taste still lingers in your mouth? I'm trying to get rid of it. Ugh. It spreads everywhere, or so it seems, and all you want to do is purify everything around you, to save it from the spreading black death, but there's only so little you can do to stop it. Or is there?

What is it about Mondays??

2006-10-16T07:36:00.000-07:00

Two weird Mondays in a row.. Harrrh.

ACSIans today, whom some of us blew away(or tried to. heh.) with our play it cool demeanours and mind-boggling answers. But we can only thank kcl fer that.

And the Biennale last week, which was awesome to the power of infinity.

Nyah.

I don't feel very talkative.

Even though I'm procrastinating (PW).

Which, if you haven't noticed already, gets the writing juices flowing like the Nile.

When it's full, that is.

As a side note, Kasabian's Shoot the Runner sounds like a drink.

"Hi, I'll have a Sex on the Rocks(:D), and a Shoot the Runner."

Like, hurr times infinity!

uh. insert celebratory phrase/action

2006-10-07T01:07:00.000-07:00

FREEEEEEEEEEE!

EL LIBERATO!

SMOKE LIBERACHI!

Hurr. Well. Almost. Aside from PW and cheonging [i can't believe i just used that word!] for hindi... and a zillion books to catch up on and writing and making appointments with old pals. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

On another note. What is 'PAL' short for? paPAL? PALindrome? Pre-ejac Alert Limit?

I feel a strange, irrepressible urge to tell you what I'm doing for the next few days. How bizarre.
Anyway. Here's to!

Saturday's curl with ASUE's 10 and 12 (Yeh, I know. I'm such a kid.), and dinner with kizool Bombay aunt.
Drama mates on Sunday morning, lunch at SSC's lap of cheena luxury, off to obscure shopping for birthday presents, and then back home to PW crapola.
Monday's Biennale! [bee-enn-allay not bye-enn-ee-al] And a date with my pseudo Moleskine.
Tuesday we speak nothing of.
Questionable is Wednesday.
And the next dinner I have after that will be with Kris! FINALLY, dude!
Frida---

Okay. All this divulgence[?] of personal information is wearing me out.
Hurr. I highly reccommend!
Prisoners by Regina Spektor for easy listening :D
Tokyo Drift to annoy the eff out of anybody in a 5 mile radius
Poisoning Pidgeons in the Park by Tom Lehrer for a good ole roll &
The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets by Queens of the Stone Age for a little more rock.

Yes, I'm just fulla lists. I'm just fulla somethin'. TA!

Sporadic Bipolar Gives You Four Options, Doesn't It!

2006-10-04T06:08:00.000-07:00

"I cut the moon in half and stuck a piece to my hair - it made the back of my head glow golden-yellow. And then I took ten stars on sticks and placed them in my small metal bucket, and I gave the other half of the moon to you, so you wouldn't forget me while I'm gone."
-From a friend of a friend's livejournal.

Doesn't it, and tom cavanagh's blue, blue eyes, just make you want to cry???

[update] I wish I could fix my archives so they can be made public. Help anyone? :S [/update]

This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown aside with great force.

2006-09-30T22:34:00.000-07:00

ALL HAIL DOROTHY PARKER, PLEASE. :D
Okay. Enough, as Jeanetta aptly terms, Fangirlism.
Hurr. But really. One funny woman.
SEE:

Resume:
Razors pain you; Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you; And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful; Nooses give;
Gas smells awful; You might as well live.

I try. Penned in her spirit:

What is it about
chocolate-coated ciggies
under dark umbrellas
while cream- and ivory-stained
NO SMOKING ZONE signs flash
you by as you stomp
purposefully
in puddles
in dents
on the sidewalk
just to walk again
in the prints of monsters
before you and splash
the corporate bastard-coated bastards
out of their caffeine-work-filial-piety reverie?

I don't know.
I don't smoke.

And cheap chocolate is no better
than copulation anyday. In the end you still echo,
"That's all, huh."

And try to get the bad taste out of your mouth.

-(like Gwee often says randomly) Mahtani.

I really shouldn't be penning poems a day before promos.
3, 2, 1, panic.

AHHHHHHHH!!!!

Spreading The Love Like Your Nearest Happy Pill Peddler

2006-09-23T20:07:00.000-07:00

HOKAI.
I realise I've been a pretty ungrateful blogger brat, espesh regarding the readers. Who return here either because they're friends who feel sorry for me, or are random people content at laughing at my seemingly constant state of misery.
BUT. I would like to PROCLAIM MY UNDYING LOVE FOR YOU, dear readers. For withstanding all my nonsense and very un-reader-friendly posts. Heres to you, if you ever read this, and I haven't completely obliterated my blog audience with erratic updates.

LOVES to:
Shaggy
Steph
Chimmie
Pre
Zian
Rubi
:D Thank you, my lovelies.

The rest of you shall remain, as mrbrown says it, a-NENNY-nymous. Hurr. If you want shoutouts, just tag, for the love of giraffes.

:D

[UPDATE] Anjaliii
and Gie too. ") [/update]

EEYERH. SO EMO, AH.

2006-09-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

Ohmo...
My promos are coming and I'm sitting here, thinking about the entire uselessness and hopelessness of studying Economics! [pronounced, EE-KOH-NOH-MEEKS] OHMO.
I'm sick as dog, dazed to boot, and I just sit and watch my classmates around me form bonds and friendships that I will never be a part of. It's kinda stupid, huh, selecting randomly a certain number of people, by choice of subject combination, putting them together and imposing upon them the farce of class unity? And when you finally charm these people into liking you, unless you all magically click like the friendly talking ponies, you feel on top of the world? Why??
But aside from this. Me just sick of people in general, because they're so cloying and manipulative and dead inside.
emu and I once had this most elongated talk about the weirdest things at 3am, yes discussion topics correlate to time, and some of it was about having island. With him as a maid, in full black and white attire. Nice.
The ones near Canada come pretty reasonable. $20000 odd.

Moleskines and mommas and islands. How I long.

nobody's home! go away!

2006-09-14T04:56:00.000-07:00

JC is a joke played by the government on the insignificant strata of mediocrity-wallowing students. NOBODY IS LAUGHING, YOU FUCKERS.
Sorry. Heheh. Vehemence. Just terribly disillusioned. What point is there to fervently absorb subjects you'll never use again without even enjoying learning about them, goes the question that's been thrown around for so long? No point. Just like a screaming laser pointer that'll never find anchor, imminently doomed to a matterless existence, never certain, never sure, just a friggin' zigzagging red dot coasting at top top speed, not even scanning or watching, not even stopping or looking... Okay, I'll shut up.
"What DO you do with a B. A. in English?
What is my life going to be?
4 Years of College, and plenty of knowledge,
Have earned me this useless degree
Can't pay the bills yet
Cause I have no skills yet
The world is a big scary place.."
-As Avenue Q, It Sucks To Be Me, goes.
Mama. Shall go back to my mindless mugging because I'm a chickenshit lollapalooza. [I don't know what that word actually is, buy it just RRRRolls off your tongue! Such fun.]

Please, electronic item! Love me! WORK!

2006-09-02T04:34:00.000-07:00

C:/ERROR

C:/Press Enter to reboot.

C:/--

C:/Reboot recommended.

C:/Reboot REALLY recommended.

C:/--

REFORMAT Commenced.

Warning: All memory will be erased.

C:/Cancel.

REFORMAT CANCELLED.

WARNING: System in Safe Mode. Reboot still recommended. System may crash.

C:/--

-XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-

D:/Open: Afternoon sun in its hazy heat

A row of shophouses, quaint and neat,

makes dilapidation seem a poetic pity

like living scars of a frenetic city--DELETE--

D:/Open: stapling is an acquired affinity--DELETE--

D:/Run: a:link {color:#66CCFF; text-decoration: none; height:1px;}a:visited {color: #66CCFF; text-decoration: overline; height:1px; font-weight:bolder}--DELETE--

D:/Open: Tiptoe.jpeg--DELETE--

C:/Run: Superman.exe

C:/System Overload--

C:/Memory Failure.

C:/Reboot STILL recommended.

C:/--

Okay. End of rubbishing. And my pillow is sending out nap rays. Goodnight, everybodeh!

long melodies of indecipherable hm-hms

2006-08-24T07:39:00.000-07:00

Hahah chimmie! No comment! Hurr.
I think it was the title that scared 'em away. ")

ahhh. No update now.. ETHICS TO CONSIDER.

Just to say. Ethics really annoy me.
They're social constructs, based on certain commonly held beliefs. Then said controversies crop up. Heavens, no! Take away those common beliefs and there you have it. Problem solved.

Take euthanasia, for example. Part of the issue is about death being the end, and the decision on whether it's ethically/morally right to end their life. But what if death wasn't considered the end, not as a belief of the religious sort, but as a you-never-know kind of BOD(benefit of the doubt)? How can humankind know and treat death if they haven't [science-tifically] seen it all? How can you say a paragraph is finished if you stop looking after the first full-stop?
[No. This isn't a metaphor for preachy shit about reincarnation.]

And okay. Maybe I'm being a little glib about this in my frustration at euthanasia, and abstracting where I should be considering every case subjectively. [Ya la. I'm very emotional la.]
Hahah. I'm enjoying this more than I expected. Ooh, K-bloody-I.
I shall continue this as well. Soon. Enough.

As an update on overthrow kruddah, no I haven't forgotten..
MY STAND HAS BEEN WEAKENED. All this pet name shit and being nice and somewhat understanding with people are making me reconsider her worthiness of our LE GRANDE EVIL PLAN! (which I have yet to disclose) Does she really deserve it.. She might have a heart underneath it all, screaming because she cares.. DAMMIT I'M GOING SOFT. Hurr.

Okay. I will go now. If you haven't a clue to what the hell I'm talking about, don't worry about your sanity/intelligence. Worry about mine.

grab your dick and double click,

2006-08-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

for porn, porn, PORN!!!

HELLO BOYS AND GIRLS! It's time for your completely infrequent, random, sporadic update from pseudo-rakk. You know. Pseudo as in not-a-chance-in-freaking-hell-this-could-possibly-be-rakk. :D Can ya guess who I am? Can ya? WELL CAN YA?

no you can't, cause you never met me. :D

Anyway, I'm INVADING~ Rakk's blog cause, you know, it's cool. Here I'd insert some cute speak like ISH SO KEWWLZZ, but I'd just fail pathetically. So I'll spare you the visual torture and go straight to the [comparitively short] message:

:D RAKK!! I MISS YOU, GIRL! JC better be doing you justice. Pacman can only be bulimic for so long. Besides, being oval could only be bad for his career. TTYL, take care! ^____^

AND NOW!

2006-08-07T07:22:00.000-07:00

I shall meticulously detail the events of my boring, ordinary day like any other normal teenie bopper.. KNNCCB, worzzz! Okay. NO.

Today we speed-walked to the Singapore Arts Museum (which looked more like a mausoleum with the white washed walls and random glass panels and faux shop house windows in an effort to capture true Singaporean culture) for KI since we're now on aesthetic inquiry. Ultimately kizool, I know, using lesson time to go ponder the deeper meaning of art. Ogled at all sorts of works from ze SEA region..

There was, among my favourites, I Suck Therefore I Am, which I ROLL MY EYESBALLS at the stupid Descartes reference), with the head of a bald guy sucking someone's toe. It just spoke to: open mouth, insert foot! Loooved it. Hurr. And and and! I liked the Anti-Padi, for it's expression. A close-up in pencil grayscale of some kid's face screwed up because of the startling red chilli on his tongue.. Cute. Not forgetting.. the piece with an axe with leaves growing out of its wooden handle. How bloody ironic. Where it is abolished, it is replenished. Circle of life, etcetera. Hurr.
I mean, there WERE really beautiful ones, the kind with horizons and perfect proportion, or perfect improportion, whatever, but they just didn't affect me. Maybe it's desensitization.. Looking at too many excellently executed pieces, desperately wanting.. that mutual yearning you know, as if the artist wants to tell you something, and you want to hear their pretext or subtext or hidden meaning to the damned thing, yesyoudo, but you don't. You just don't. All you seem to be given is perspective. Whatever that is. Is that all we get? Is everything supposed to speak to you? Is art still art if it doesn't push your buttons?
Potassium once theoried that the youth of today(yuck what a phrase) are so cynical because we weren't brought up (I like the word 'conditioned') with the capacity to appreciate what we have now. Am I being cynical by blindsiding anything? I couldn't possibly presume that I have insight to my blindsides. Mehh.

Dear mrnewby,
Whereever you are. I hope your momma is alright, and life's been swell for you. I was just wondering.. Am I asking the damned 'right' questions?
Your sh-tooden,
Rakky.

Finally got a line of my ode to potassium in on and off conversation with our dear potassium himself. Hurr. The best things in Singapore are Malaysian! Hahah. Yes, I'm smirking in your direction, Phy. ")

I miss my drama mates. "( Everyone in class isn't into theatre, and every time I want to yak on about Rent or Pavlov or Avenue Q or gay people in general, no one gets it. What's that antiquated emokid lament again? LE SIGH. Thankfully that's just in class. His name is Bob!

I must go now. But I shall leave you with a witticism from the darling Jeanettesaurus..

FRACTIONS (DO) SPEAK LOUDER THAN NERDS.

:D

They were not alive except when they slept.

2006-08-05T00:43:00.000-07:00

And it was a pity she slept so little.

For she was dead more than she knew.
The title's from "Footnotes". Love that place. So ordinary, yet funnily poignant.

Knock, knock. Anybody home?
Slosh slosh.
Slosh slosh who?
Slosh slosh.

YESSSSS. If you haven't guessed by now, I love being 1. ambivalent, 2.enigmatic, 3. vague, 1014385439456346885775. goddamned random.
Just for the fun of it, list seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they're not any good, but they must be songs you're really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your Livejournal (or blog) along with your 7 songs. Then tag 7 other people to see what they're listening to in absolute random order.
1 Rocky Racoon-- The Beatles
2 Girl Anachronism-- Dresden Dolls
3 Coffee and Cigarettes-- Michelle Featherstone
4 Hotel California-- The Eagles
5 Dishwalla-- Counting Blue Cars
6 Regina Spektor-- Lady
7 What Do You Do With A B.A. In English-- Avenue Q

Tagged: Gie, Steph, Chang, K. BOB, Prethika, Gracie!, Anjelly, Ching Chong.

Well. 7+1. Hurr.

some dance to remember, some dance to forget

2006-07-28T06:03:00.000-07:00

I could not be more miserable. I mean, people say I'm intelligent. Well, at least sometimes. But I just feel like a fool, like in that bloody song. Except less damned poetic and tuneful. (is that a word?) I do not entirely feel like elaborating, but summarise I shall.

It's hard to stay strong when other people try to define you all the time, and sometimes what they say seems scarily true and poignant, but all you can do is stare blankly back at them, and not because you're witless and agog, but because you know no other reaction. No other reaction has been programmed into you, so that's what you've left to do. You can't possibly risk responding freely, because you know if you do, you're afraid that you'll scream and do various other acts of violence. And annoying things will follow, consequences, like clingy classmates of the past. You're left there to redefine yourself, as if your first stroke of ink on calligraphy paper wasn't what you thought, wasn't thick enough or black enough or good enough. Nubbin'.

Well. That's one facet of it. Meanwhile, I shall go listen to the cranberries and regina spek-damned well saving my sanity sometimes-tor. Might update later. Then again, might not.

Hot-damnnnn

2006-07-23T03:37:00.000-07:00

Hahah. NO. Don't worry. I'm not closing this thing down. I couldn't. It's too satisfying. Whoo. See ya when I see ya!

they don't laugh at jokes they laugh at tragedies

2006-07-22T02:23:00.000-07:00

Friends, readers, strangers
and observers of show,
It has come to a time
A period of woe,
In which we must concede
before the thrones of our rulers
(and stationary galore),
and for no reason to give,
from here on, and for a while more,
I have nothing to say.

most articulate when she's angry

2006-07-18T07:46:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I was such an idiot. Moron beyond belief.
I feel horrible. "(

AGGRAVATION.

2006-07-14T05:32:00.000-07:00

That looks like it's spelt wrong. Funny.

Splaining myself two posts ago.. I was trying to break up with my blog! Hahah. Figure the rest out yourself.

Brian Moffatt says he blogs

... because I believe that there is only the particular and singular in life. It's that voice thing. I don't want to beat that to death, but I had this conversation with a blogger the other night. The first I had met in real life. I mentioned to him - a new blogger - that one of the things I really enjoyed was watching someone new to blogging develop and emerge. Seeing their voice emerge. Like a burlesque. Peeling away the layers of clothing, the self-consciousness rising and dissolving, the tentativeness, the self-loathing, the self-pity and then BOOM - there she is! The naked Blog writer. Preferably a she."

Right, Moffatt. Way to establish that you're not gay. But anyhow, I think I'm at that self-conscious crapola stage. It's just, as Chang would put it.. CONTISIPATED. Ack. I'm going to go doodle in my pseudo-moleskine now.. Heheh.

See chew in a bit. Oh. And updates on my progress with the down with big kruddah plan.. The said kruddah is currently too aggravating to handle. *loud, polysyllabic grunting noises expressing so*

neurotic neurons

2006-07-10T09:10:00.000-07:00

Oh, that's so sexy! Say it again!
Tangent squared plus secant squared equals one!

"We need to talk...

2006-07-10T04:40:00.000-07:00

"I'm sorry..
"But.. I can't anymore.
"I JUST CAN'T. Leave it, okay.
"I don't know! I just feel.. like I can't tell you my stuff anymore...
"No, I know, I know you care.
"It's just that... I don't feel comfortable talking to you.
"I don't know why! Why do you expect me to know?? I'm a woman!
"Ah shut up. Know thyself was written by a man la.
"Look. I'm sorry I don't tell you about the things I do everyday.
"No, you listen! It's like I always have to entertain you.. Like I'm some kind of effin' performing monkey but minus the odd weekday sleep-in.
"YEH IT'S BECAUSE I'M A FUCKING INSECURE LUNATIC.
"Wait.. No.. Don't.. Aiyahh. Wait I have a tissue somewhere.
"Look, dear. It's ME, not YOU.

*drum drum cymbal*

And One Pasta With Meatless Balls!

2006-07-09T09:20:00.000-07:00

Why does everyone assume they're so goddamned original that they have to slap LARGE copyright signs on everything they produce?
It's such laughable ignorance. Because you've seen the same lamentings over and over again, the same layouts, similar fonts, and pictures reminiscent of a thousand others. Dumbasses.

Meanwhile, Rent and Avenue Q songs have been running through my head all week and incapacitating me of decent dinner table conversation..
From La Vie Boheme, rent.

BENNY
Mimi - I'm Surprised
A Bright And Charming Girl Like You
Hangs Out With These Slackers
(Who Don't Adhere To Deals)
They Make Fun - Yet I'm The One
Attempting To Do Some Good
Or Do You Really Want A Neighborhood
Where People Piss On Your Stoop Every Night?

Bohemia, Bohemia's
A Fallacy In Your Head
This Is Calcutta
Bohemia Is Dead

MARK
Dearly Beloved We Gather Here To Say
Our Goodbyes (love this bit, so mamadrama. sorry. MELODRAMATIC.)

COLLINS & ROGER
Dies Irae - Dies Illa
Kyrie Eleison
Yitgadal V' Yitkadash (etc.)

MARK
Here She Lies
No On Knew Her Worth
The Late Great Daughter Of Mother Earth
On This Night When We Celebrate The Birth
In That Little Town Of Bethlehem
We Raise Our Glass - You Bet Your Ass To -La Vie Boheme

ALL
La Vie Boheme
La Vie Boheme
La Vie Boheme
La Vie Boheme

...

COLLINS
In honor of the death of bohemia an impromptu
salon will commence immediately following
dinner... Mimi Marquez, clad only in bubble wrap,
will perform her famous lawn chair-handcuff
dance to the sounds of iced tea being stirred.

ROGER
Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about
his inability to hold an erection on high holy days.

MARK
Maureen Johnson, back from her spectacular
one-night engagement at the eleventh street
lot, will sing native american tribal chants
backwards through her vocoder, while
accompanying herself on the electric cello-
which she has never studied.

HAHAH. ") I have a plan. Still formulating it. But stay tune for THE PLAN to overthrow the kruddah updates. Hrmm.

we're so d-d-d-d-inDOCTRINATED

2006-06-30T07:48:00.000-07:00

AHHHHH I'M SICK OF THAT LAST POST. It's so. disgustingly formal.
Well. Anyway.
I WAS RIGHT IN KI TODAY. OF COURSE, I DIDN'T NEED VERBAL CONFIRMATION AND/OR AFFIRMATION, BUT THINGS ACTUALLY MADE SENSE. HOOOORRAAAAHHHHHH.

I FEEL A LITTLE OTT TODAY. OXYMORON MUCH? LIKE I WANT TO SCREAM OUT LOUD AND "CRY INTO THE NIGHT THEIR BATTLE NAME" IN THE CC [THE ACOUSTICS ARE MARVELLOUS] BECAUSE OF MANY THINGS, BUT BECAUSE I CAN'T, I LAUGH AND LAUGH AND LAUGH. TRAGIC COPING MECHANISM? MAYBE. BUT REALLY THERAPUTIC. TYPING IN CAPS HELPS TOO, IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY GUESSED. BUT DON'T GET ME WRONG. I R REALLY UPBEAT NOW. WHOO.

BUT ENOUGH OF THE MOOD SWINGS.

"It begins to appear
this is not what prayer is about.
It is the annihilation of difference,
the consciousness of myself in you,
of you in me; the emerging
from the adolescence of nature
into the adult geometry
of the mind. I begin to recognise
you anew, God of form and number.
There are questions we are the solution
to, others whose echoes we must expand
to contain. Circular as our way
is, it leads not back to that snake-haunted
garden, but onward to the tall city
of glass that is the laboratory of the spirit."

RS Thomas, Emerging.

Beautiful.

Life Is Coin-Operated Crap

2006-06-02T23:50:00.000-07:00

i fell for the silhouette and the smile..
and scraped my knee pretty bad
where's my band-aid baby?
where's my damned looney tunes plaster??

Aurora Gory Alice love~

2006-05-29T07:10:00.000-07:00

Mmm. Tired, and listening to Jelly's East-West medley thinger.. which has the most soothing classical interludes and the sweetest French[i think..] and sa-re-ga-ma-pa vocals.. Heheh. Right.

Mumma's coming back in a month and 8 days. 38 days! Yaaaaaaay.

Wrote Ms K a love letter last night about Big Brother and the Two Morons and being cynical and Chekhov's Ivanov and the existential blues and about being a happy math puppy. I shall write poetry the next time. Hurr. I enjoy this too much for this to be homework.

RAWWWRRR.

I hope Gie's okay.. I hope to God she is.

One Million Footnotes

2006-05-23T11:20:00.000-07:00

It's been cold. To quote an idiot, "ice-water would not melt in my veins!" But nevermind that. It's been really really cold. From when I wake up, to chills in the bath to waiting by the church on the highway, teeth chattering the morning away. I get the shivers all day, goosebumps when I listen to songs, chills when we frost over in the lecture theatres, and more of the above when people touch me. Like I'm.. bare and exposed. I've ceased to care. Especially about what people whom I don't care about think. Simple enough. Frosting over.

Last night, while it was raining, I was semi-awake for a while, cosyed up under the blanket, marinating, and it seemed like someone was standing over my bed for a bit, and then leaned down to stroke my hair like my mumma used to do years back. I felt some presence, and it/they closed the windows, I think. I felt.. protected, like I could depend on that person. Like a reassurance that everything would be alright, and oh, how I loved that moment.

Hooray

2006-05-23T07:01:00.000-07:00

I'm glad they're back together again. Even if I'm back to being the arbitrator. Such a masochist. But I'm glad two people I love are finally at peace. ")

"I'm not feminist! I just.. hate men and love women."

2006-05-18T08:53:00.000-07:00

Oh whatever. Hurr. Been riding on a tired high of late. I've been tired. So very tired. Yes. I was run over by a truck. Cue massive eyeroll.

And we need the writers.. We need the writers to write the eulogies!
My hair stood when the one of 'em AC performers said that. I mean, can you imagine the significance.. the amazing significance.

Lately all I want to do is throw off my damned bag and sing and dance in fields and on bridges and roads and be timeless and careless and needless and thoughtless..

You really feel the mass repression. And you hate it, hate it. Until ugh. There's that sweet relief that you wait for. Mmph.

PILES AND PILES AND PILES

2006-05-14T07:30:00.000-07:00

Wahahah. The performances went great. The usual minor screw-ups, but what the hell; the audience loved it. I have ceased to le care.
As an overdue update. Won Peesa. Hooray. Spoke about effeminacy in men, and reused mumma's bapok joke from the godforsaken talentime in 1974. [that's the year, i think.] and about hair, and it's significance to who we are.. Espesh when you get suspended for being late 18 times for morning hair obsession, and how when we shaved Roger's legs, we emasculated him and he felt bare and so on and so forth. Yes yes, whatever.

Enough records of the day crapola. Clogged up. Hmm.

i think i'm dreaming but am i dreaming that i'm thinking i'm dreaming or dreaming that it is for real?

2006-04-23T01:06:00.000-07:00

Boo. About the last incoherent and ambiguous post.. I'm funny like that.

I feel like such a... what's that Mrs. Mark word? Recalcitrant.

The play's on Saturday. I seriously feel like a guinea pig, like a test subject being told that something's wrong with the damned experiment and being expected to do something about it, but having no clue. It's not my responsibility, the blame won't be on me, but my little running wheel routine somehow needs to be perfect, somehow I just can't exonerate myself; some inner gut feeling tells me so. Perhaps it's indigestion.

I have to go. My mini-mat slacker brother is having an out of character panic attack for his math exam tomorrow. Because he doesn't even want to unwrap his books, let alone read them in advance. Murr.

dishwalla go hey!

2006-04-21T09:01:00.000-07:00

Tell me all your thoughts on God, sing the stretching, peaking chorales. What's funny is that all that gratitude is an unaddressed letter for the undecideds.

In Antigua
Kerri Webster

In Antigua I am famous. I am bathed in jasmine
and pressed with warm stones.
In Albuquerque, on the other hand, I am infamous;
children
throw stones and the elderly whisper behind their
hands.
In Juneau, I am glacial, a cool blue where anyone
can bathe
for a price. In Rio I am neither exalted nor
defamed; I walk
the streets and nothing makes sense, voices
garbled, something
about electricity, something about peonies and
cheap wool.
In Prague I am as fabulous as Napoleon and
everyone
knows it. They give me a horse and I tell them this
horse will be buried with me, I tell them I will call the
horse either Andromeda or Murphy and all applaud wildly.
In Montreal I am paler than I am in Toronto.
In Istanbul I trip over cracks
in the sidewalk and no one rushes to take my
elbow, to say
Miss or brew strong tea for a poultice. In Sydney
they talk
about my arrival for days. I sit outside the opera
house
waiting for miracles, and when none occur in a fortnight

it's Ecuador, where the old gods include the small
scythes
of my fingernails in their rituals and I learn that
anything
can ferment, given opportunity, given terra cotta.
In Paris
I'm up all night. Off the Gold Coast, I marry a
reverend
who swears that pelicans are god's birds and
numbers them
fervently, meanwhile whistling. Near Bucharest I go
all
invisible, also clammy, also way more earnest than
I ever was
in Memphis. For three Sundays I wander skinny side
streets
saying amphora, amphora.

Nine Is A Magic Number!

2006-04-16T01:03:00.000-07:00

You know. I had 256 messages today. 3 of which were repeats. And this is significant how? I was reading about binary code last night. The hexadecimal system works in base 16 and loves multiples of it, i.e. 256. Too weird. Ah. But we students of philosophy mustn't jump to conclusions. K bloody I.

I want to see the Producers. Mounds of work stand in my way, screaming and reiterating what kcl had said right in the beginning: NO SOCIAL LIFE. Screw that.

nostalgia of a nun

2006-04-12T06:17:00.001-07:00

The reason I often surround myself with people I like is to block out the stupidity of those whom I don't. And I use stupidity relatively. Like Boyevan. Whose conversation with random giggle girl is so self-centred and annoying that nic and i were tempted to kick him in the head. Espesh when he was leaning back to sleep in the seat in front, with tonsils in full view, while random teacher commended the arts fack for being so well-behaved. OH! Which was an effing waste of time where we COULD have been rehearsing and crying and smiling and fighting and living, but I digress.

Don't drink yellow snow. Hurr.

Huzzah 29th. VJ drama night. I shall take those things, what do you call them. Manifestations of memories, physically definite pictorials of motion, papyrus tableaux. Ah. Photographs. To vilify those i especially love. Hurr.

Damned nostalgia.

EH. FUNNY STORY.

2006-04-08T20:55:00.000-07:00

Ng: MAN, you're boobs are big.
Me: Ng, don't get jealous because yours are concave.
R: Concave! Hahah. So if we shine a light through a pinhole on the concave, it'll go on for infinity!

Infinite boobs. Hurr. Oh, estrogen-filled tau hui. Or some other random hormone.
I'm in the finals of Peesa in SA. Just like that. With a last minute audition and a nonsensical speech. And with it comes the 2 minutes of terrifying impromptu speech which holds a grip on my upchuck reflex like a vice. And the only reason I don't run is. Too cliche to mention.

Do You Smell That?

2006-03-17T06:05:00.002-08:00

Got a letter from ACJC today, which was one week late. Being 80% realist, 20% blind optimist, i knew straight away it was nice ole 'we're sorry your appeal was unsuccessful, but thanks for your interest' letter.

And today were the Singapore Idol auds. Heheh.

Ah.. The bittersweet smell of rejection.

Who Needs Stimulants When You've Got The Stage

2006-03-15T08:13:00.000-08:00

I have gone without decent intellectual thought for 2 days. It's like you just get lost in stoning. So to vary your activities, you go from stoning in front of the clinic receptionist, to then to stoning in front of the can opener, then to the computer, ceiling and various electronic and non-electronic devices that fill your head with crap. This just in: WOW.

Auds are on Friday. Yesh. I called them. I'm not fully rehearsed. God of the Agnostics, I pray! Or Gods. Or Goddesses. Or divinities. Okay.

I need to add a little more flavour to life. Like make masala tea and not burn a hole in my stomach wall. Or go for one of those Spice Up Your 40-year-old Marriage seminars. Heheh. That's how you mix it up. Up and On, geriatric-style!

That's SAJC's wonderful school motto, by the way. Sip masala tea on that!

Le Zian: YES. The Pacman is supposed to be throwing up. He has indigestion, you see. Hurr. And when he does, he feels much better; a sweet relief.
Le Steph: Stephala! Hahah. I hope so too. ") Happy decomposing problems! May they let flower infestations of varicoloured fungi!

My verbs aren't very verbose today.

Then One Morning I Woke Up And I Thought Oedipus Repeat

2006-03-11T22:14:00.000-08:00

TWELVE HOURS OF SLEEP! AT LAST.

Well. In contrast with four hours a day. And 15 minutes in Mari's car. And 75 minutes on bus and train. Whatever.

I'm tres tittilated. Next Monday, I have an hour long KN lecture! Which, for those kept unaware, is an advanced GP class, consisting of, in SA, TWO GIRLS out of fifteen students. Me inclusive. Talk about gender representation. ")

Mella has an affliction! Ecsema or something. God, I hate vets. They always think they can tell you how to take care of your cat. Just because they've gone to biomed school or something for 7 years, doesn't mean they can make you feel like animal abusers!

The Cricket At The Window

2006-03-11T05:52:00.000-08:00

WHY HELLO. Fancy seeing you here. Love what you've done with the place. ")

I've been plonked into SA. Hip hip hoorah. Where people enjoy jumping up and down with their hands in the rock stance while I hide amidst the masses and/or get saved by Marianne the Wunderkind. Where my Civics tutor/Lit teacher introduces herself as The Uber Bitch. And we believe her.

But yes. I will adapt. I will persevere. I will, in the words of some over-enthusiastic math teacher, PRESS ON! Hurhur. Two years, ecetera.
Claire, if you read this, I want my Wu Li Dancing Masters back! I thoroughly enjoy their laws-of-physics-defying flexibility. If you know what I mean. ")

SOMEBODY'S GOING TO BE DRAMA PRESIDENT. HURHUR. AND I LOVE WHO IT IS.

The Singapore Idol people called. I was dead to the world, recuperating from 4 days of arduous JC Induction[where J1s were inducted, not induced] , so somebody tried to wake me. I usually take half an hour to actually become conscious and functionable. So when passed the phone, I sat up, STILL ASLEEP, and saying: Oh yes. Right. Okay. As if I understood. And I don't remember a thing! Not picking up the phone, nor any details relayed to me then. Screwed, I am!

When I tried calling their hotline, I got their voicemail box. Which is conveniently full. Wham bam, thank you ma'am! Screwed, I am!

pacmen get indigestion too

hoo cootoo

Stripes! Mary holy Martha Stewart's prison collection! I've got three words for you Miss Thing, no, no, no, and four words, yesterday!

They say it like it's, "Thks Fr Th Mammaries"!

When I Say Shotgun, You Say Wedding

my blog is so not interesting and it bothers me. somewhat.

Indie Study Hurhur

'St. James, you melt me.

Because I miss seeing my words in pretty yellow Georgia

Quasi-Bohemian, my pinky shit.

Far Surpassing The Sap Factor

yo-vo-vich

wu-shu, wu-li

krazr and koo'

I am having chicken soup. It's warm, but it's not healing my soul.

Serious 'Percussion, Okay.

KILL THAT MESSENGER! Until he dies from it!

In Reply: (because i just saw 'em)

let fly on awesomer wings

you're what happens when went and worth collide

I THINK I'M BALDING.

By All Accounts You Really Should've Dieeeed

Like Bad Cheese

What is it about Mondays??

uh. *insert celebratory phrase/action*

Sporadic Bipolar Gives You Four Options, Doesn't It!

This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown aside with great force.

Spreading The Love Like Your Nearest Happy Pill Peddler

EEYERH. SO EMO, AH.

nobody's home! go away!

Please, electronic item! Love me! WORK!

long melodies of indecipherable hm-hms

grab your dick and double click,

AND NOW!

They were not alive except when they slept.

some dance to remember, some dance to forget

Hot-damnnnn

they don't laugh at jokes they laugh at tragedies

most articulate when she's angry

AGGRAVATION.

neurotic neurons

"We need to talk...

And One Pasta With Meatless Balls!

we're so d-d-d-d-inDOCTRINATED

Life Is Coin-Operated Crap

Aurora Gory Alice love~

One Million Footnotes

Hooray

"I'm not feminist! I just.. hate men and love women."

PILES AND PILES AND PILES

i think i'm dreaming but am i dreaming that i'm thinking i'm dreaming or dreaming that it is for real?

dishwalla go hey!

Nine Is A Magic Number!

nostalgia of a nun

EH. FUNNY STORY.

Do You Smell That?

Who Needs Stimulants When You've Got The Stage

Then One Morning I Woke Up And I Thought Oedipus Repeat

The Cricket At The Window

uh. insert celebratory phrase/action