tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34260632011-04-21T17:45:57.926-07:00halcyon hellswahp3danticnoreply@blogger.comBlogger2041100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1137072875792073712003-10-18T05:32:00.000-07:002006-01-12T05:34:35.810-08:00New BlogHere.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1063127987693515792003-09-09T10:19:00.000-07:002004-01-04T12:39:17.796-08:00Coda [finale]
I walk on familiar ground as the tune becomes recognisable. I close my eyes and walk forward, because I know exactly where each step takes me. I breath the air, the sickly-sweet scent of ginger-grapefruit, because I need it to live.
It seems paradoxical, somehow, that living is the end, the coda, the little bit more after the clashing of cymbals [or symbols], of this blog.
I p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1058351121628881632003-07-16T03:25:00.000-07:002004-01-04T12:42:20.640-08:00Glacial Exhalations
It is Wednesday and I sit at the computer in the library thinking of decisions and the choices I never make. Today can be recounted in so many ways, but the ways that matter to me are the worst ways for me as well. A change, a shift, a paradigmatic scaling of brain cells into territories of the others and then I might be ready to read myself again.
Most probably, it will p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1058284465938948872003-07-15T08:54:00.000-07:002003-07-15T08:54:25.950-07:00Synapse
Today Elisa looked at my handwriting and said, 'You write very openly. Your letters are all spaced out, this shows you have nothing to hide.' Initially, I was insulted. What? Am I some personal information slut that I dispense freely of my life's stories to anybody, whether they are willing to listen or not? No, I'm not. So what then? Well, apparently, I don't have to tell anyone p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1058204394152402492003-07-14T10:39:00.000-07:002003-07-15T05:07:49.323-07:00Sophie
Sophie said she would like an orange juice very much, thanks, she was a bit thirsty and I told her orange juice was sweet and tasted like crap. She disagreed but allowed herself to be persuaded into a glass of grapefruit juice, upon which she decided to loosen a barrage of complains.
Sour, she said, and why did sour always remind her of bitter? Like bitter old ladies who think they can p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1058103407216981842003-07-13T06:36:00.000-07:002003-07-13T06:39:40.820-07:00So Contagious
I'd like to growl in the general direction of the 1-10 classroom of RJC. Thanks to the people who frequent this room, I had to cancel my poor Hilton rooms, in which I had planned to have one last proverbial shriek before the A levels. Although, admittedly, it wasn't actually the fault of my class, I've learnt that spontaneity is the trait of the devil and should thus be avoided. p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057851561319065832003-07-10T08:39:00.000-07:002003-07-11T07:30:49.450-07:00Art and Lies
Like those fish-lipped flowers that swing like the filled cavities of wanting bodies it's strange that outside, where I might see the world and the school and the people that surround me with perfect clarity, I feel most unclean.
Every day, the same after-school ritual: I go into my room and shut the door. I shut the windows and draw the blinds. I turn on the air-conditioning and p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057745083787657732003-07-09T03:04:00.000-07:002003-07-09T03:06:23.910-07:00Anfractuous Rocks
Is it justifiable to hate someone for solely hating you? Suppose it manifests itself in the smallest, most insignificant ways, or not at all, such that the only major flaw present is his or her dislike for you. Is that inclusion enough to allow yourself to hate the person?
Please litter the comment system with your opinions.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057412743125029062003-07-05T06:45:00.000-07:002003-07-05T06:45:43.143-07:00Cousin
Why do we dream if our waking lives are dusted with the ancient decay of the oneiric, making the freshest things antiquated by their inability to transcend expectations of our forays of sub-conscious imaginings?
Why don't we dream of broken things, such that our waking lives seem the dream?
I dreamt of a bathroom with two marble-topped sinks side by side and a single, long mirror p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057343452918180722003-07-04T11:30:00.000-07:002005-01-04T01:01:06.606-08:00Catcher/Pitcher
Today was fun!
Now I shall spent a few paragraphs describing today which can all be summarised into the previous paragraph and are thus redundant.
I tried to finish Long Day's Journey into Night before going to sleep and ended up sleeping at 6 AM. The irony of reading Long Day's Journey into Night into morning was insufficient fuel for me to finish reading the last act. Mary p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057255356759191572003-07-03T11:02:00.000-07:002003-07-03T11:02:36.700-07:00Snippets
Now I have four Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix books. I must say the Scholastic version is the prettiest. Very blue and nice. And it has those cute pictures at the start of every chapter and funny fonts for letters and signs.
I want to go stay in a hotel for a weekend soon. Must go before they realise SARS is over and not affecting business anymore and the rates go up again.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057227762998097852003-07-03T03:22:00.000-07:002003-07-03T03:24:56.523-07:00Fog
'Is it still raining or is it just foggy?' Gods. But about that in a bit.
Firstly, a minute yay for the end of the common tests. I thought I might have got the same results as I did in the previous batch of tests, but I think I have lowered all my marks by a grade. So that's an F for Economics, a D for English and a B for mathematics. Ugh.
Secondly, post-exam euphoria is highly over-rated.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1057171489089322622003-07-02T11:44:00.000-07:002003-07-02T11:59:45.050-07:00That I Were
Purple sunset. Orange moon. It burns to be the fire on the side.
Say you don't want it again and again. But you don't, don't really mean it.
Unicorn hair. Twelve and a quarter inches. Ash.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1056838475889939762003-06-28T15:14:00.000-07:002003-06-28T15:14:35.910-07:00Silence
Hello! I am back and very much alive. How was Rome, Venice, Bologna and Florence? Decaying, sinking, gay and hot respectively.
I think the highlight had to be buying Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix in a small bookshop situated in a tiny alleyway behind St. Mark's Square then reading it while going down the canals of Venice in a boat. More generally, the highlight probably wasp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1056838223746033562003-06-28T15:10:00.000-07:002003-06-28T15:12:50.710-07:00Evanesco
I have three copies of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. All three Bloomsbury, one of them the adult version. If anyone wants to buy one, or borrow one, please tell me.
Okay, now is the requisite review of the book which will contain spoilers. If you haven't read it, and don't want to know what happens, don't continue reading this post.
This first paragraph of the review p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-3901858772003-06-25T12:31:00.000-07:002003-03-05T09:36:02.640-08:00My Buffy Fix
When I say Buffy the Vampire Slayer is my favourite television show ever, I'm not exaggerating. I don't justify this with the tremendously cohesive plots and great continuity [like prophetic dreams that become significant only two seasons down the road]; or the dialogue and acting, which are much better than most shows out there [has anyone watched an entire episode of Charmed and p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-1055525710267022892003-06-13T10:35:00.000-07:002003-06-13T10:51:43.506-07:00Crystal Meth
Here I am, at the precipice of another aeroplane journey cliff. I'm probably gonna survive, but yet behind the clouds might lie some mischievous zephyr waiting to topple me into the abyss. Then as my body smashes and tears as it bounces and crashes its way ever downward, my little imaginary eyes will look at the scene indifferently and await my death to disappear with my life.
Hah,p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-954629672003-06-09T06:34:00.000-07:002003-06-09T06:34:27.246-07:00Hell
Don't give me songs. Just give me something to sing about.
Was kinda aggravated by this two week holiday my parents are taking me on. Rationalisation was that so much time out of the country means less time to spend with my friends before the big A's, during which period people will all be getting jiggy with the study thing.
Now I'm over that because I realise I can use the holiday as an p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-954062622003-06-07T08:58:00.000-07:002003-06-09T06:27:24.000-07:00Argh!
On Wednesday the RJC J2 humanities classes went to watch Bowling for Columbine. When we got into the really grossly mephitic theatre, a sea of white and green filed into one row after another. The row in which I planned to sit began to fill up. I muttered, 'I bet the row will fill up completely right before I get to sit.' Of course, it did. I'm leaving for a holiday on the 14th, next p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-953810572003-06-06T11:46:00.000-07:002003-06-06T11:50:22.000-07:00Chlorine
I want to do a long bitch-post, but, you know what? I don't feel like it. Anyway, if I did, it'd prolly be self-mocking, ironic and something people go 'oh, haha! he's being silly and weird again' to. So I'll do a short one instead.
You know how you get all red-eyed an hour after going for a swim? It's like this thing where it happens while you're swimming, and immediately after, but p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-952434212003-06-03T09:42:00.000-07:002003-06-03T09:42:08.970-07:00Silver
Today was fun! Besides the unused tomato. We must try strawberry next time. Is there chocolate? Inedible yumminess. And other things too. We need other stuff.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-951585262003-06-01T10:46:00.000-07:002003-06-06T11:47:30.000-07:00Diet
'Did you eat my butter cake?' my sister asked me unexpectedly at dinner.
Her tone was accusing and yet, to make the accusation almost redundant, one that implied a rhetorical question; some query of which response was predetermined and of unequivocal verity.
I don't get it. Why is it the first thought that pops into everyone's mind the minute some sweet foodstuff vanishes from my house p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-949991672003-05-28T11:19:00.000-07:002003-05-28T11:26:21.000-07:00Whoops
I've just remembered; I've lost my scholarship. Kinda annoying, considering I prolly wouldn't have if not for our wonderful vice-principal. Okay, irony's not happening for me tonight. Our meddling, hypocritical, repulsive and stupid vice-principal. Oh my god, talk about expletive release.
Let's see, firstly, either he lied to the Ministry of Education or has a fucking bad memory. 'Wen Enp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-949817282003-05-28T02:42:00.000-07:002003-05-28T05:39:22.000-07:00Sister
Today I walked into my mother's bedroom and almost stumbled over the twisted, corpse-like form of my sister on the floor. 'Oh my god!' I thought, 'What the hell?' Then I realised it was just my sister being my sister.
Her obsession with dirt, and the consequences of her dirty body on beds; her after-school tiredness and her couldn't-be-bothered-to-change-ness all confluenced into her p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-948544552003-05-25T01:18:00.000-07:002003-05-25T01:18:57.453-07:00Cold, Dead Mollusks
Tidied up my links today. I only link blogs I actually visit. It's not an insult [okay, maybe it is to your blog], but honestly, why would I suffer myself to link blogs that aren't updated or are very boring?
I think I have this latent bit of brutal efficiency that manifests in the strangest ways.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-948542802003-05-25T01:08:00.000-07:002003-05-25T01:08:26.330-07:00Kaoloe Ko Lkoe
Two days ago, for the first time in two years, I saw a bunch of real purple tulips. They were half-dead, had greenish spots on them, were battered and bruised and were ingloriously made to share a bouquet with other ugly little flowers. But bloody hell, they were so beautiful.
I don't really understand why I like them so much. Maybe it's the colour, the purple of purple tulips p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-947446362003-05-22T09:56:00.000-07:002003-05-22T09:56:16.636-07:00Fishing Fish
I noticed that his eyes looked so familiar. Everytime those dark pupils glanced in my direction, behind glasses, I found them strangely insulting and captivating simultaneously. I think I've figured it out, they look so familiar because those were my eyes before.
Those eyes say, 'Thank god I'm not you, you sad, sad person' and they were mine before. You know how you look at some p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-946986132003-05-21T11:59:00.000-07:002003-05-22T02:39:44.000-07:00Fragments and Trash
Horrible horrible horrible. Hey Jupiter, nothing's been the same, and we continue to obviousness.
Nathanael and his inability to understand a word I encounter in flesh everyday. Or eyes. Judgment isn't a pair of scales or a blind woman, judgment is a pair of eyes.
Ivan writes that once the blog writer gets all obscurey, it means he's talking about his crush. If I talked p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-946406512003-05-20T09:49:00.000-07:002003-05-20T09:49:58.950-07:00Chosen
I can't help it, some part of me has been ripped out and tossed down the back alley of time. Kinda like a jigsaw piece some kindergarten kid maniacally sets on fire for no reason at all, because my reason plays such a minor role in emotions.
It's really over. Shit, six years of every emotion possible pushed out of me and it's really done. I remember so much, like five years ago when my p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-945037922003-05-17T09:59:00.000-07:002003-05-17T09:59:44.793-07:00Off to Sleep
Been out shopping for clothes for days. Haven't bought any clothes. Spent about three hundred dollars in four days anyway. Where did all the money go? It's quite disturbing that I'm spending so much money and not on clothes [because I get reimbursed on all clothes purchases]. Quite disturbing because I have been Mr Frugal for most of this year and almost married Mr Miser.
Yesterdayp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-944002442003-05-15T10:24:00.000-07:002003-05-15T10:41:53.000-07:00The Basalisk and the Troll
An image of molasses, thick as thieves that, enshrouded in night, make away with intentions and focus their square of light on the material prize; the result and consequence. How demonic the nicest people seem. Tread careful now, on pointe, my feet may pierce fulsome hearts.
'We should', and 'we must', and 'we think' but they are all very empty. Lessons learnt don't p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-943372002003-05-14T09:59:00.000-07:002003-05-15T07:26:27.000-07:00Cycle
Xin Yan said to me today, 'Your blog's getting boring' and I have to agree with her.
If a blog is a reflection of a person's life, even if it is a reflection viewed through a cracked, smudgey mirror, then mine accurately parallels the current phase in my life. Boring. Nothing interesing. No great thoughts [if I ever had any hah], no great happenings. Haha, I wanted to quote The Wasteland p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-941073692003-05-10T08:43:00.000-07:002003-05-10T08:43:30.673-07:00Hello
Not annonymous enough to ignore and yet not familiar enough to greet. That is the most annoying bracket of people. They're like a half maybe not quite sneeze. When you pass them by you go all, 'oh no, what do I do?' realising at the same time the other is thinking the same thing. So you look away, at a friend, at a tree, at a particularly interesting section of the white wall, the other p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-938017602003-05-05T07:38:00.000-07:002003-05-05T07:38:20.840-07:00Triptych of Flesh
Your games are predictable. I am over sneering, dismissing and laughing at the things you do. This feeling of superiority, to have the ability to define them as alienated concepts from my being, is cheap. What you said, obvious in intentions, clumsy in execution. A minor power fallen from grace, an impotent nephilem now, where do you go? Run to your corner and await the passagep3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-937521092003-05-04T10:21:00.000-07:002003-05-04T10:25:02.000-07:00Oasis/Mirage
Today, I asked myself what I believed in. I decided I believed in chocolate, in moderate amounts. I believe in flowers, purple tulips especially; there is no more beautiful flower than a purple tulip. I believe in life, which has become rather evident on this blog. I believe in music. But most of all, I believe that this image I have in my head, of a field stretching between the p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-936027922003-05-01T09:40:00.000-07:002003-05-01T09:44:37.000-07:00Scarlet's Walk
So I have my philosophy, and with it I make choices. Yet the choices I make form my philosophy too. It's this; that a ginger macadamia gluten free bar can offer the acid of ginger and yet be as bland through and through.
We don't get to devour caramelised ginger forever, we don't get to taste the sweet tartness of everything we want any time we want. Mostly it's gluten free. Our p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-935230612003-04-30T03:31:00.000-07:002003-04-30T03:31:28.066-07:00Blank
I have just deleted another post. This has become habit. Goodbye.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-933474732003-04-27T09:35:00.000-07:002003-04-27T09:35:47.803-07:00Timely Stiches
I noticed something tonight. People can be split into three groups. First are those who use cliches as is, never realising how trite they sound. Second are those who know the cliches, and avoid them. Third, most interestingly, are those who recognise cliches, but use them anwyay.
This third group almost always does one thing to qualify their knowledge of a cliche, they will add p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-933397062003-04-27T06:12:00.000-07:002003-04-27T06:12:52.870-07:00Chosen
My comment system will be removed for a period of time. It'll possibly be back up a little after the 20th of May. Don't ask why, I can't tell you yet [not until the 20th of May]. But if anyone can guess why, my god, you're either very intelligent or you realised that the title of this entry and the date are hugey huge clues.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-931493452003-04-23T18:51:00.000-07:002003-04-23T21:28:36.000-07:00Aokigahara Abated
Yesterday was black. Well and truly, yesterday was a shit hole. I remember in the morning I woke up, brushed my teeth to the proverbial chirping of the birds and walked happily to school in the chill morning whose bite was blunted by the slight dampness.
I remember thinking about what I wanted to write in my blog, here, and I constructed a whole post, paragraph for paragraph,p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-929883942003-04-21T09:07:00.000-07:002003-04-21T09:07:31.013-07:00Slippery Jade
Is it that I am made weary by anticipation always crunching reality up into little dusty pieces or by merely knowing that knowing reality is cause for its own disenchantment? Reality is such a slippery thing; I cannot understand some people's view on life, on everything, but that's their reality. That's their subjective reality, oxymoronic, but something I think is very possible.
p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-928922372003-04-19T09:10:00.000-07:002003-04-19T09:10:26.733-07:00Thief
If there was a moment that defined Elisa at her best, it was when she annouced after maths lecture, 'The probability of death is 1.' Something so obvious, and yet so profound. But I'm not here to laud Elisa, because mostly she doesn't deserve it hah.
Whatever we do, every choice we make, eventually leads to death. We can draw the probability tree diagram for our lives, and every single p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-927271602003-04-16T10:45:00.000-07:002003-04-16T10:55:06.000-07:00Adonai Helomi Pine
Buffy's back on Channel 5. Things censored/cut out in the first episode: half the recap of previous episodes, a really, really vague statement suggesting substance abuse, a short scene on the misunderstanding of the concept of Utopia, [seemingly] irrelevant conversations at Giles's farewell, a lesbian kiss, some intimate talk that Singapore deems too lesbian to show and Willowp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-926063772003-04-14T14:13:00.000-07:002003-04-16T01:00:23.000-07:00Hollowed Chthonic
My father was driving the car and my mother sat next to me. She had not put on her seat belt. The admonishment rose like bile but stayed lodged in my throat. I remained silent and I wondered why I didn't tell her to put on her seat belt.
I imagined her erupting forward, head meeting glass forcefully, in an accident and I felt no remorse. And then I felt shame at feeling no p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-925311342003-04-13T09:48:00.000-07:002003-04-13T10:13:53.000-07:00Pollen
How do you like my new design? Oh my god, I'm in love with my flowers haha.
I debated getting a counter, a tagboard and a tracker, but I decided a tagboard is redundant with a comment system and, in Crystal's words, "it's ugly', which I agree with [no ugly things on this page!] and that a counter is redundant with a tracker. So finally, after two years, I got a tracker.
I remember the p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-924954472003-04-12T12:06:00.000-07:002003-04-13T06:51:44.000-07:00A Home at the End of the World
I close my windows and pull the blinds. Let me waste the day in solitude. A hundred years, a hundredth second, to be perfectly alone, the time spent thus: bliss.
Shut me in, play at inverse relations, shut me out. The insomnia parties I didn't attend in disillusioned halcyon days of yore [in days of yore, from... well/hell], the swim in green and wood and the p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-924230072003-04-11T05:30:00.000-07:002003-04-11T06:39:14.000-07:00Dracula
You think you know who you are and where you're headed, but you haven't begun. I haven't begun. We don't know, I don't know where we're going, but we cannot know. This age was designed for uncertainty, sixteen seventeen eighteen, we have fluctuations tailored to fit our ever growing bodies and minds.
It may seem knowledge fits nicely in the palm of a hand, malleable like plasticine, butp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-920950882003-04-06T09:51:00.000-07:002003-04-09T10:13:20.000-07:00Rift
This week, this quarantine period, I've come to think of it as the Week that Never Was. Besides an intangible reluctance to go back to school, there is nothing in this chunk of week that affects any other part of my life. What of the shortened June Holidays thing? If I am allowed it, I'll be away at CAP being a lousy councillor during the first week of June anyway. Truly solipsistic [and ap3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-920507772003-04-05T10:51:00.000-08:002003-04-05T11:02:43.000-08:00Corpus Mortem
Today, I decided I could swim two lengths of the pool without needing to come up for air. All was going well until the last bit, when little shiny stuff started appearing in front of my eyes and I got a bit, peculairly, high. The shiny stuff coalesced into a veil that obscured vision and I whacked my head pretty damn hard against the side of the pool. Big blackness and I started p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-920036892003-04-04T12:51:00.000-08:002003-04-04T12:51:55.996-08:00Stabbing Westward
Christopher Hall, eat me now please.
p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-919697902003-04-03T23:59:00.000-08:002003-04-03T23:59:07.653-08:00Stake
It has been nine days since I last saw someone who didn't live in my house or is related to me. Both parents said no to a stayover/tea party ['don't bring germs into the house!'] so I can't play one against the other. Am very sad. This means I won't be seeing anyone related to me or who lives in my house for another three days. God I hate this quarantine.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-919409282003-04-03T14:21:00.000-08:002003-04-03T14:27:17.000-08:00Outside Simplicity
'Oh! My first kiss was when...' 'That was my first kiss...' blah blah. Good frickin' Gods, why is there such a huge deal about first kisses? Watched Smallville, nice show, but can someone please tell me why they have to run through every relationship and emotional cliche?
Lana is Clark's emotional kryptonite, she makes him uncertain and unsure of his strength. We get it. p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-918595792003-04-02T10:58:00.000-08:002003-04-02T11:03:16.000-08:00Flurry
Today, I decided to do nothing. You have no idea how successful I was.
I have organised all the songs in my Kazaa desktop into playlists. My favourites are lip gloss [Tori Amos playlist] and audio mushrooms [an assortment of nice songs, which you will find in a list at the end of this post]. Now instead of having to click on a new title everytime I want to listen to a song I just have top3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-916515522003-03-30T07:50:00.000-08:002003-03-30T07:50:05.186-08:00Birdbath
Sister [looking through photo albums]: Oh look! We're pointing our butts to the camera!
Me: How cute.
Sister: Do you want to guess whose butt you can actually see?
Me: Um... do I need to guess, or is this embarrassingly intuitive?
Sister: Would you like to see your butt?
Me: I'll pass, thanks. It's not a very public place, is it?
Sister: I think it's the zoo.
So I had nudist tendenciesp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-916430872003-03-30T00:53:00.000-08:002003-03-30T00:53:06.873-08:00Scissors for Magazine Cut-outs
The worst rage is the rage that cannot be justified. The tower of reason is drawn up against you and you are stripped of defenses. You are naked and hurling impotent anger at a fortress you cannot breach. But it doesn't stop your anger; it makes it worse. It brews your animosity. Scissors for magazine cut-outs, slicing outlines and containing colour in severed p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-914395392003-03-26T14:45:00.000-08:002003-03-26T14:45:18.716-08:00Elucidate
I have added links to sites I visit on a regular basis so I don't have to clutter up my address bar. Gods do I detest a cluttered up address bar. Maybe this answers all "what are you doing now?" or "what do you do on the internet?" questions.
As you will notice, my internet use is limited to very few things. Haha, I'll try to add more as I remember them, if there is anymore, that is. p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-914351722003-03-26T13:27:00.000-08:002003-03-26T13:38:50.000-08:00Chrysalis
Some days I feel so old. I look at pictures with images of me cavorting in gardens, of me running some inconsequential birthday game race, of me on a horse, of me perched upon a high rock after climbing it, of me bundled up in a sweater with snow falling about my head; diversity made similar by a smile on my face. Where did those days go? I take a small step forward in the mire and my p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-912975912003-03-24T12:06:00.000-08:002003-03-24T12:06:26.310-08:00Word Hoard
Something is awfully wrong with you when you begin to spot the most elusive, most minute, probably unintentional literary allusions and connections all over the place. Today, I spotted an allusion to Animal Farm in Buffy's seventh season's first episode: 'no matter how much we change, we are still the same/who we are' and the chorus song Shape of My Heart immediately recalled the p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-912856042003-03-24T08:19:00.000-08:002003-03-24T12:10:31.000-08:00Oranges
Here, catch.
I'll always have brown stones for you. It's not much, I know, but it's at least something you can put in your pocket.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-912339072003-03-23T11:00:00.000-08:002003-03-23T11:00:02.590-08:00White Lily
The smell of death, as my father puts it. I smell it now, some sickly sweet scent that pervades the air and irritates my sniffly nose.
I think one of the most disgusting words in the English language is 'molest'. Disgusting in a good way, though, unlike some other... annoying phrases and words I will not allow sully my blog. [If anyone posts those words in a comment I shall delete p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-911867962003-03-22T09:59:00.000-08:002003-03-22T10:12:44.000-08:00Pyrite
I related to my mother how my class was discussing our futures one day in English class thanks to our wonderfully tolerant teacher. I told her how most people said off-the-beaten-track, Robert Frost-ish things like wanting to be flower farmer [Candice is totally a flower-farmer type], owner of several farms [Andrew could, and I hope will], wine taster [Ivan the wine connoisseur. very p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-911862102003-03-22T09:44:00.000-08:002003-03-22T09:44:15.623-08:00Primes
Something I've noticed [a mathematical trend haha] is that everytime exams or tests approach, I post on my blog in an incessant, unceasing stream. Goodness, anything but study, my mind seems to tell me.
Today I tried to study with Steven and it totally didn't work. We were talking, bitching, eating fattening ice cream and doing everything possible in a Haagen Daaz ice cream palour that p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-911289772003-03-21T07:57:00.000-08:002003-03-21T07:57:15.873-08:00Aokigahara
Somtimes I don't see the point.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-910799222003-03-20T12:55:00.000-08:002003-03-20T22:59:56.000-08:00Sepia
My relationship with songs is very strange. Sometimes I don't know whether I like certain songs because they are what they are, or because they act as some sort of channel to a specific episode in my past.
Take for example Melanie C's Never be the Same Again. Everytime I hear the song, I can smell eucalyptus. I don't remember eucalyptus; it surpasses mere memory, I can actually smell the p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-910597592003-03-20T06:39:00.000-08:002003-03-20T06:42:20.000-08:00Asa Sa Fie Acum
Irony: in wanting and never getting
Expected: in wanting and never getting
As I type this, I have to tilt my head away so I may read. My eyes cannot see what is right in front of me. I would like to say that is symbolic, but the knowledge that in a few minutes I shall be struck with a massive migraine as the spots and swirls of bright colours melt away diminshes the pleasure orp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-910589892003-03-20T06:24:00.000-08:002003-03-20T10:33:56.000-08:00Artful Voyeur
As you age and grow, things that seemed so big before begin to look manageable. Things of huge importance diminish to inconsequence. Then, retrospectively, should I pity or smile at those that come after and their careful weighing of ingredients I now randomly sprinkle?
I wish to return. Not to a specific place or time, because any time will do. I wish to see yesterday again, or p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-909440142003-03-18T12:35:00.000-08:002003-03-18T12:35:54.750-08:00Driver
Screwed up my html. Temporary blog layout while I try to fix it. Bleah.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-909425862003-03-18T12:10:00.000-08:002003-03-18T12:11:40.000-08:00Genes
Mother [brandishing some animal horn]: Guess what this is?
Me: An animal horn?
Mother: No, it's a dildo.
Mother: Don't be rude to your mother! [turning to my grandmother, who was nagging her] haiyah, ma mi, mo chou! [cantonese for: Mother, be quiet!]
Me: I don't see why I can't have two showerheads in my new bathroom.
Mother: Because it's an unnecessary expense, a hassle to install and p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-907690342003-03-15T09:56:00.000-08:002003-03-15T10:03:10.000-08:00Tlazolteotl
Craft me a song. Sculpt me a word. How much easier it is to be perfect in the austere.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-906985852003-03-14T00:20:00.000-08:002003-03-14T00:20:21.450-08:00Pluto
One long hour stretched and compressed at intervals, and it is gone.
Why did I eat the fatal pomegranate? What of my fuzzy peach? Token chance is left over, never to be used again.
Except maybe when I cry, because everything can be sublimated into tears.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-906573932003-03-13T09:57:00.000-08:002003-03-13T10:02:09.000-08:00Saturn
The clock tells me I've run out of time. One last day, fifteen more hours and I have squandered opportunity. 'Here it is,' Fate speaks to me, handing me chance as allowance, 'but manage it well; I'm not going to give you more.'
Fate is the father and like mine, he makes a mistake in thinking my fault lies in excess whereas it lies in my parsimony. Never that I spend more than I should, p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-905289342003-03-11T08:37:00.000-08:002003-03-11T08:37:56.246-08:00Break
Today, I managed to claw my way through some people's paradigm walls and pull them through.
"Hold on," one said when I asked another question, "give me time to adjust to this new perspective."
If only the whole world would hold on.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-904049142003-03-09T08:30:00.000-08:002003-03-09T08:33:57.000-08:00Handphones, the Sequel
So my mother wants a new handphone and she goes out to buy one. My sister is understandably excited; "I can steal her handphone again!" she says, for she has engaged in kleptomanic activities over my mother's mobiles before.
When my mother returns with a new handphone, my maid stifles a laugh and comes to me. "Wow, new phone, when are you going to steal it?" she asks.
p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-902490552003-03-06T09:54:00.000-08:002003-03-06T10:04:22.000-08:00Cheated
Reading blogs tonight has made me realise that I have been celestially cheated of my full spectrum of emotions. I've got the sad, every nuance of that, melancholy, despondance, depression, sorrow, I've got the disapointments, I've been let down, I've been scared, frightened and ten shades of morose. What I have not got full allotment of is [oh come on, you must have guessed by now] p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-899126322003-02-28T10:06:00.000-08:002003-02-28T10:06:04.780-08:00My Gnashers
I have just realised that I like putting things into my mouth. If you went to a disgusting visual place it is because your mind is in the sewer, not mine.
I meant stuff like pencils and fingers and paper and corners of boxes and books and stones and rings and handphones; anything that can fit inside really. It doesn't even have to be really clean, I just find comfort in having p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-896367172003-02-24T03:40:00.000-08:002003-02-24T03:40:43.043-08:00Three, and not One
If ever there is a reasonable comparison to be made between me and anyone, I would be, inevitably, found to be wanting. Reasonable, of course, and not comparisons to the autistic or blind. [Although some would probably consider even those reasonable, and I still found to be wanting.] I tend towards being second all the time.
What I mean by 'second' is not that I am always p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-893777642003-02-19T09:27:00.000-08:002003-02-19T09:29:44.000-08:00Flounder Fish
I am currently reading Crossroads of Twilight [fantasy], The Inferno [poetry], a book of interviews [non-fiction] and a story of the solution to Fermat's Last Theorem [mathematics]. It seems that, to make up for other areas in my life, I have become something of a book whore, hawking myself out to any book that comes my way.
You know that feeling you get when you draw something, p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-893749412003-02-19T08:24:00.000-08:002003-02-19T08:25:59.000-08:00Mantra
A mantra is a word or phrase that you repeat again and again. Soon, it washes over your body and you think of nothing but that word or phrase. You forget everything as the mantra vibrates through your body, everything you feel is distilled to pure emotion. Not sadness, or happiness, or anything that can be named, you merely feel, and in that feeling you know you are alive. It's what makesp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-892562932003-02-17T11:49:00.000-08:002003-02-17T11:49:12.850-08:00Precious Things
These precious things; let them break, let them wash away. Let them break their hold on me. Running after Billy, running after the rain and my ankle was turning in the seventh grade. These beautiful boys, those christian boys. So you can make me come doesn't make you Jesus. [but I like the way you play!] and I, I died.That sick - holding on to his picture [and dressing up every p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-891928952003-02-16T09:44:00.000-08:002003-02-16T09:54:43.000-08:00A Big Indiscrimminate...
I've been meaning to write about this for weeks, so let's just get it over with huh? Over icq, these are the kinds of people I cannot abide:
1] People who begin conversations without the intention of ever having the conversation. These are the chronic 'hello' people who have to say hello, but then do not know what to say. The worst I have experience was someone who p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-891882222003-02-16T07:33:00.000-08:002003-02-16T07:41:20.000-08:00Waste of Money
Just now, after forgetting for a long time, I remembered that I'd dyed my hair on Thursday. Well, you would to, if you had black hair and you dyed your hair, well, black. Of all stupid things to do! I suppose I am slightly excused by the fact that it was supposed to be blue-black, but I think all the blue got washed out pretty fast, since my shampoo-suds and towel were all blue p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-890447682003-02-13T10:39:00.000-08:002003-02-13T10:40:46.000-08:00Images
Petrifaction begins outside and spirals within and towards the centre until, precisely commingled with the inside, it casts aside definitions of that which was in and that which was out and becomes a singular entity. So it is with images and one's true self.
When I say one's true self, I do not mean the direct beginning of the path of self, nor do I mean the real self [as real is often p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-889638462003-02-12T01:06:00.000-08:002003-02-12T09:29:51.000-08:00Choices
oh fuck it allp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-889235352003-02-11T10:19:00.000-08:002003-02-11T10:19:11.843-08:00Bitching!
The way a good bitching starts is you harbour ill feelings towards a certain person for a few days, building upon it by observing and noting the person's every flaw, then unleashing it all in a torrent to the right person who can egg you on and provoke greater eloquence than you thought yourself capable of.
I have been harbouring the most awful bitchy feeling towards someone these fewp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-887650122003-02-08T11:08:00.000-08:002003-02-08T11:08:47.440-08:00Clubbing vs Engaging in Decadent Bed Activities
Compare lazying around to jumping about. Compare conversation with much loud music. Bed wins hands down. Especially when the bed is Sheila-dearest's wonderful-wonderful satin sheets on the floor next to a bookcase in a little alcove bed. Not that I don't like the jumping around and loud music [Sean, darling, if you ever read this, I'm only done p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-885363622003-02-04T08:14:00.000-08:002003-02-04T08:14:33.946-08:00Because I am Easily Amused
Go here. No tricks, I promise. Just much mirth.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-884767342003-02-03T08:03:00.000-08:002003-02-03T08:03:07.993-08:00Walt Whitman
You friendly boatmen and mechanics! You roughs!
You twain! and all processions moving along the streets!
I wish to infuse myself among you till I see it common for you to walk hand in hand.
How many people reading this will understand the subtext? I didn't, until I was told, and even then, how many people would appreciate it?p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-884299332003-02-02T10:33:00.000-08:002003-02-02T10:33:06.396-08:00Chinese New Year
Argh! My sensible diet plan [half an apple for breakfast, small meat lunch, small fish and vegetable dinner, no chocolate, no snacks besides peaches] has been disrupted by the advent of Chinese New Year. Today, I have eaten three chocolate bars [!!] and yesterday, I ate a piece of chocolate cake and drank two cups of Coke. I feel my ass blooming in size and weight.
Argh! I havep3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-881043322003-01-27T09:11:00.000-08:002003-01-27T09:11:19.460-08:00Being Colour Blind
It is very irritating being colour blind, or having 'colour deficiency'. Everyone I tell says something to the effect of, 'Really? What colour is that?' and then they proceed to point to a random object. When I roll my eyes and tell them it's only red and green I can't distinguish between if they are in similar shades, they then suppose I think the RJC skirts or the leaves on p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-879026592003-01-23T07:41:00.000-08:002003-01-23T07:48:04.000-08:00Lessons
I have learnt that no matter how much you think you control your fate, the stars have a tendency to prove you terribly wrong.
I have learnt that I serve a two-fold purpose in this world; to annoy people, and to serve as that which people strive not to become.
I have learnt that we are born with loneliness in our hearts, and it is only what we do to ourselves that drive it out, or embedp3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-878513592003-01-22T10:09:00.000-08:002003-01-22T10:09:58.000-08:00Here My Heart Must
Call or come [calm] Stay right here till the end of time; till the seas run dry.
all i've known
all i've done
[was leading to this]
waited for :: the one:: [i've waited for]
wanna stay right here till the end of time, till the earth stops turning [and whirling]
and finding the one the one the one
plus one
is two and two or three.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-877882952003-01-21T08:28:00.000-08:002003-01-21T08:29:21.000-08:00Quotes and Life [outlook and such]
I have started two lists. The first of things people have said about me that make me feel appreciated and just generally damn good. The other is of things people have said that hurt me more than I thought possible. Guess which is longer.
So far, the first list has two quotes. The second has... haha, I'm too lazy to count. But being positive, being maybe p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-874199652003-01-14T07:14:00.000-08:002003-01-14T07:14:35.950-08:00Truth and Wine
I chanced upon the quote ['in wine there is truth' - from a latin proverb] and immediately my mind went 'in vinum veritatis est', though not the proverb itself, it is a literal translation, and I was so happy that not all the latin had leaked out of my brain yet... yeah, that's all for this post. haha.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-873102562003-01-12T09:20:00.000-08:002003-01-12T09:22:19.000-08:00The Book of Answers
I was in a magic shop in Australia and upon a high shelf stood this thick, black book called 'The Book of Answers'. Curious, I asked it a question and opened the book. It told me to 'not rush into things', and, gods, that's the best advice I could have got at that particular time.
I'm writing about it now because I have just remembered that answer and my question and I keep p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-873074972003-01-12T07:55:00.000-08:002003-01-12T07:55:58.390-08:00Someone Help Me Out
I've had this impression for the longest time that Norah Jones was coming to Singapore for a concert. Was I wrong? I can't seem to find her on the sistic website.p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-873061912003-01-12T07:08:00.000-08:002003-01-12T07:08:38.446-08:00Inarticulation
Do you know what the worse feeling is? It's when you feel totally inadequete in a given situation because you are completely ill-equipped to deal with it. You know you have to do, or say, something, but you cannot, not because you don't want to, but because you don't know how.
My 'given situation' would be when I have to express sympathy or when I have to comfort someone. I suck p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-872606122003-01-11T03:40:00.000-08:002003-01-11T03:40:38.800-08:00A Red Hot Poker
I suppose everyone has to have one sooner or later; some weird person who contacts you, doesn't tell you his/her name and is generally pretty innane [I won't even dignify you with the term 'insane']. All right, it's a bit freaky, ooo, I'm peeing in my pants thinking 'shit, is he/she watching me at this moment?' so if you wanted to freak me out, pat yourself on the back and get p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-869586652003-01-05T03:48:00.000-08:002003-01-05T03:48:41.316-08:00This Day the Fifth of January
You see? I organised this by date because had I organised it by topic, I would require little constipated posts, and now it's like this long good shit. And that was a really foul metaphor. Hee, foul metaphor.
Anyway, I am addicted to hairdressers. I love going to get my hair cut, not because I need it, but because I get pampered and because there is this tender p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-867859562003-01-01T06:41:00.000-08:002003-01-01T06:45:19.000-08:00I Am Sick
Crap the hellish mathuselas, I am sick and I have to go back to school tomorrow. Sick + First Day of School = ugh
On another peculiar note, observe the following snippets from smses 'i'll see you tomorrow... right?' and 'see you tomorrow! if you're coming to school'. I don't know where they're coming from, since I think I attend school regularly.
Ugh... I think my feeble attempt at p3danticnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3426063.post-867608862002-12-31T12:33:00.000-08:002002-12-31T12:33:55.856-08:00Of My Butt
And how it is still a virgin. Actually, I don't see how that really matters when I find the idea of plugging something up my butt for sexual gratification really gross. But I thought I'd note that 17 years have passed without anything going up my butt, just out.
Ew. I'll stop now.p3danticnoreply@blogger.com