would i were a politician, to have power beyond mere man, so i might create a society that was read, to leave me to my dreams

No, it's not good.
It's gone.
A long time ago.

A badly transcripted reading from rosencrantz and guildernstern are dead, but it will do.

Techno music is playing in my head now, and it isn't just any run-of-the-mill ahbeng-booping-head-whomping brows-creased-in-fierce-concentration organised beats of irritating rhythm; it's techno music with a memory. Like mattel's barbie doll that comes with a hairbrush and um. heels? in a pink glitzy box. I never really played with her anyway, nothing that has left a meaningful impression anyhow. I suppose I tried to make believe I was interested.

It is interesting how some memories are present for a period of time, brought out and related over and over again like old men jabbering away to one another with gummy dentures inside [we are young old men?]
but somehow suddenly one relates less and less, and gradually forgets.
or maybe this one just stopped talking about it altogether one day and never remembered.

So now I have on my hands three thoughts three memories spleshed against each other like the wraped image of old buildings in a skyscraper's mangling face- throw a whole in its face and it returns the image distorted, denatured and like angela carter's post-modern maidens, deranged.


I hope I get my cda on boey kim cheng right.

a question from longago

It's barely noticeable, and I have forgotten why I wrote it, two years ago on the opening page of boey kim cheng's work, but in faded grey of pencil marks is a line that
reads-

if I told you, you would die while in flight, when that was all you ever wanted to do in life, when that was all you'd ever worked for, would you still go on?

down at the beach with the backdrop of a tourney

I like this photo,

even if my nose is wrinkled criss-crossed

i've decided to [probably permanently] increase my font size

Some time ago, I fell for three people in perhaps perhaps as many days.

I fell for a nose, and deep set laugh lines. The nose was aquiline, celtic, and a joy to behold. It was symetrical, proportionate and beautifully sculptured. The laugh lines crinkled up a face, and added texture and shape to an unwritten landscape of a temple.

I fell for- a boy. A spirit child who answered my questions the way I liked them best to be answered, and we played around with words and the night breeze in the 3am sky.

The dimmest memory of all, a curly golden thatch that came with a soft slow drawl that said -yea?, questioningly, and almost always usually at the wrong time, half a beat too soon like an over-attentive choir boy given his first job at beating the triangle.

I've given it quite some thought recently, and then some more. So I have two thoughts.
Firstly, the increasing conviction that I need nonsense in my life. I'm just wondering now if this is the decision over all else, that if one day I were to find someone and he would be everything but- nonsense, would I say no? It seems I might, gravely enough.
Secondly the even graver thought that one day I might find someone and he would be everything I asked for and he would be my nonsense my best friend my lover but- he would too shake his head at the thought of serving God away from home.

i lost control with time and it smacked me

I hereby declare the past four hours of attempting to get myself to focus on foundations of engineering an utter, utter failure. More than that. I don't know what has today been getting on about.

Today doesn't feel like a proper day, it feels like a solid block of dirty concrete worth twelve hours falling with anime strokes at the sides to depict wind wedged into my ordered concept of time, a slot of twelve hours titled 'to be wasted' and shoved at my hands, and obeyed thoroughly, a sloveny leering drunk day that lost its solidness and proceeded to spasm, jelly-like, on the floor.

Going for a ttc talk in a bit, and like how the day has shown itself I'm not sure what that's about or why I'm going, except that with the sheer white space of a day today - I rather feel like an idiot walking about with a vacant stare in my face- filled with half initiated activities never accomplished, maybe someone should hold my hand for me instead while I try to squat down and pick up the pieces of my terribly disordered day, and sew whatever sense I can together.

Wednesday is over, and I'm glad wednesday is over. Monday and Tuesday I was flustered and harried, ranting against the idiosyncracies of the frog professor, wailing mentally at the impossibility of memorising brunei's history geography and demographics in an evening, and getting distracted over msn even during my only hour of reading what wikipedia says about that oily country.

Today, I did a presentation and a test, and now I sit here taking out my pink earrings and feeling unnecessarily tired. In the final question of the test we were given a copy of a letter from the bank and asked whether we would follow its instructions. alina talked about the effectiveness of persuasion in compliancy; shao referred to the conventions of framing with relation to acceptability, and me, I had to be the one to tell my prof that a) I would not follow the bank because I would be earning a steady income, b) I would live within my means and start a trend by paying for my expenses in cash, and c) I would sign up with another bank and enjoy its perks. I kid you not, I told my prof all that in my 20% test paper. Maybe she gives marks for entertainment.

Tonight I promised nic tan and his friends I'd watch a midnight movie with them, and I will; I just wish I wasn't feeling so unwilling to move, and that shane and surath weren't playing at timbre tomorrow. I haven't yet figured out why I go. well. Maybe I will just to try. what, I don't know.

Yesterday was a busy busy day. It started from friday night timbre where becky akbar and I sat beside a tree and listened to surath's introuduction of shane's half a song. We bet teh peng three rounds across and I just realised I thought across was spelt as accross. It looks right in my mind anyhow. Then we waited for the band to pack up like faithful friends and on the way to kopitiam shane and I looped a conversation repeatedly over a button that he said had both chivary and chauvinism, which after awhile I got confused and called it chauvaryism.

Because I only could sleep two hours and a bit more, on saturday morning early I told jon that I'd go to seah inn first and get my teh peng. I contemplated getting two teh pengs, but I suppose years of hearing milo's jingle has conditioned me into some subconcious idea that milo is a good thing. In the end I only drank half of each. But it was good enough and those aside I honestly think I drank maybe three litres of hundred plus.

I think leadership is attractive. Standing on what leon called lava sand- so hot that we needed socks to play- listening to the handler giving positions, confident and wholly focused; there's just something about a sport's man's eyes when he's intent on his job, eyes that look downwards at the sand in his mind running through the various positions, possible variations, viable options. I guess I find concentration sexy. More findings. I've been looking at my tanlines and they're fascinating. Red against white, and splotchy pale against a sea of brown. I wonder how it works.

blogger is booger

I want to change my template, I found a nice one. well maybe not nice in the blah sense insipid and all but it is fitting with what I want. It's vivid and it clashes in a quirky way while remaining simple. But blogger keeps finding fault with it I don't understand jon tried to help and it worked out pretty fine on his blog but not on mine.

I'm irritated with the previous entry too, the one without paragraphing. It looks like I took a deep breath and then barfed a right-angled word mash with black and white spaces out. I look at it and have no patience to deal with 15cm worth of my thoughts thrown to the eyeballs at one go. And what if this one gets no paragraphs too. Paragraphless piles of meant-to-be-organised-but-are-clumped-together-like-sticky-cake entries. shudder.

Most importantly, I'm tired of a locked up space. I hate locks, and I get so disatisfied knowing that I did the same thing to myself. And this restlessness is enough to make me contemplate unbarring the latches, fling my words back to well. wordpress or wherever and let all and sundry see. I want all and sundry to see. I want all and sundry to see, except mr IT man.

Because somehow, I know if I let my words go walking all over hand-in-hand in the internet sphere, he'll find them. And he'll be reading everything vicariously subsitiuting that for me. And again, to the majority of the guys. You don't understand do you. He told me, he emailed me and told me. He used to go to la-mnemosyne and read my archives to find out more about me. He lies on his bed and tries to imagine what I'm doing. It's twisted voyuerism.

I'll be honest and say that we probably do something like that too. Voyuerism anyway. I'm not saying reading archives is wrong. It's about the purpose of why we're doing it. There's nothing wrong at all in reading archives, they're there for a reason. The only thing is why you/I/we read it. If I read the archives of a friend's friend, I read it because I like the writing style of the person. As in, I think her writing quality has standard. Not to find out more about her life, what she holds dear and is sensitive to. There's just something hideously slimy and gollum-like about slinking behind the cover of annomity, all the more so if you have no right. I have no problems with my friends reading my archives, I'd be happy if you guys actually bothered to. But. For someone who hasn't earned that right, the right that makes me point to you in a crowd and say, that's my friend, he should not be taking the easy, the muculent distasteful way to take part of me away from me. Even if I offer the internet sphere freedom in reading my thoughts, I believe there are limits. Just as plagurism- passing someone else's efforts off as your own- is wrong, it's wrong to twist the liberty given to the reader to use it for selfish purposes, purposes that the reader knows the giver finds vexaious.

So I find myself caught in a quandrum. Between wanting to return to the ideal where I'm open to be read, where I will be read for reasons that. are not wrong, and between the distressful thought that if I do open again, there's a creep out there.

the paragraphing isn't working and i don't know how to change it

I have decided I will stop my mental dissent against myself for not having the words to write anymore. Because that isn't true. the words are always there marching on with a gaited rhythm so that they are organized and the pictures can come in then. Everyday things can be used, and are sometimes the best because the mundane isn't, it's interesting and until I find that point again it's no use waiting for- godot. Once I called her my muse, then it was Rachel's Moods but now I think it's simply a matter of opening myself to let the words flow. through.

I became the owner of two dresses yesterday, and three bracelets. The bracelets were selling at such an incredibly low price I almost didn't want to buy them, then arranged my perspectives so that I was a bohemian traveller walking along a colourful market in in in thailand mixed with cambodia and if I could buy twenty pretty bracelets as an intrepid bohemian traveller why couldn't I as a hogwarts student on exchange to nus. snobbish, that.

I haven't written about the music that sounds from the speakers when I write for a long time now, and I wonder at that. There's music playing even now and it's one I like, worlds apart by jars of clay but it doesn't reach out to connect with my words and I'm not urged to intersperse it with my surroundings.

Or maybe it's because I'm not in hall anymore with whirling fans and my gay red carpet to envelope me.

ben asked me this morning if I wanted to move into temaske [temsake? i don't know how to spell that word] in december because a room has been reserved for me already. Yesterday I told al that I like staying at home. And I do, I like my big breakfasts prepared by mommy and saying bye i love you to her as I leave the door with daddy who sends me partway. This past week I went home almost everyday with al and it means a lot to me, this time to spend with her and just be two of us laughing and talking because we haven't done this for a long time now, not since junior college I think when we were in our uniforms after yf or studying together on sundays. But I feel obliged to ben, who went to a whole lot of trouble and stepped on a lot of toes and pulled a lot of strings. And if I go into hall I'd like to tryout for handball and netball, and maybe even dance productions, despite my aversion to the stage lights. I haven't done anything stagey since forbidden love, and that one I did because it was home ground.

I'll think about it later, because my day is starting at one.

9chen gao

Last night in bed while waiting for sleep to come I thought about the various characters and where the show had ended. This is one of the rare singaporean serials I've enjoyed, and actually made a point to watch. I would have liked the show to have ended with keke having a boyfriend, so that I could have judged him against who she is now. and here I chuckle. Other than that, it was quite the satisfactory ending with everyone happily married with the right people and all that.



Of late my mind has been filled with thoughts of going away, of living a life in a different enviroment with strange people. whom I hope to make friends. Somewhere happy. And in my mind's picture it's a deep blue sea I'm on, and I'm having an enjoyable [read: mentally simulating] conversation with a laughing woman who has short golden hair reflecting the afternoon sun. well at least it isn't a yatch with a suave rugged man who sweeps me off my feet. I'm probably wishing I was on the dulos serving. there. My physcoanalysis.
But I only dream so far, when my plans ought to be laid to accomodate the coming fifteen years.

But I am happy enough with this friday. Be going to timbre to listen to surath and band with becky, becky being the highlight of the event. I imagine a dark night with them nearby while becky and I giggle helplessly over nothing, and I am happy because her love for people is genuine and beautiful.

I'm driving my grandmother to my place on sunday, and alternating between stress and hoping desparately I won't kill my dear ah-ma. Jem's coming along with me, just so I won't go into hysterics along the way or something. I don't why mommy wanted him along, so this is my best guess. We've been talking about sunday's visit quite often, at least once a day I think. Probably a sign of how earnestly we're trying to preserve lives. Anyway. mommy remarked that if only joel was here, he'd have picked ah-ma up and sent her here. I think mommy misses him.
And hullo I've been wanting to say I miss you too but haven't for fear you'd take it the wrong way. But I do you know. Because I associate you with happy evenings and food food food and everytime I go to vivocity on my way to ulty training I think of you. Do take care and come back safe.

I shall now proceed another whack at my engineering paper. meh.