The chaos around me

I remember why I started this blog

2011-02-18T21:32:00.002+08:00

I remember all the phases it went through. All the stories it holds. All the people I met through it.

Hey, turtle, I remember one moment between us, when I figured out that Lord of Chaos, Tzeentch, was supposed to sound like "change". Yeah, just that.

I remember my initial reason for blogging; the first blog I read. So long ago, so far away.

Thank you, wraith. It was nice meeting you.

2011-02-18T21:21:00.002+08:00

Reminder to self:
That Tuesday Cookies.

Two, three years? I think I finally exorcised the last scrap of demon. Of course, I had no reason to go there without you, but eh. exorcism.

2011-02-12T00:08:00.001+08:00

and, for a while at least, the world is alright. Not perfect, not ideal, but it's alright.

Note to self: record the wisps before they go away.

2011-01-21T17:32:00.001+08:00

Grab a pliant sock using dagger polished shine brilliant so it have style that elegant but careful squish end of supply.

2011-01-19T00:01:00.003+08:00

have alice ripley's voice in my head (from vid phin gave, hallelujah). not a bad thing, just making a note of it.

2011-01-18T17:55:00.005+08:00

Wondering if the Evelyn Evelyn movement was because AFP fell in love with Neil Gaiman and thus could no longer write in her original style. In part, at least. I mean, look at those lyrics! The words of a woman scored and stewing over it. I suspect for some of the songs, I'd prefer if I couldn't understand the lyrics, a la listening to Gackt's Vanilla (though listening to that "iku~~~" is still cringe-inducing) or France Gall's Les Sucettes, so I get to focus on the Brechtian Punk Cabaret rather than wonder aimlessly about things that could be a few keystrokes away.

I must say, the irony of how the music video of Leeds United ends never fails to make me grin. (Funnily enough, I didn't encounter this song when going through a Dresden Dolls phase, but through a blog post about AFP's belly, which was apparently offending in that vid.)

2011-01-18T09:35:00.002+08:00

wotan's day

tip-tip on the tightrope
knees shaking cable
I move forward anyway
if I fall, I
many feet off the ground
will not die,
red line holding me
pulley holding me
at risk of falling
I am safe
but there is sand

rain, rain
train, train
reached a place
I've been
this time alone
library of arts
dance
walk out of hell
do not turn
ponder

2011-01-18T09:34:00.001+08:00

saturday

full circle

time's up

pack, pack

bookstore?

not open

return

leave

bus

train

home

2011-01-18T09:29:00.002+08:00

thor's day

animals held
unable to flee
in a mock-up of
freedom
running
eating
playing
while being watched

night falls
dark trails
"wild" animals
don't use light
the sign says flash
houseful of bats
gay couple flattery

2011-01-18T09:27:00.001+08:00

moonday

chirruping
chirping
swoosh
flying jewels
killing machines
wing their way

for science, they cry
phenomena, illusions
global warming, germs
cancer

2011-01-18T09:25:00.002+08:00

sun-day

changing my mind, I get off the train at a stop not originally intended.
I walk around and take in the sights. Two streets named after races.
It is too early; most stalls and shops have yet to open.
I get back on the train and head off to meet friends.

2011-01-18T09:23:00.001+08:00

freya's day

church/shopping mall

museum, museum, museum

crying at exhibits,

evading the skulls,

pondering art

2011-01-18T08:45:00.001+08:00

Glittering sounds
glistening-
he drags his fingers
over the strings
again and again.
Melodious noise,
music?

2011-01-18T08:40:00.003+08:00

saturday

rush

left

juggler

butterfly sisters

yangqining

erhuing

harping

porridge

"home"

Tra-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ns--------

2011-01-17T16:09:00.001+08:00

twosday

cookie dough

lemon

sound straight from the-

look

grin

chainsaw

laughter

train

end

Arbitrary

2011-01-06T01:32:00.000+08:00

not a big deal
though it
feels like it

Realization

2010-12-27T22:05:00.001+08:00

a.s.t.

Aviary

2010-12-16T21:25:00.003+08:00

They fly around, or hop around, squawking or chirping or trilling their songs. I gaze upon them, trying to decide which one I want to bring out.

Owl, sparrow, pigeon, swiftlet, buzzard, osprey. All manner of birdkind wallows around me.

Inside, I think, I have chosen, but the rest of me isn't accepting that. It'd take a lot of planning. A lot of convincing. Yet even -that- one thinks it'd be good. Maybe the convincing won't be as hard as I think it may be, though the planning will not, can not be easy.

The lighting bug knocks the cup of poison from my hand.

...

I'll think it over, I told it.

note to self: ast

2010-12-15T13:28:00.002+08:00

один

curling up
into myself
snipping

not a choice
just
it happens

preparation
but what for
must I?

bonds that weren't
cannot
be broken

linger
how many years
more

ache that
feels
like life

sledgehammer
unsuitable for
neurosurgery

friends the
ones made oddly
stay

but I
one-way-street
should?

study now
rest
then plot

Evelyn Evelyn

2010-12-12T15:12:00.002+08:00

Of course, first thoughts about this song are always about the melancholy of it, and the way the refrain builds up as everything is stitched together.

Then come the thoughts on how conjoined twins must be monozygotic and hence of the same sex.

Then thoughts on the controversy regarding ableism given that AFP and Jason Webley are pretending to be a pair of conjoined sisters for attention or for lulz.

There are also little puffs of thought on how my "twin" and I would fit in with this song, and laughing as I reject those puffs of clouds of thought.

And then I think of how I've never properly watched the video itself, and how the refrain reminds me of a song that's in a book of scores I coincidentally lent my twin.

The poignancy of the lyrics -is- compounded with the conjoined sisters storyline, though. Simply wouldn't work otherwise. Granted I think it was a bad move for them to try to pass off the conjoined twins story as genuine.

Reminded of doll-sewing. Of that day's filming. Of how it all went wrong. Bitter, though I'll take the sweet. How it won't matter because it's ending. The end? No, just a plot point. I don't want to see them but I think I will. Smile, mommet, smile. Duchenne smiles reserved for others. kthxbai

2010-12-09T20:45:00.000+08:00

tsundere

2010-12-01T23:42:00.001+08:00

bunny caught in headlights

=/

My blog is a chamber pot

2010-11-29T10:27:00.002+08:00

^ remark I made in chat with Rin

How to Destroy Angels

2010-11-27T14:14:00.002+08:00

I'm just a bit tempted to get it in vinyl, but that'd just be impractical. xD

2010-11-26T11:48:00.001+08:00

Okay, fine, a disclaimer. I was high on The Emo and The Angst when writing the two posts directly below this and emotions may or may not reflect how I actually feel at any other given moment. KAZ STOP JUDGING ME.

2010-11-26T10:45:00.001+08:00

and really, how could I blame you?
it is I who tried to catch a raptor
when raptors are meant to soar free

Scotch tape

2010-11-26T10:34:00.003+08:00

Why
they ask me
Why, why?
They mean well
They
who have seen
my tears
saw
me grit my teeth
They mean well

I have no answer
Why?
is it really
a choice?
doesn't feel it
how can I
choose
not to breathe?

Even as tears
drip upon
my
scotch-taped heart
I
breathe
I
love
Regardless.

Sticks and stones
break my bones
words, they
break my heart
but there is tape
even when there
isn't
hope

Reinforced concrete

2010-11-25T10:18:00.000+08:00

With wires and stuff. Allowed to dry properly so it won't crack later on due to expansion and unexpansion and stuff like that.

iii

2010-11-24T22:23:00.004+08:00

Is this even working?

---

"No, don't wake her."

"But we can't have a crazy old woman in here! There's going to be a wedding here in an hour!"

"Calm down, son. Just leave her be, she's harmless. She's been here for every wedding since before my time. Thirty, forty years?"

"FORTY YEARS?!"

"Shh, son. She seems to be able to get by... lives in a hut round the hill, got relatives dropping by to make sure she eats."

"So why does she come to every wedding? Does she make a fuss?"

"No, no. She just sits through them with this look on her face like she's miles away."

"Go on."

"Well, they said she was right pretty when she was young. Can't see any of that no more, ey? She was in love with a local boy who got married here, and they say she must of wanted to speak up and split them up."

"So did she? She won't disrupt my sister's wedding, will she?"

"She never said a word, they say. She certainly never said anything for all the weddings I've conducted here. Ah, look at her, she's crying in her sleep, the poor thing."

---

Speak Now ii

2010-11-24T21:45:00.002+08:00

Okay, so the damn song is STILL in my head.

---

Meringue-girl, he called me, because he said I was sweet. It helped, of course, that I'd first gotten him to look at me with a nervously proffered bag of them.

It was supposed to be the best day of my life, and it had started out satisfactorily. How was I to know that my happiness would br ruined just like that?

He'd told me about her before. She was his first love, and she was everything a first love would be: beautiful, intelligent, graceful, popular. He'd asked her out, and to his surprise, she said yes. She dumped him after a month, I think it was. That was years before he met me, of course, and I'd tried to not let it bother me. Thinking back, I should've been more suspicious. The way he spoke of her was faraway and wistful.

My wedding day. I was in the back room touching up my makeup when one of my bridesmaids came in. A childhood friend. She looked at me with eyes full of worry. "I...I thought you should know. She's here, and I think she's trying to snatch him." I demanded to know who, not paranoid enough to suspect her. My voice rose as I argued that it wasn't possible. How could it be? I'd not invited her, not thinking she cared enough to attend.

-

The organ began to play and I fidgeted with my gown. A meringue dress for his meringue girl, he'd said. I smiled to myself as I walked towards him; towards the rest of my life. I tried not to look at her. Surely she'd have enough tact to realize that he loved me? My voice in my own mind sounded uncertain. Never mind, soon it'd be over.

"Speak now, or forev-" She stood up with a loud rustle. She commanded my guests' attention and proclaimed that I was the wrong girl for him. Me? What?! A too-familiar voice replied her, and my blood froze in horror as I turned to watch as my groom promised to run away with her.

-

I don't remember what happened next; not clearly, anyway. He left without a word, too ashamed to face me. Someone had sat me down, I think, so that I couldn't launch myself at him or at her. Did anyone try to talk sense into them? They told me they did.

It was supposed to be the best day of my life.

---

There. Now will this song PLEASE GET OUT??

Speak Now

2010-11-24T17:25:00.003+08:00

Because I have a Taylor Swift song stuck in my head and I resent it.

---

"Shit."

My bride looked up at me concernedly, her eyes asking the question her lips didn't.

"I'm fine, dear. It's just that my ex is here."

"I didn't invite her!"

"I know you didn't, darling. Don't worry. I won't let her spoil our day."

I sighed as my bride left for the back room. She'd had enough trouble to deal with, having caught one of her bridesmaids masturbating to her stockings. I don't think it was the shock of finding out that the girl was gay as much as the fact that she'd walked in while the girl was masturbating. Things that cannot be unseen, and all that. My bride had shouted at her, of course. Goodness knows what everyone outside thought.

I turned my thoughts back to more pressing issues. Certainly my ex was going to try to destroy my wedding. It'd look bad if I went and confronted her now, though, and knowing how she thought of herself as a sweet, good girl..... Yes, it'd be safe to just ignore her and say my vows.

I shook my head gloomily. Did she really not remember why I broke up with her? Or rather, how we came to be together in the first place. She was my best friend, once, and I thought she was close enough, cool enough, to tell her all my problems. The ups and downs of my relationship with my then-girlfriend. Somehow she persuaded me that that girl was wrong for me and she was right for me, and so I decided that eh, it was worth a shot. She was wrong, of course. She didn't like me; she liked who she thought I was, and she was blind to how I actually was. I left her and told her it would never work. And now she was here to ruin my wedding.

I steeled myself as the organist rustled past me. Soon, it would start, and she would probably take her chance when the fateful words of tradition were uttered. She would speak, I would ignore her, I would vow to have and hold my bride forever, and I would be safe.

---

Parking beliefs

2010-11-23T00:31:00.003+08:00

I am favored by The Lady, Dame Fortuna. So I'd like to think, anyway. The previous statements are only consciously thought out when I'm looking for parking (which happens a lot. Blah.)

I think it started with Hippo. I can definitely say that prior to him, I've not consciously held any beliefs (should I say superstitions? Yeah, superstitions) regarding parking spaces. I don't remember where we were, though it may have been the Curve. Then all of a sudden he went "Hail Mary full of grace, help us find a parking space." A very Hippo thing to say, to be sure, but sufficiently odd for me to laugh and ask about it and keep it in my head.

So there's that.

I think it was -that- trip to Taiping, where my aunt told me she believed in The Secret (I've since allowed myself to forgive her), and part of that included, well, believing that she had parking space luck. That's pretty much as hard-target as you can get; physical space is either there or not there. I wondered how she'd deal if there really was absolutely nowhere for her to park, but then, of course, parking in Taiping isn't particularly atrocious.

And then what she said got stuck in my head.

So when I go round the parking lot, I started to carry the Hippo's rime in the forefront of my mind, all the while musing over the mechanism of believing that one has parking luck might help increase parking luck (increased persistence? The sea of cars parking just for me?!) Then I added the Lady Luck/Dame Fortuna bit in to override the Hippo's rime, since I felt that as a non-believer, I shouldn't exploit the holy komodo dragon of parthenogenesis. (Disclaimer: komodo dragons are AWESOME. I'd just rather not be too close to them, personally, due to the poisonous saliva coating and all.)

Does it work for me, then? I do regard my parking luck as above average, but I can pick out why. I will always try for better times to enter the main block carpark, or head straight to the SPB carpark which fills up much less rapidly. I have a small car and good maneuvering skills, so I can park in between two legitimate parking spaces without scratching any cars, and I'm physically small enough to squeeze out. Generally, I do eventually luck out and get an awesome space, which of course I attribute to Luck favoring me, even as I scoff at it for being mindless superstition.
I guess a blow at superstition, though, is that on a day I felt lucky, main block carpark was utterly full to the brim, and SPB carpark full till cars were parking by the roadside (where I eventually parked). Take that, superstition. Parking luck is an illusion.

Though, uhh, don't take away my parking luck around PBD till Dec 17 or so, kay? ._.

2010-11-13T20:25:00.002+08:00

o hi, blog. It's kind of a good thing that no one (or rather, almost no one) reads you, because I've been neglecting you, my iddle widdle bloggikins.

heh.

Been mulling over gender roles and sexism following the aftermath of -that-, especially in light of parental reprimandations. I mean, really. Do you expect me to go "Oh, okay," when you give "because he's a male" or "because you're a female" as a reason for anything? Sad thing is that even if I try to just be what I am, the same traits can and will be viewed differently just because of my gender. Such a bummer, eh? It was vexing to see support for the fact that while females can act more assertive, they will not get the same effects as guys who are assertive. This is just bullshit.

Y'know, it's things like this that make me wonder if I should've been born as a boy. Dad'd be happy, I'm sure. I've always suspected that I have the traits of his ideal son, save for the son part. Not that I actually want to be male, though. I like being female, and I suspect that if I were born a boy I'd be a gay boy. I just find it so frustrating that just because of something petty like gender (or rather, I suppose, sex), traits that might've gone down better aren't really approved of.

Haaaaaaate. Bunny haet world. Bunny haet society. Bunny haet that bunny cannot be a proper female if she wants to keep her underlying traits.

--

In other news: I like the list of traits that people've rated for me.
complex
knowledgeable
reflective
self-conscious
tense
able
accepting
bold
caring
clever
dependable
energetic
extroverted
independent
intelligent
logical
mature
observant
responsive
self-assertive
sensible
shy
silly
spontaneous
trustworthy
witty

Emphasis on complex, intelligent, and witty. Yay?

I think I have a cavity in my upper left front tooth.

I guess you don't need me to say that when you message me, I smile.
^funny thing is the amount of people this applies to, but it doesn't make it less true for each person I mean it for

It feels like this time two years ago

2010-11-01T22:20:00.002+08:00

which wasn't a good time to be me. Hm.

*puts Next to Normal on the playlist*

I feel like I'm falling out of myself. Hmmm. Losing touch. Losing my touch. Eleanor Rigby. Still have yet to take the Hippo's advice. Should.

2010-10-26T00:26:00.002+08:00

http://kevan.org/johari?view=Tibbunny

This thing amuses me greatly. I like how I've been described, especially how I'm both extroverted and shy, both mature and silly. Pitch in, by all means.

Heh. It's amazing how there're things you don't notice till you hold stuff to the light. Sheesh, vater, you worry too much. But then I knew that. Just not the various ways this would manifest.

And really. I'd love to show you guys (well, not really, though I would like to show grandma), but it's not the kind of thing a parent would want to see their child do, I think? You'd be all supportive if it was your friend's child, I'm sure. We're all liars. That's why. Acting. Lying. Same difference. Being social, too, come to think of it. Not with the friends I choose, of course; you know what I mean. Putting on a show for relatives and whatnot, the best face, the best manners. Being sociable is an act, a lie. That is why I prefer friends that I won't feel the need to lie to. People that I won't feel the need to lie to.

Doesn't mean I can't get along with people, though. Different people kept at different levels of closeness for a variety of reasons. Mobility guaranteed in the face of change. And Tzeentch does stalk us, does he not?

I mean small changes, of course. Drastic changes are exception, not norm.

Try to fill the spaces in between.

RGOEDINUSHE
ENUHAFGRHCE
AITTRYEBYRK
CHINKMRSOUx

2010-10-19T01:02:00.000+08:00

less than three =)

Under sunshine pylons we'll meet

2010-10-14T20:02:00.001+08:00

while rain is falling like rhinestones from the sky.

I've a feeling the combination of songs in my clompy Skullcandy headphones would confuse people. Also: I probably need more Gorillaz in them. Somehow it fits my image of the headphones. Ah, Lemming, eternal thanks for being my mule.

Hm, I suppose the music least suitable for the image of the headphones would be something classical. Or maybe Fiddler on the Roof would do. I will never fully understand how some people can alter their preference in songs merely based on what's playing on the radio at the moment. Still, doesn't mean they're wrong, and hey, not all songs on the radio suck.

Maybe I am a spider, spinning stories at whim. But then Ophelia is a praying mantis. Praying. Preying. I'm not sure if I ever had more than one issue of that magazine, but I remember Ophelia's pumpkin bread recipe, and all the little mantises who like it.

Yes, I do still feel amused at the name. Soon, soon. All will be revealed in time.

As far as F-------- is concerned, I feel like I/we are superfluous. Still, those two did insist, and they do sort of want/need more people with them. Nervous, and scared that I'll seem presumptuous. Really really not sure how good I actually am, but like W said, confidence. bwahahaha. I think it'll turn out okay when the time actually comes, though I'm worried about the dry run. I mean, TWO weekends letting go of all else? I dunneh. Should be fun, at any rate. Would be something I'd kick myself if I didn't try, anyway, and I'll have N and K with me. Hurrah.

Still amused over R's cat-lover vs dog-lover classification system. I wonder how well it'll hold up if we tried it on the actual community. Mmmmm.

....and self, please don't forget actual assignments, please? -_- Need to try to replicate the me of this spring. Though I must say, it amuses the heck out of me whenever I seem to be being more social. Still, the timing seems to be off. Ah well. I think an 80-year-old Tibbunny would prefer it this way. IF the Tibbunny lives that long.

In other news, I think my ovaries are conspiring against me.

Hm. Reached a nice round 20 in terms of receiptstories submissions. Got R and K to send stuff in too. The virus, it spreads.... I guess I really do see things as stories. The idea of story prompts, of specific themes and things to be included, just makes me grin. *pats brain* Yet somehow I never think of creative stuff as something I could choose to do for reals. I wonder why. Probably how I think in terms of viable options. Hm. Perhaps also a lack of confidence in how good I am. Even as I look over my stuff and am happy with them, there's the nitpicking part of me, and the part of me that says that of course I like them; I wrote them, after all.
Maybe the future me can look through them and appreciate them as they are, just as how I look over stuff I wrote in the past. Some of it, anyway. I think reading my diary would just make me cringe.

Breathe. Half of the month left.
It's okay, because in the end, there's nothing anyway, so live.

rolls about

2010-10-11T23:00:00.002+08:00

For now, this life doesn't seem like mine (I'm not sure why, because on some aspects, I'm not sure whom else's it could be), but I'll live it anyway. Who was the one who said something about sucking the marrow from life?

Ah, yes. Living for today. I take that phrase to mean that you live as if you only have one life. I don't think people who believe in eternal life can really appreciate this one. If you perceive yourself to have a whole other life to do stuff in, you won't be as anxious to get stuff done now, aye?

Or maybe it's just me.

I dunno. I don't think life has meaning if there's no death to give it contrast, give it shape.

For now I will be a pampered housecat and examine the cat toys at my disposal. Even if those cat toys are labelled with "assignment" on them.

Whatever will be will be. And I should go look -that- up.

......apparently I forgot I had HealthPsych midterms tomorrow. Ooops?

It's just a spring clean for the May Queen.

2010-10-04T09:45:00.002+08:00

Sipping a cup of melancholy, I enjoy my solitude in a place full of excited conversations.

I wouldn't want to go to heaven. If I went to hell, at least there'd be the chance of sullenly clumping with a bunch of no-good misfits like me, and we could all complain about something together. If I went to heaven, it'd be polite and shallow inclusion all the way, and hushed tittering behind my back.

Of course, I prefer for there to be no afterlife, but it seems that few share my sentiments.

Where will the piper lead me, I wonder? Would I dance to a different tune just to annoy him? I seem to do that a lot, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Still, though, I bet the majority of people feel that they are in the minority. I am not as special as I think I am. Yet, perhaps I am more special that I think I am. Different contexts.

I still crack up thinking about the description of INTJ clients in that book I glanced through. Don't remember the specifics anymore, though Kell might. It was something amusingly apt for me. Ah well. ...should I? Should I not?

I guess other things are higher in the hierarchy for now. I glanced at it and I wondered if he got that habit from me. Influence. How does it happen? So often it goes unnoticed. No, focus. Get this done first.

I wonder how other people think of themselves. Some, I can see hints of. Some I can't. How do they think of how they think? Some don't think about how they think. Some don't seem to think, but I know they must.

Today is the 4th. October is here. One more month till all goes batshit. Maybe it'll be good. Six more days till I dress up pretty-pretty. Self, remember to do things to your boots. How taboo is wearing black to a wedding? How taboo is eating without waiting for elders to eat first? How taboo is it to like someone younger? Or with the same surname? Whom you regard as a sibling? tabu

labu. pumpkin. gourd. eating animals, using leather, eating people, talking about eating people.

Ah, right. None of them take weirdness in stride. How many people do? It takes a degree of familiarity, I think. If someone falls in track and plays along, well.

How taboo is the sexuality of pre-teens and young teenagers? Should we treat their respective subcultures as a legit culture accepting of such things? How small is too small, for a culture? Need to meet, need to discuss. Keep that in mind. Hold it up with tape.

Never forget.

One hour. Hold through, don't fall. It pains me to admit that I [...]. Olfactory sense as linked to...? Of course, there are studies that say [...]. Evopsych oh evopsych. I wish I could take you more seriously, but I find it hard. S'not that you aren't right about stuff. Guess it boils down to what -he- said about INTJ traits. It's not very practical (and does it pay the bills?)

It never fails to amaze me that there are people who like, even love, what I write. How I write. They don't mean this sort of ramblepost, of course.

Minutes. Seconds. Keeping time. I collect time, second by second, and keep it somewhere safe. But time doesn't keep. When you open the box, it'll all have gone. Time's not for keeping, it's for using.

Why was he here? When will he get here? Where is he now? Who is he, really? What will he be like if I see him? Each a different

15, and then I can go. Where are you?

Merry-go-round

2010-10-02T00:12:00.009+08:00

Ai Rene tossed this theme at me over the dinner table.

--

The girl sat on a bench facing the merry-go-round, waiting. She was dressed in a slightly faded but clean dress, and had a sweet face marred by an inexplicable tinge of solemnity. She looked about seven or eight, yet she gazed at the merry-go-round with the serious eyes of one much older.

A man arrived before her, and she looked up at him expectantly. He offered her his hand. "Shall we have a ride on the merry-go-round, sweetie?" he asked pleasantly. You could see her hesitation, but she broke into a shy smile and put her hand in his. She skipped, just a bit, as they went over to the painted wooden structure and he paid for them to get on.

She chose a giraffe and clambered on; he stood beside her with hands hovering protectively around her. Other people joined them, music started to play, and off they went; around and around, up and down.

His hands were on her, mocking parental embrace. He stood close to her so no one could see his fingers reaching under her dress. She is not smiling, nor is she distraught. Her face remains as solemn and passive as a doll's.

Up and down, around and around. She does not appear shocked by what he is doing to her, and this, ironically, disturbs him.

"Girl, does your father..." his voice trailed off. Her look says it all. It does not plead, it does not complain, it does not ask for help. It is a resigned expression; a dead expression.

Suddenly, he feels sick. The man had not told him she was well-used. He does not want her anymore.

The merry-go-round stops, and the two remain fixed in place while happy children and happy parents leave. He feels bad for her, just a bit, and stuffs a wad of cash into her hand. He walks away.

She sits on the painted wooden giraffe. She does not cry, does not smile.

She sits there until the merry-go-round operator tells her to get off, and then she is gone.

Hands

2010-09-30T00:05:00.009+08:00

Naoko tweeted asking for story prompts, and I thought the idea of spinning a story seemed like fun. So I took the prompt Ai Rene gave: hands.

--

She stared at his hands as he talked. He gestured with them, and since she was looking at them out of her peripheral vision, he did not see where her focus actually was. They were beautiful hands, and looking at them, she felt a wave of nostalgia. She took a long slow blink, pretending to nod in understanding, but actually sunk into a memory: slender but strong fingers caressing her cheek gently. She gives him a smile; he has no idea that the contents of their one-sided conversation are completely lost to her. Strong yet gentle, and capable of so many things. Yes, he had perfect hands, she thought to herself. They suited him so well.

Later, when she had bid him farewell, she pondered. How would she go about it this time? After all, she did not want others to know of this. It was her secret. She wasn't sure she even wanted him to know. He wouldn't understand. And well, it was so hard, you know? So tricky. Even if......no, it wouldn't work even then. She'd tried, and she'd failed. It was so disappointing; so frustrating. She wasn't sure she could deal with that anymore, but she felt she ought to try.

She dreamed. His hands running over her skin. Their weight, the reassuring warmth. The size of them against the tininess of her back. Bitter was the color of her smile.

She knew what she had to do. After all, she'd been through this so many times. So many disappointments, but still. One last time she would try.

...

She wrenched her door open, breathing hard. It hadn't gone well; not at all. She wiped tears from her face smudgily. She gazed up at the shelves of her room. They were still the same; there was nothing she could do about it. There was no way she could preserve their warmth, their life, and yet this was the only way she could own them. She dropped her bag and his hands tumbled out.

--

And then Naoko was inspired by it, and this was what she wrote. I love what she did to it. 8D

Heh, and then I was tempted to write more...

--

She hugged the bag close, her face radiant with a blissful smile. Ahhh, grandpapa. She knew she could've gone to him earlier; she could've gone to him all those times, but how could she face him? After what she had done? She'd been too ashamed. The more she thought of it, the sillier she felt, and her heart blossomed with affection for the old man. He loved her so much... how could she have thought that he'd not understand?

She stepped into her apartment jauntily. She was so happy she could sing. Oh, they were perfect, so perfect. She took the bag out and unzipped it reverently. She clasped them in her hands, then held the right one so that it cupped her cheek. She closed her eyes, sinking into a dreamy smile. But...wait. There was something missing. She strode to the window, where pale sunlight filtered in, and placed the hands in a patch of warmth. There, the final touch. Now she would have to wait for an hour, less than an hour. What was a mere hour compared to months of unspoken longing?

She began to hum something sweet as she made the decision to tidy up her room. Now that she had them, everything else could be disposed of. As she picked up each article, though, bitterness crept back into her heart. She'd tried so hard, but she could not do it the way grandpapa did. She wanted to show him what she had done, make him proud of her, and she had failed, time after time. She had wasted so many of them, and at last she caved and took them to grandpapa. She wanted it to be the last time, after all, and this pair of hands were of particular value to her.

She was almost certain grandpapa knew; he had given her that look as she went to collect her treasure. The news had been talking about a serial killer who, as his signature, took the hands of young men, and she had always been bad at hiding things from grandpapa. Still, he was the one who brought her up. He taught her all that she knew.

In time to her melody of low alto, she put all the twisted parodies, her failed conquests into the duffel bag. She would deal with those later. For now... She skipped to the window and laced her fingers with his.

--

2010-09-29T22:01:00.004+08:00

heh, dipping my toes into that again. Apparently I am this huge enigma that doesn't fit into any box that well. There's just too much variation amongst people to expect them to fit into boxes nearly, though. You'd probably have to lop off parts of them that don't fit, toss them into the box with the owner. Of course, then they'd be all bloody and severed and incapacitated, but eh, they fit into the box, yeah?

Now I'm wondering if I should've worn the headphones[...] Product placement? Hm.

yellow-green. possibly with hints of navy blue.

p'raps that reflects how he used to see me; just that the color ratios are largely reversed now. Shall try to ask him. And while it still seems hard to believe, it's what he sees. ._.

gods, these "milk tablets" taste awful. Ugh. Probably not meant to be chewed. >_>

...detachment. [...] ...it makes me wonder if I were properly attached in the first place. But with such a huge range of things? Seems mightily consistent.

............ Fine, I'll just take Ai Rene's. hands.

2010-09-28T18:10:00.001+08:00

So it is done! My bits, anyway. Was definitely fun, and it's always nice to meet people like that. Shall see how it goes.

Mmmmmmm. *grins*

2010-09-28T01:25:00.003+08:00

I can't believe I went through today with 3 hours of sleep. Operating on pure hyperness = win
Mmmmm, it was a good day. Very very much so. -that- was so much fun. Not totally unexpected, but eh, I've not tried before, so yay, new achievement unlocked. Managed to get things to their satisfaction, too. Shall see how their work turns out. :3

How appropriate that The Shadow King was around as they spoke of MBTIs. Mmmm, must ask him why he didn't think I was E. Though perhaps the mere fact that he sensed that I was tense did it.

Today feels like a week rolled into a day. It's nice. Maybe I should try for more of this kind? I don't think I'd be able to, though. Hyperness can only sustain one for so long before a crash will happen. Heh. And goodness knows being in the rain when I have flu AND freak second period of the month will do bad things to me. Even if it was fun. Even if I'd totally do it again.

I think there's this sense of liberation when you've gotten your clothes wet and you don't have anything that will be spoiled by rain with you. Just fuck it all and hop in puddles and dash about madly in the rain. Whee.

P.S.: To Future Self who sees this one far-off day; please remember to high-five yourself for all that transpired today. kthx

P.S.2: To Future Self who sees this one far-off day; you're gonna laugh at how cryptic this post is, but eh, I'll write about it when the surprise is out. :3

If only I could take it out back and shoot it

2010-09-25T19:20:00.003+08:00

I think too much, wonder too much, speculate too much, imagine too much, about all manner of thing.

(Whenever I type "all manner of thing", I wonder if the teachers ever knew that there were books in the library with smut. They pulled that other one with the phrase "as I will, so mote it be" in it, but not this one.
Damn, I wonder what it'd be like to do research like Mara. Book: Angels and Men by Catherine Fox. Definitely not a book you want in a high school library, people.)

I guess it contributes to how aggravating I can be if I feel like it; the wolflet and I kinda see undermining conversations as an art form. Extra points if the conversation seems to have a moral to it. Blah.

It's fascinating finding out where the bits and pieces of what I see as me come from. I know that I will always feel closer to meine vater's side of the family because debates and wit thrive there. A good dose of family drama, too, I must say. It simmers and occasionally boils over, and, I think, I prefer that side because I have a place there. I have value there. They want me. I am one of them, for better or worse.

Meine mutter's side... They're nice people. No, I don't think I'll ever stop seeing the word "nice' as a subtle insult. not when being nice usually needs you to be a liar, an actor, a pretender. They keep up appearances, they do. They aren't twisted, bitter cynics, not them. There's no family drama, everyone's all happy-happy and there's no rants behind anyone's back. I don't feel I belong. I am, of course, always made to feel welcome, but even my cousins' girlfriends fit in better.

Value. I smile to myself thinking about that trip back. Their world is too small, and they grate against each other. They'd be happier dispersed, I think. But then again, they might let their feuds simmer till gatherings. They settle into their niches and no one really listens to anyone else anymore. And that is why I, as the impartial listener, am valued.

Yes, I realize I'll be in trouble if any of my family (except, perhaps, the wolflet) sees this.

Mmm. I'm reminded of some past blog post where I realize how patriarchal my mind is. It was a shock to me; the person whom I was chatting with at the time found it ironic. She thought I was a feminist, I think she said. Can't remember. Not sure if I am one or not. Might be a bit of a misogynist, even, depending on how you define things like femininity, misogyny, femaleness, etc. Gods, this train of thought makes me uncomfortable.

Which reminds me (how, exactly?) of the convo with Rin earlier today, where she says she only wants to post things (not referring to blog, though) that have one central point. She'd call this a ramble, and I would too.

Which reminds me (how, exactly??!?!??!) that I'm scared to use the word "love" is certain contexts because I'm not sure what it means. Don't even know how I'd operationally define it on a personal level. I don't think I'd want it to be the same definition as the love I think of in relation to parents or family. Ought to be different from that with friends, too. It's so amusing that I'd actually be afraid of words, but there you have it. I don't like to say things that might be inaccurate, when I am being serious. Joking around, I will say things that are obviously untrue for the lulz.

Which leads my train of thought to teleology and deontology, to where I first had to decide whether I thought that the ends justified the means. Mm. That place.

Note to self: learn to drink tea without sugar.
Second note to self: berate Kaz for sticking Black No.1 in my head.

Alejandro

2010-09-23T17:37:00.002+08:00

Dr Anasu showed us this music vid in class today, and it was unsettling. Keep in mind that I barely blinked at it when I first watched it, yet watching it in class made me squirm, just a bit.

The vid, in itself, causes squirminess, of course. It's meant to be unsettling. Then again, I didn't react much to it when watching it on my own.

Perhaps it is the very fact that being shown a music video in class is shocking. Moreso because of the nature of this video, of course. Then, there is the fact that it is there projected on the screen, much larger than it would be on a browser window, and it is thus less easy to gloss over the details. Another factor could be that I was watching it with lecturer and classmates (most of whom I am not overtly familiar with), so perchance their presence affected my squirminess as well. The amount of attention I paid on the separate watchings could be relevant; I tend to get bored of music videos and switch tabs with the music still playing, whereas in class, it was something I was required to focus on.

Aaalejaaaaandro, aalejaaaaandro.....

I want someone to hug

2010-09-23T08:02:00.005+08:00

because honestly, it is freezing here at lvl 5. Augh. Should've listened to my Clothing Instinct and grabbed a jacket. But then, I kinda have enough stuff already. Small rabbits are not meant to be beasts of burden. Brrr, cold. It's not like I'm dressed in anything too exposing, either. T-shirt, pants that reach shoes, and frigging boots. Why is it so bloody cold here? Augh.

Hm, I prolly ought to shift up to level 9 where I promised my little ~~mushroom~~ helpful participant I'd be.

And yes, I remembered to bring Fluffy. Cleaning Fluffy up made me think of one of the sweetest things [ex-bf] did for me. But eh, my evaluations of what is sweet and what isn't is probably screwy. Stiiiiiill, though.

...now I mourn not bringing my mouse. Wait. Jacket > mouse. The best argument for wearing winter boots to class ever, I'm sure.

Things to look up:
- affirmative action
- paternal prejudice
- diabetes (creme caramel?)
- skirts (not really, but for the sake of bad jokes, pretend)

...............Got traumatized by Kaz's link of paper ero and guro. Kaz, how could you?

*yawns*

coldcoldcoldcoldcoldcoldcold. Someone hug me? ;_; Or bring me a jacket. Jacket, preferred, actually, for convenient travel.

Mmmm, more twitter. Eeee, ferret. And there is a pikachu in the phone of the girl beside me. Pika pi.

aughaughaugh leg cramping from the way I was sitting. Uncramped, but how should I sit now???

I think a change of venue would be prudent, but first! *continues reading twitter*

...okay, now I think I want a rabbit. They're very warm. Maybe even a huge one? I wouldn't have to carry it, right? Just attach a harness and let it hop endearingly behind me. I think if you showed up now and hugged me warm again I'd want to keep you forever. (This is not a specific you; it's quite a general one. Though I suppose I don't actually want strangers hugging me (>_<), and Kellen-the-walking-heater doesn't see to read my blog anymore and various other people who might read my blog wouldn't be likely to appear here anyway (wait, do they read my blog? I think not. Too cryptic and crazy. Woohoo.)

Aaaaa, ferret.

Aaaaand I should stop looking at NSFW stuff in college, I think. But there's a wall right behind me. =x (s'not like it's, well, y'know, what the internet is for. More amusing than arousing, at least to me. People attracted to lesbians might say otherwise.) I need to stop making mental ba-dum-CHSSHs at stuff. Somehow I get the feeling that it's not as mature as I ought to be. =/

Pity virtual hugs only warm the soul. D'ya think level 9 would be any warmer? I don't think so either, but eh, worth a shot.

*hums The Exodus*

--

Kay, so I've landed at lvl 9. I want to be visible to [participant who is gonna ~~give me a blanket~~ hand me the bunch of questionnaires her friends did. Even if I get frostbite in the process. Fuuuuuck. This place is cold.

Remember the time I went to exam hall in long skirt and long-sleeved shirt and jacket and looked Victorian and all? (You don't, since you, person on internet, probably didn't see me, but I do.) It was totally necessary to beat the cold.

Can I stop talking about the cold? Maybe. Put on a layer of lip color after I realized I looked like a corpse. The wonders that artificial coloring will do. I guess it's a good sign that I'm almost not wearing makeup anymore, though. I always worry that if I get too used to it, one day I'll not be able to go out barefaced anymore.

"SHUT UP, HYENA! IT PAINS MY IB THAT THE HOLY APIS BULL MUST DROP HIS DUNG IN YOUR MAYFLY NATION!"
Ah, Spike. I don't think I'll ever get what Templar, AZ is about, but that doesn't mean I'll stop trying to find out. Probably will have to reread the whole thing when it's all done or something. I dunno. Ooooh, she's ranting. Rant, Spike, rant! =D

...if she finds this.... Okay, shall not speculate on that.

Just in case, though, I think Spike is awesome and I enjoy reading her rants.

So bloody cold. D'ya think Kell would bring me a jacket if I asked him to? Would you bring me your jacket? I just remembered that class will be in 8.5 of the bloody bloody cold. Augh.

And yesssssss, one wool jacket coming up.

How do girls wear those tiny shorts here? I don't even have..... wait I do. But I don't wear them to college. =< Lakeside, yes, seaside, yes.
Wait, how do I wear miniskirts, then? Oh, right, different days, different rooms. I need to trust my Clothing Instincts more. >_<

Ia! Ia! Cthulhu fhtagn! The irony, of course, is that[...]

I really won't be able to write about anything but the cold, it seems. Shouldn't I go google stuff on that list? Yesssss, I should.

It's not a very informative post, is it? Not really directed at you, either. More of me talking to myself to keep warm and to keep myself company, and to get the thoughts out of my head.

Hmmm, need to experiment with the pumps and the ribbons. Would it really be inappropriate to wear boots to a wedding? Demure ankle boots? If I want to appear as some toned-down creature of the night to curse the couple? 10/10. It's that soon. Need to pretty up. Shiiiiiiit. Why do I have so much disdain, anyway? She's a year older than me. I don't think they connect on any level other than well, y'know. Part of me resents that she fits in with my family better than I do, even though I don't -want- to fit in with my family. >_> So I wanna dress up pretty-pretty for her wedding. Yeah, I know, it doesn't really make sense to me either. I don't always make sense to me.

Oooh, I think my feet are frozen. Stockinged feet in leather boots, freezing in a tropical climate. Air conditioning is awesome.

So now Naoko is cooking Japanese curry, it seems. Which reminds me of the Hippo. A slight dose of Steph, too, but mainly Hippo. And Inception.

W-what.... it's only 9:41a.m.? I ought to be in bed. How did I reach college at 7:30a.m. anyway? The things I do for parking. T_T
See, that's why I want to leave HELP as soon as possible. Not for the leccies, not for the classes, not for whatever anyone said, not for anyone. I want to leave HELP as soon as possible because the parking is a nightmare. I get up at the asscrack of dawn because I know looking for parking later in the day will do bad things to my blood pressure. Augh.

Mrrrrrrrr. I think I want a wolf-pelt cape. Wouldn't you? I'd wear it with the wolf-head over mine, definitely, paws knotted neatly around my neck. Wait, how do you knot wolf-paws? Hmmm, with my neck it might be possible. Large wolf. Really large one.

.....mood-enhancing chemicals in semen? Whaaaaat.

one more hour. Hang in there, fingers. I think they're starting to numb from the cold. D: THis is amazing. I think I'm going to buy a pair of fitted gloves for air cond use. (Obviously mittens would be inappropriate for typing.)

Thing about having Fluffy with me is that I can't go for a walk. =/ Which is a bummer... Right hand's fingertips really do feel a bit numb. Someone needs to look into how much additional expenses are being used to power all this unnecessary cold. Oh, did I tell you I have a flu coming on? I have a flu coming on. Baaaaaah.

I..I...I suppose this is why some girls wear padded bras? Added insulation, and all that. So they can keep prancing around in skin-baring outfits in this kind of temperature. Which of course reminds me of what the Hippo said about Canadian girls who wear skimpy outfits in the dead of winter. No shit. It's just mind-boggling.

Now I'm trying to think of a word. Starts with a p, I think. Word means something to do with... AH, GOT IT. Proprioceptors. That's how you feel yourself, you know. ._.

How can it only be 10:07a.m.???? This is madness. Cold madness. I am never gonna do this again. And still my contact hasn't arrived, so I can't move from where I am. Whyyyyy? Please don't do this to me. I don't want to do bad things to you. ;_:

Sod it, I'm leaving Fluffers here and going for a short walk so I regain blood circulation.

--

Shit. Stairwell was warm (though smoky), but coming back here from there is just cruel.

...........et tu, right ear? That's it. I'm packing up. *grumbles*

2010-09-20T22:46:00.003+08:00

I think I've finally retreated from that fascinating state of mind I refer to as Dead Calm. It's the label that fits it best, I think. A kind of concentration, distillation of who I am and what I am capable of, handily kicking in when I need it most. This is why I tend to do well for important presentations and screw up minor ones (must be noted that screwing up is how I view it, but others say I do fine. Ah, perception.)

Hmm, maybe it's like the eye of a storm. Find the middle, find the balance, and suddenly it's all clear blue skies and sharp, clear thoughts. It's not just a cushion or a buffer either; things dealt with during Dead Calm (or rather, I suppose, the thoughts that deal with things) persist in working even afterwards.

I've never thought of wanting to staying in that state, though. Only now do I wonder why I don't. I think the fact that it kicks in just when I need it most makes it sufficient for me. Maybe I really am that easily contented. Now why does that sound like a bad thing? xD

How do you bait someone with hypotheses, anyway? #SpringAwakening

I think... I...

2010-09-17T00:17:00.002+08:00

是时候好好处理事情了。。。所剩的时间真得不多了，而且你们有你们的事情。我了解你们的处境，但是好心你，根本是你的主意啊。可以慌张一点吗？我真得很怕。>_>

2010-09-12T21:00:00.003+08:00

It bugs me that you nrrt ay d.p xnri ay yd. oam. ycm. ao frg p.ae mine. I don't know if frg ap. jdayycbi ,cyd d.p yd. oam. ycm. frg jday ,cyd m.v I don't think there's anything I can do about it now, though, so I'll take the Hippo's advice and stop speculating before brain goes splodey.

Ydp.. mrp. eafow .dZ C ,rbe.p cu frg-p. lnabbcbi abfydcbi ,cyd ydayv

And there's nothing to get hung about. Strawberry fields forever.
Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.

Hm. So I'll keep my eyes open and live hard.

If ya wanna find me, I'll be in my field of grass with the swaying daisies. And sunblock. Lotsa sunblock. But not growing in the grass, or on the grass. On me. That ought've been obvious. Right? Right.

2010-09-05T16:55:00.002+08:00

Self, you are not just a number. Does it really matter that you didn't buy a size 6 jacket because you wanted a size 4, and then bought a size 8 the next day? The jacket fits you well. It's flattering. Perhaps a size 6 in that brand would look too constricting, let alone a size 4. You know sizes are bullshit anyways, and your size 8 is an S. Shouldn't that be okay already?

And don't go moping about how you should've gotten the size 6 one. If it is perfect, you would've known when you put it on, the way you did with this one. Not just the size, but the hang of it, the finish, the fabric, the cutting, the buttons, the feel of the lining inside. Don't let that one number bother you, because jackets weren't ever meant to be skintight, and hell, you're not the type who'd go for skintight shirts in the first place.

Geez, self, when'd you become the thought police? Oh, right, somewhere round age two. Shut up, self.

1/4

2010-09-04T22:38:00.004+08:00

So it's not 0/4. Though it never is 0/4, is it?

Until the end of time...she goes her way.
What song is this? Oh, Mother Earth. I'm not familiar with Within Temptation, you see, and only now am I listening to that precious DVD sent over an ocean. (Not that I didn't listen to some of the songs, of course. Kamelot's A Sailorman's Hymn haunts me, and all.) I suppose the fact is that the sheer amount of the songs were a deterrent? I lie. It is because it's in DVD format, and it's hard to play them album by album, especially if I want the tracks in the right order, unless I play the whole DVD, but then I won't be able to sort through the songs individually. Ah well.

Where was I? Ice Queen. I wonder what they said to him, but I don't really care. It'd be interesting to know, but eh, things are awkward enough as it is, and while she might know, she is not the type who would be forthcoming about it.

Plots and plans. Would these erode away too? Our Farewell. It shan't be a farewell. I hope she can make it. Those other two seem so far away. With that one, it's seasonal, of course, and with that one, he'll be back soon. Mmmm, I should take a look at accommodation, prices and the like.

--

You two, get back to me. After all, you set it at Sunday night, didn't you, boss? Sheesh. At least join dropbox. Or has Kell invited you? He would've, I think, but then I'd be notified if you joined the shared folder.

Yes, of course I realize they might not see this. I'm talking out loud to myself, you know? Clearing my thoughts and all.

--

Caged. I suppose I've become so used to ignoring people that I don't feel the effects of society much. Clearly this is Rong. After all, society is Mportant.

Pardon me for my little rant. I do try to get out of the cage, not sure if I am out of it yet, but at least I can see that it's just a line in the sand. It's all in your heads, dudes. But of course my view is that of the minority; therein lies the problem of having many close friends of the same mindset: you lose sight of what is "normal", and start to think that OF COURSE it is expected to toss raw meat at friends who reveal that it scares them.

The Promise. Hm. Promises. I didn't. Other understandings are, well, understandings, with the backgrounds upon which they are made understood.

--

You realize, of course, that -- is arbitrary. O slot it in as I see fit, which may or may not make sense. Also, I slot in the song title of whatever is playing at the moment, only because I'm not familiar enough with the songs to slot in obscure song lyrics, which would make everything even more confusing. This isn't a reader-friendly blog, I realize. Ooops? I guess I don't need it read, though it tickles me that there are visitors still. Few, of course, but I must not forget that this blog is not private.

--

Hm. Why do I still have that up? that, too. and random phrases of...Latin? Kingdom Animalia Phylum Chordata Subphylum Vertebrata Class Mammalia Order Lagomorpha Family Leporidae
Ortolagus Cuniculus. Or was it Cuniculus Ortolagus? I forget. One of my old pink name tags, needles with thread, Never Ending Story., logos, my paternal grandfather's birth and death dates, ah, those magnets. I ought to discard it, I think, but it's not the magnet's fault. It's only a piece of paper, cut and drawn and stuck, and the meaning of the drawing would not be what I assigned to it to most people anyway. I let the magnet be, as I have time after time. I forget it's existence most of the time anyway.

I've not talked to you in ages, Raichu. You're as seasonal as the Hippo? No, not even. But you responded just for a bit tonight, and you bought me that tiny bottle of Carolans. Deceiver of Fools. Hm.

I know this is an incoherent post. Few, if any, would still be reading this far, I think? I don't blame you, because I know I wouldn't. Ah, where was I? Went off reading about acoustic waves and paintings. Perhaps my time would be spent better than rambling on and on, but meh.

--

Gonna dump here a note I left on my phone when I was sitting alone on a balcony on the 27th floor of Tower Hotel (or was it Hotel Tower? Nah.) Awana.

Music filters up, up 20 floors amidst the occasional truck.
Piano. Singing.
It is a cool night and I feel the cold. The music doesn't seem particularly good, but it has a nighttime feel to it.
I wait for a reply, knowing it is unlikely.
Hello, is it me you're looking for?
other lines are lost in the night
...I love you.

The music stopped.
Frogs are croaking.

--
Dark Wings. Within Temptation is listed as Gothic. Of course I'm not goth. I'm not that gloomy, nor will I ever use that much makeup, because it's pricy. I'm just not much of a smiler by default. Doesn't mean I won't smile. Doesn't mean I won't smile for you.

In Perfect Harmony. Ah, the other songs are bonus tracks. I hear fireworks outside.
What was that I was thinking while dad was talking earlier, at the dinner table? Ah, yes. Imagining knowledge on a topic as a sphere. Maybe made up of different colored sections with colors blending and merging. Made of papers put together, or something. And gaps, of course. How did that thought start? Right, half of half. Started as a line. Moving in halfs, you never reach the end. Though of course it's never that neat, but still never reaching the end, but moving closer and closer. What was dad talking about? I'm a bad listener, sometimes.

--

I want a hug. =x
Bonus track is Bittersweet.
I will be waiting for you.

(It's not so much that I quote lyrics that much, I guess? Just that I'm trying to type out stuff that's in my head and phrases of song that stand out will be rattling about in my head.

Hm. Shall see what I blog like when I don't have any music playing.)

2010-09-04T11:39:00.002+08:00

So I'm waxing paranoid again. Big surprise, since I'm on the rag and all. Hormones, mood swings, time of the month. They all go together, eh? If people hand me that excuse, I'm gonna use it.

The thing is, I could be wrong. While the ycm.oyamlo are identical, and the nrjaycrbo very similar, they aren't the same. Knowing u..ehcy, it'd put the same nrjaycrb, unless of course it was a different computer. Which puts the identical ycm.oyamlo more as freaky coincidence. Or, of course, high-level messing with brains.

And of course it's still a bad measure, though I think less bad than they would have me believe. Frg nct. japm.b ,rbi - C drl. ,cyd ann mf d.apy yday cy-o bry ypg.

But really, there's nothing I can do about it, because it's conspiracy theory-esque speculation. =D =D

Rerum Edax

2010-09-03T02:35:00.003+08:00

The ninth card, eh?

Hermit.

I guess I get why they go off by themselves, now.

It is bloody fucking annoying that I figured that I'm a humanist, though. I don't want to be a humanist. But here I am, hoping better of individuals, hoping better of humanity. Who'd want to be one of those idealistic fools?

yet I know it's what I am. Goddamn.

You would have me go against my principles to fit in? You would have me lie, choose the immoral option, choose apathy and yet claim friendship? Friendship is more than supporting each other. It's telling each other when you feel they're an idiot. It's what you're doing for me. Can't you see it was what I was attempting?

哀莫大于心死

It's not like I didn't know you'd be this type. We figured that you were this type, but I guess I thought you'd at least understand where I was coming from. I guess I can lay this train of thought to rest. I tried, and I saw your driving thoughts. I can't say it doesn't shock me to see you type those phrases; to see that it is what you believe in. I don't mind that it is what you believe in, but please don't make me do this. I know what you're talking about, because I've been there, and I don't like it there. I will not be society's good little sheep and "turn a blind eye". Gods, I seem like I'm mocking you when I'm quoting verbatim. When is that ever a good sign?

...I kind of wish you could've attended her class today, but I guess it'd be lost on you. I'd say I was disappointed in you, but not really, because I expected no different.

It's always sad, though, when you realize for the final time how incompatible their mind is. I know you mean well, but really, I'd expect you to know by now that I would choose to be outcast if the alternative is to baa along obliviously.

Goodbye. I treasured you as a friend, and I'll still be nice to you. Goodbye. I won't hope again.

hurts

2010-08-27T05:06:00.002+08:00

well yeah it does, i'm gnawing on my knuckles after all.

I suppose they'd tell me that it was a bad measure to begin with. and really, I think my subconscious likes seeing me suffer. Bad subconscious. Bad.

Of course it could be a coincidence, but I'm not banking on that. After all, it's a bad measure and it doesn't mean anything, no?

Shut up, self, and go to bed for the nth time in n minutes and try to get some rest. Really, self. You need to take care of me better. Self, stop agonizing yourself. But really, isn't it good Norwegian Wood what? I was talking here. Isn't it good that the most agonizing thing you have is this sort of overthinking self-agony? And aren't you happy you debunked it yourself? Well, I suppose I am. In the morning (well, you call it morning, but) I will be fine. Yes, I'm glad you realize that, so go to bed, self.

Fine, self, you win. It was a bad measure to begin with, it's still a bad measure, it doesn't mean anything, I am only agonizing myself over it because I need rest, and I will get rest now.

Happy, self?

Yes, very. Sweet dreams.

2010-08-20T23:07:00.000+08:00

I miss you. I want to see you.

2010-08-19T19:22:00.000+08:00

aybe I've already died, and this is my afterlife. Days go by and they seem unreal. Things that happened just hours before fade, like dreams. Logically I know they happened, but it doesn't feel real.

It's not that I really want or need to know if what I'm living is real, because the fact is that no matter if it's a "real" reality or a "fake" reality, it is the reality that I am in.
No, it is just that it feels somewhat terrifying to realize that something that happened mere hours before feels like a dream, or a story you read in the past, even if it was real.

Things, people, feelings, do not seem to have any permanence. The thought that I have failed to accquire object permanence flashes by, but that is not possible, as I do remember books I own. Perhaps I lack a sense of relationship permanence?

You must realize that I do not actually mind that I am this way; just that I find it odd and wonder if others feel like this too. Rationally, I figure it's just that I have a memory like a sieve. And yet, I can recall memories rather vividly if I am prompted. The matter is that if I am not prompted, though, I do not remember, and even when I do remember when prompted, it feels....detached. Surreal.

Maybe I'm just in a weird mood today, but I swear now and I swear true: I will strive to not forget the memories that I deem important. Those important to me, I do not want to forget, so even if they feel like stories that happened to someone else, I will hold on to them. Letting them slip away would be to forsake those people that are parts of the memories.

2010-08-08T12:50:00.003+08:00

The point of getting a raptor is not to keep it in a cage, but to see it fly, and hope that it likes me enough to come soaring back now and then.

Opposable thumbs

2010-08-05T15:51:00.002+08:00

Shit, my brain is defaulting to n2n lyrics again.

I HAVE CONQUERED THE FRIDGE AND WASHED THE HECK OUT OF IT!!!!
I will be the first to admit how happy I am that the freezer was not a part that had to be cleaned. >_>

So, then, I've a task to finish by midnight, or else I turn into a pumpkin. But that can wait, can't it? Fingers itching to pick up my sewing again. Must learn how to use sewing machine to reinforce the sides. =/

That's a silly question

2010-08-03T12:29:00.001+08:00

of course I can live without them. And not just live soullessly, either. I am aware of how I am in this aspect, and it does somewhat unnerve me, but that's how it is.

Poor Kell

2010-08-03T12:28:00.000+08:00

Our dreams do bully him so...

After Hippo threw his head at him in his, a ceiling fan fell on him in mine.

Content accurate at time of publishing

2010-08-03T11:12:00.009+08:00

but reality changes, and sometimes, what was once uttered in truth can no longer be true. I believe what is important is truth at the time it was spoken. I account for decay as time passes, because Chronos does like to change things, he does.

--

I guess it reminds me of what Dom said of Mal; what I've pondered many many times prior to that. The images of people in my head are always inaccurate versions. Truncated, maybe. Parts that I can't see. Oversimplified. Overblown. Larger than life. Smaller than life. Reality is always more fascinating than fiction, because fiction has to make sense. People don't, and that is what makes them glorious. Every time you learn something new, something surprising about someone, you are forced to alter the way you see them. Ever-changing, plastic people in my head. Because if I do not continuously update the images of people in my head, they begin to fade, because I can hardly expect the people my images are based on to remain as they were. Reality holds so much more depth than I can have just by imagining, because my imagination cannot keep track of so many variables at a go. I end up with maybe a facet or two at a time, which is why the Yuen in my head nags me to do work, the Ai Rene in my head encourages slash pairings, the... the Ken Wei in my head teases me in ways I remember him doing (though the last hardly ever appears; his image is fading). Of course the real people are more than that, but the images I have are like snapshots, or videos; you can only see a few facets at a time. You cannot freeze the image and walk around them, unless you know them enough to have knowledge of all those facets. The Kellen in my head is more real than the Melissa in my head. This is unsurprising. The more I know about a person, his background, the way his mind works, the more accurate an approximation of him I can create in my mind. Same goes for the rest of my core. 8D

Yet, as I said, they are only approximations. Reality will always throw up some bits that I do not know, that I cannot know, that they themselves may not even be aware of. I can only come to the same conclusion that I came to years ago: There is a truth, but it cannot ever be fully reached; however, you can get closer to it.

Now wasn't that a nice long rambling wall-o-text?

Added later: I'm very aware of how I don't know all the facets of Rin, Kell, Noelle, and Hippo. After all, I do NOT want to know all of Hippo's facets, to preserve my sanity. And well, do I have to? I am pretty sure that no matter what new things I find out about them, I will still (very platonically) love them. But that does not mean I cannot envision that I'd drift apart from any of them.

And I don't even know all my facets, so I can't yammer about not knowing all of theirs. Though there are probably facets of me I don't want to consciously know. Ugh. >_>

The much delayed Other Conclusion: real people are much fascinatinger than dream-people, because you can't predict them, which makes it more interesting.

/hmm

You can pretty much say that for me, Interesting trumps Ideal any day.

--

The only true happy endings I can think of are orgasm and death. Anything else is but a plot point.

Monologue to a cricket

2010-07-30T16:43:00.001+08:00

oi, what are you doing in here?

......

How did you get in here?

......

You'll end up dying in here.

......

Eh, where did you disappear to?

E-FGB-B-CE-CF

2010-07-29T01:34:00.001+08:00

2FE-2DE-FE-B-CB-

Ah, this person!

2010-07-29T00:51:00.004+08:00

So here I am, blog, "alone-alone". Today has been, for the most part, a good day, and the bad part was something that was already written. I shall not worry about it further, just as I promised her. Yes, today has been nice to me. I need to buy Eevee food and a leash. Am I really his doppel? It will be interesting to meet him. We shall see, if it ends with them being together long enough for me to meet him. I miss her, but at least now I know. Saturday. It shall, I think, be one of those sadly? disappointingly? shockingly few days that I remember. Yet as I type that I know tis a lie; my memory is like a sieve, and -that- day, which I swore I would not forget, is slipping away from me. I try to hold it to me, but it is like gathering foam from rough seas. Each grab I make causes them to dissipate further, dancing just tantalizingly out of reach. Ah, me. How I wish I could remember. This is the hand I've been dealt, and I can only make do with it. Yet...would I want to write it down, if I could recall? I think not. While I know leaving it in my memory would cause it to warp every time I take it out to examine, I know that writing it down would tarnish it forever with that one interpretation. Is the only way it would remain pure to leave it there, at the back of my mind, and never attempt to recall it? Nay! Even if I leave a scroll there, it will eventually decay. Should I then remember it, every now and then, to copy new scrolls? Even as I know that each recopy will twist the account a little? Alas!
I try to clear my mind, conjure up the flame and the void, but that reminds me of hot muggy days in a dull classroom. Those were the days when I was an outcast to most. Sometimes I glimpse the me of those days. I was lucky to know you then, o hippo. And I am lucky to know you still. I wonder about our classmates. They...they do not seem to change. Have they, actually? It is not likely that they will be able to not change.

I weary of this train of thought. I would prefer to forget they are. Today she stirred up even older memories, and I wonder anew how much my life would be different had I not made that decision. My brethren, how would we be different? Most of us seem tarred, to a certain extent, with the same brush. Yet did this tar exist before, or was it a result of...? I am not sure if others will find this worthy, but I will always wonder, so I ought to plot. I know of those who had the chance but did not take it; are they better off, in whichever sense?

I do forget people exist. I forget how dear they once were to me. Cat, I wonder, how are you?

Lastly, as an FYI, the title is a line from the manga I am currently reading.

like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes the sun

2010-07-29T00:46:00.003+08:00

damn you, Kell, for getting that song stuck in my noggin. It's rattling around with Piano Man and Both Sides Now. Bah.

even as I tremble
I stay
their words fortify me
in a way my own cannot
p'raps I doubt needlessly
but
better safe than sorry
goeth the adage
I tremble, I do
I cannot be sure
yet
who can ever be?
the future
it is yet unwritten
formidable
yet it fosters hope

2010-07-26T20:20:00.002+08:00

*lots of laughing and sniggering*

sometimes, an old-timey song is just an old-timey song

and sometimes, plopping the earworm that stuck itself in your head on your blog is the best way to get rid of it.

And I never really got the lyrics. Does she mean her heart is pockmarked with the ravages of past relationships? That she loves differently in different phases of the moon? That she has a huge heart? Methinks I need a songphin. SONGPHIN! D:
Though I suppose Hippo's intepretation would be more lulzy. Do I go for authenticity or lulz? Though I suppose both would laugh at me for plopping said video on my blog anyway. ._.

Aaaaa. *clicks replay*

humming the merry widow waltz

2010-07-26T18:50:00.005+08:00

Can't remember if I ever had to play it on the piano. I'm thinking yes, from that tattered yellow book from when Mrs Siew was still teaching me.

My hair's finally getting long enough to tie. Right now I can't decide what to do with it:
a) leave it long and get it permed in waves (mom's suggestion, I suspect I'll look like Rin)
b) let the front grow out until it's even and I can have it cut short in whatever style Usual Stylist Dude thinks would look good on me
c) get Kell to cut my hair so I look like a boy 8D

All the crickets who chirp at my blog may leave feedback on what my hair should look like.

Aaaaaaaand in other news, pretending someone doesn't exist doesn't make them cease to exist. Who knew?!

~~Also, I have almost finished fangirling over Nicolas Courjal. 'snot my fault he's a handsome devil. (devil, hee hee) Mmm, I think Kaz would shoot me for the last two sentences.~~ (Please don't shoot me, Kaz. I don't think bullets travel over oceans well.)

dum-da dum-da dum-da dum-da da-da-da

sigh

it's your turn you bastard.

2010-07-25T21:03:00.005+08:00

I type with a needle through my thumb.

Not really through it, merely held there by a tiny strip of epidermis.

I switch on the fan. It annoys me that smells, particularly those of food, insist on clinging to my shirt.

Shutting the door, I decide I'll be better off without it. The shirt lies discarded on the floor. Perhaps I should replace that with another shirt? There is no one to be outraged.

I am alone, but I do not feel lonely. Perhaps, another time, I would have, but tonight it is not so. Rainy nights seem right for solitude, somehow. They set such a pleasantly plangent tone of melancholy. Melancholy, alas, does not suit warm, sticky nights.

It is only a melancholy; there is no real distress. I know well enough that things are fine as they are, and that soon, certain events will fall into place. But it is fun, is it not, to sit in a reflective puddle of moodiness?

I slip on my headphones. Something appropriately rocky, words that blur together. I imagine they'd look like black glitter. I ponder, just for a while, what it'd be like to have synesthesia. Sometimes I imagine that I had that ability, but I know I do not. Possibly it'd not be particularly entertaining, had I had it.

I think about people. That one, I know is probably lost; he/she/it does not see, can not see. Perhaps he/she/it could see it if I pointed it out specifically, but I do not want to do that. That one, I wonder. I would like to hold he/she/it up and shake him/her/it, hoping sense would flood in. I have a distrust of people who conform to mainstream expectations, and besides, he/she/it has been too busy for me lately. That one... He/she/it is probably busy, plus tensions between he/she/it and his/her/it's prized possession and I would make things awkward, no? And that one... that one is an enigma, a mystery, difficult to decipher. Alas.

I put those aside. I pick up another set of people. You, you, you and you. Thank you, for various reasons that you already know.

I have too many things put in stasis, have I. I must take them out of the refrigerator and eat them before they spoil.

And all around me, lives and stories go on, each person a story in their own right.

was it a story? was it half a story? was it real? we spin stories all the time, half-possible worlds that may possibly co-exist or mutually exclude or not fit into the overall story as it goes on. I wonder when each of my stories might end, but it does not matter, ultimately.

2010-07-21T21:34:00.002+08:00

She sits
waiting for a train
she
deletes
recollections of the past
They will not return
She
gets to choose
what to remember
what to forget
The train
it is here
the girl too
disappears

Abusing substances

2010-07-16T03:36:00.003+08:00

Oddly, the past six hours have given me two ideas I might be able to spin into stories.

Yes, much better to spin them into stories, let them flower safely as font on a page, rather than live them out myself. Betcha there'd be a lot of people I'd piss off if I let Story 2 happen for real. Pity.

The fact that letting Story 2 happen for real would mean that I might have to forfeit my life matters little to me, for it is 3:38 ante meridian, and my brain is too exhausted to control the darker side of my thoughts. Eh, Thanatos? Nice night, this.

Course, it's not like I actually have -that- in the house, nor do I have the capacity to drink enough liquids (no matter what liquids) in one go like that.

I must admit, I am very curious as to how I'd actually react. The oft-joked about twitching on floor? Actual, possibly-fatal cardiovascular effects? Probably a good thing I'm only interested in how it'd affect me, and not humans in general, otherwise, well, I'd wanna test it out on someone, no? I can't experiment on myself because if I die (or suffer lasting impairments, etc), I won't be able to compare how it worked to how I thought it'd work.

My parents would not want to read this blog post. Bwahahahaha. Never fear, parents dear. I am not enough of a raving loony for that. Considering my thought patterns of the past week, it's surprising I can still note that I'm not enough of a raving loony, but really, not -that- much of a raving loony. Probably I'll never reach that stage, which is, of course, a good thing.

Probably will have to change details to make it less autobiographical. Hm.

Probably, if I tried it out, I wouldn't dare take enough to really cause anything that dramatic in terms of physiological effect. Which would be a bummer.

I really shouldn't encourage myself like this, mm? Back to the grindstone goes this jackass.

Addendum: Kay. Death is too melodramatic. Prob not death. Horribly sick, yes, pissed-off family and friends, yes. Bah.

I write like...

2010-07-13T20:16:00.004+08:00

Nabokov : (story)(normal)
Stephen King: (normal)(normal)(story)(normal)(poem)(normal)
Lovecraft: (normal)
Dickens: (normal)(poem)
H.G. Wells: (normal/poemish)
Margaret Atwood: (poem)
Mark Twain: (thesis proposal)

I got Nabokov on my first try, so of course I had to try it out with other posts. I mean, NABOKOV? >_>

Interestingly, I have hardly read anything written by King (Just Carrie and one of the Dark Tower books), nothing by Lovecraft *hangs head in shame*, and nothing by Atwood. Am completely befuddled by my thesis proposal. Still, I got James Joyce from putting in Neil Gaiman's Snow, Glass, Apples, so...

Of course I know it's not accurate, the algorithms could be anything, really. Based on use of words and writing style, it says. Hm.

Hippo's having fun with his stuff now... Lovecraft, Shakespeare, Rowling, Joyce, Dan Brown, King, Tolkien (for a lolworthy post). Not much overlap with mine. xD

Here's the site: http://iwl.me/

And the site that said this blog is (GASP) ESTP: http://www.typealyzer.com/
(by the by, I got ISFP for the other blog, and the other other blog cannot be accessed for analysis. Poo)

...put in more assignments for teh_lulz

Ethics essay (done with Kell, but I did most of the writing): Asimov
Group Process journals: James Joyce
Group Process assignment individual part: Dan Brown
Substance abuse group paper (as a whole): Margaret Atwood
Substance abuse group paper (just my part): Margaret Atwood

.....posts from the other blog:
J.D. Salinger, Charles Dickens, Vladimir Nabokov, H.P. Lovecraft, Dan Brown, Dan Brown

......posts from the other other blog:
Margaret Atwood, Arthur Conan Doyle, Kurt Vonnegut, Dan Brown, George Orwell, Stephen King, Stephen King

Hippo's found that Jules Verne doesn't get Jules Verne (instead, got Ian Fleming and P.G. Wodehouse). Dumas got Dickens and Poe. Victor Hugo gets Nabokov 4 out of 5 times. We're scared of what would happen if we put in Meyer. xD

...
...
Yeah, we're kinda easily amused. Mark Twain thesis proposal ftw.

This post reads like H.P. Lovecraft, apparently. Cthulhu fhtagn.

Addendum:
- post in Chinese below reads like Harry Harrison, whomever that is.
- post in gibberish below reads like James Joyce. orz
- Hippo says the Tale of Genji is half Carroll, half Poe. I laugh tears. I weep laughter.

刀

2010-07-12T21:41:00.002+08:00

我没有理由不甘愿，这是我知道的。那是多久以前的事了？根本是我自己不讲理，自己找来的苦绕。不关我的事，我自己去看的，自己气自己。再说，以我的身份，我凭什么？自己一厢情愿的把麻烦找来，是我笨嘛。傻瓜。白痴。笨蛋。干吗这样呢？也不是我不知道原因...我不想认罢了。

and that will be my revenge

2010-07-12T19:17:00.002+08:00

C am irbba ,rpt k.pf dapew ucbe mrp. hrgpbanow p.ae yd.mw ofbyd.oc;. yd.mw d.nl mat. yd. p.o.apjd a ogjj.oov C ,cnn ,rpt or dape yday frgw frg abe frg jabbry oaf yday C ece bry er .brgidv C ,cnn ,rpt or dape yday cu frg dae danu a jrbojc.bj.w frg ,rgne ick. m. yd. ucpoy olryv Cy co ,cydcb mf axcncyfv C jab er cyv Cy ,cnn x. mf p.k.bi.v

2010-07-12T18:30:00.003+08:00

The man, he sat there on the steps outside the pub, swigging his drink.

I swept around his feet carefully. He looked disproportionately happy for a guy who'd just been rejected in an audition. I told him that.

"It's a long story, but if you give an old man a young girl's company, just so I can relive the old days..." Here he winked "...I'll tell it to yer, eh?"

I considered his offer. It was my dad's pub, after all, so if he tried anything funny, I'd just have to holler and they'd come out and get rid of him for me. I sat down.

"See, girlie, when I was a kid, I had a dream."

I nodded.

"Oh, not THAT kind of dream. Don't deny it. I saw the look in your eyes. No, I had an odd dream indeed. I've come a long way, and finally, it's come true."

He smiled a happy, somewhat wistful smile. I mused aloud that he mustn've been that bad looking as a young chap to never have a girl sit beside him.

"No, no. Not that. Why, I danced with girls like you when I was ten years old."

"Ah," I said. I was nine.

The man looked off into the dust of the road. He took a long pull at his drink.

"Yes, indeedy," he muttered, more to himself than to me, "that was an odd dream to have."

I nodded encouragingly. This was taking a while.

He saw my impatience, and chortled loudly. It was a pleasant laugh.

"There, there. I'll tell. Once upon a time, when I was a little boy, I wanted to be famous."

I nodded. This was normal. Among the boys in school, many of them wanted to be famous.

He smiled another faraway smile. He looked like that guy in the poster behind the piano. I wondered why they tossed him out.

"Kid, before you were born, I was a star. A real one, who showed up on big stages all around the country."

My mouth, I thought to myself, must resemble a donut by now.

He laughed again.

"Yes, I'm the real deal- Don't go running in to tell your pa! Sit down!"

Thwarted, I sat back down, regarding the man, the ex-star, curiously.

"I've always wanted to do this; to get famous, so famous people dress up as me and perform. And then, I'd go to some tiny, far away town, and audition to be my own impersonator."

He winked at me. I blinked at him.

"Why'd you wanna pretend to be yourself, then?" Adults were weird.

"Mmmmm. I'm not sure myself, kiddo. I guess I wanted to make myself such a big image that even I can't fit it anymore. That people would tell me that I didn't qualify to pretend to be myself."

The man didn't make sense. I blinked at him some more. He smiled, eyes twinkling at me. Then he got up, patted me on the head, and walked down the road.

Dragging my broom behind me, I went inside. I climbed on top of the piano seat to examine the poster. It was a faded old poster, much like the man, except the man in the poster was young.

The man never came back, and my dad never believed that he'd met the real thing. It was a fake, he said, and not that good a fake at that. Tried too hard, he said.

I thought to myself. I kept quiet. Inside, I knew.

2010-07-07T22:52:00.001+08:00

"You are a mystery to me, January, a collection of mysteries, and there is nothing I adore more than unraveling them."

~mysterious character September, from the flash game Looming

2010-07-04T16:37:00.004+08:00

rush of blood
to the head
a rising heat

flush of pink
reaches the face
capillaries filling

quickly, quickly
insula moves to
suppress it

"do not let her
too risky
disappointment"

it says so
shelving hope
matter of factly

keep a cup of it
drain the rest
a cup will do

hide it there
where she can't
find it

but it will be
somewhere
inside her

maybe
maybe maybe maybe
maybe maybe

both are not
bad ends
not really

are there only
two? there are
many ends

everything,
nothing
so wags the world

sedated, she
smiles, not
knowing why

I believe

2010-06-30T03:38:00.007+08:00

Why yes, I am listening to Spring Awakening again. How'd you know?

I'm tired and sleepy and I can't sleep. Why did I think it'd be a good idea to brew my tea strong tonight?

I...I can't think of anything positive to write here. Or I can, but my twitchy desire for accuracy disallows that, in case I am disappointed. Hey, twitchy desire for accuracy, irrational pessimism is as irrational as irrational positivism, you know?

Mmmm, I like this part of this song. Shush for a while, voices in head, and let me savor it.

--

I'm not sure if I dare read through my archives anymore. Probably yes, now that I've voiced it out. But not now.

--

I should

then why don't you

that's why I say should

that's not a reason

but still

this is the season for dreaming

what

song lyrics

do what you intended

how'd you know it's not this

it's not

that's not a reason

it's not

--

Even while I dread it, I do want to find out. Knowledge and truth above all.

--

I suppose that's why... But that's past. I will let it go for the sake of -. S'pity how awkward this makes things with that one, but it can't be helped.

--

eyes closed I
walk around on tip
........................toe
not walk, dance
whirl
.......madly
...............wildly
giddy with what I
forbid myself
a taste is too much
I dare not
but it is too

special soup

2010-06-18T04:55:00.003+08:00

So that's that, then.

Today feels like several days, beaten flat and glued together.

...
...
...
...

I realize that I was not misrepresenting myself in what I said. I am not emo, even if I have what others might consider reasons to be. But of course, I am not the me of late 2008, not the me of early 2009. I am the me of mid 2010, and I will get through this just fine.

So instead of going on and on about how I am me ad infinitum...

I wonder how much of my 307 grades are due to the method I used. Simple, really. I don't know the answer, or at least I don't think I know it. But if I summon spirits in my pen, I know which answer my hand moves towards, which is the answer I actually believe is the right one. A little reverse-engineering of the workings of a superstitious game. And of course I remembered to ask the spirit to leave. Considering the amount I studied (read: barely), it's basically up to general knowledge I picked up before the course, stuff I happened to glance at, information seeping in while I sleep, etc etc.

I want waffles. But if I want them for breakfast, I'll have to make them myself. Isn't that life, though? You want something, something specific, then you have to make it. Waffles. Opportunities. Stories. Best part of a life is that while it's still going, the story can be changed. What has been written cannot be changed, but perspective can be added in retrospection. How the protagonist deals with stuff that he/she has not much control over. (Ah, RT.) I'll live a life that I'd want to read about.

Though of course, what tropes would I fall into? What cliches form, unknowingly? See the whorls and eddies, shifting, shifting on the page.

Which brigs to mind. That guy. Gods, it's agony thinking of how he led me in a merry dance. Bastard. I was 14 and I was naive. And parents always make the children of their acquaintances sound like little saints, don't they? Or is it just mine?
The bugger kind of maybe asked me out for dinner. This is not new. The last time he was back he smsed me with the intent to meet up. Nothing happened.

I don't get it. We were only close briefly, and then we lost touch. He still sends me birthday greetings, and tells me when he's back, even though there's no reason for him to do so.

This year, or last year, in a fit of self-hating angst, I asked him why. Why did he, after so long, with our bonds weak at best, send me birthday wishes every damn year? He said he did that for all birthdays he remembers. Hn.

I don't get it. Of course I don't. I, who left all primary and secondary school people behind. All but a few. I don't understand how people can manage to stay with the same people year upon year upon year. If they stay in the same institution, alright, fine, but no, there are people who meet up and stay in touch and still seem at the same phase of the relationship. I think, to some extent, their relationships are frozen in time, like flies in amber. The same kinds of vapid conversation, the same kinds of petty grievances. (Here I pause and wonder if I have the right to say that, but I realize I have changed, am changing, will change. The contents of my conversations then and now are greatly different, so much so that it amazes me. What are four, five years? A quarter, a fifth of my life.)

I suppose reading the above paragraphs might make it seem as if that guy likes me. As in, like-like. That's an odd thought, though. You'd figure that if he liked me that way, he'd do more to stay in touch than a few smses a year, even if they be from overseas. No? He'd do more to make the spoken-of meetups happen.
I've never been able to figure him out, that one. Personally I'd prefer if he remains a person in my dark, shadowy past.

It is Friday. If he does not message me, I will forget his invitation, because I believe it is just his whim. And if he does, well, he's my mother's friend's son.

I believe, I believe, I believe

2010-06-17T02:01:00.003+08:00

It was either that or blah blah blahblah blah blah blah.

No, I will not lay off with the Spring Awakening references. Nor the next to normal ones. I wonder which I should choose next. Miss Saigon or Phantom of the Opera?

I should be in bed. Presentation tomorrow. Shit.

At least -that's- being settled now, aye?

I guess I shouldn't have continued emailing. There's a bitter taste again. I wonder if there's some girl, some girls out there, cursing my very existence.

I don't do sadness; just don't care.

And Melchior Gabor is still a funny name.

blue wind gets so sad

Ah, blog. I'm sorry.

I will not speak of that here. You know that. Those who know know. I am tired. I am hurt. Worse, I keep wondering if it's me. I trust you, Rin. I trust my people who sometimes are in Puchong.

-that one- spooks me. for one with so...notorious a liking, he actually cares about people in general.

and who can say what dreams are? and who can say what we are?

I am me. I will be me. I can only be me, because by definition, what I am is me.

for this silence from the skies

I am sorry.

I need sleep. I have a presentation tomorrow.

I'm not unblocking. Not for now. I need time for myself. I need time with people who will not hide things from me, be they good or bad. I need people who trust me so that I can live up to their trust. So that I can live up to my trust.

I'm sorry, but I am resolute.

The break happened months ago. It was not recent.

I suppose I shouldn't have hoped that you'd be able to see.

2010-06-14T21:55:00.002+08:00

[ILSE]
What are you looking for?

[MORITZ]
If only I knew.

--

[ILSE]
Then what's the use of looking?

--

I guess, Ilse, the use of looking is out of the hope that I'll recognize what I'm looking for when I find it.

I'm the perfect stranger who knows you too well

2010-06-11T01:39:00.003+08:00

There probably are better times of day to sing I'm Alive, but meh. Hopefully I/O's done for now.

Edited to add: omg Feeling Electric is rather....... o_o

No wonder they removed it for the Broadway version. I mean, OedipalGabe is bad enough. And stoner Henry. Etc etc.

Edited again to add: I think my reaction to n2n's prelude is like a drug addict getting high from empty syringe.

Hey

2010-06-08T00:07:00.002+08:00

I'm confused. Not that I wasn't, but now I'm even more so.
I ought to stop. S'bad for me.

I shall get me choc and prod brain to work.

Yeah.

I think,

I think,

I wonder,

how deep cynicism can go.

and how

good things

can

blow
it
away.

All away.

Good things happen.

This will pass.

Syrup tree, this I pledge:
I will do my best for us.

We shall slay the cow.

Yeah, I need sleep.

Who doesn't?

Well, besides that.

Mmmm. I put a finger
to my lips
hide a smile.

2010-06-01T01:30:00.001+08:00

o hai internet.

Was chatting with my twin about thesisey stuff and we established that tsundere would fall under the anxious avoidant attachment style. He couldn't mention of this association with google, so I'm putting it up here. To call dibs on psychgeekcred, so to speak.

o hai

2010-05-27T10:32:00.002+08:00

E'ryth'n still at a standstill. Move, self, move.

I don't remember how I got through all the past semesters. And I'm starting to think that there are separate kinds of episodic memory. I mean, all my speed-studying is basically going through what leccie/tutor said in class, which IS episodic, because I remember the intonation, the mistakes, the jokes etc. We all know I suck balls at remembering general incidents and stuff that's happened. ._.

And now I'm disrailing myself again. Do I hate what I've chosen so much? And should I be all panicked, or should I just chill? Decisions, decisions.

How d'you measure a year?

2010-05-25T00:10:00.003+08:00

I prefer going by semesters, personally. Weeks are good, too.

Ah. You replied. I can imagine how you'd be as you respond to it. Maybe.

You seem alright. That's good, then.

--

I've been wondering. But then I know I won't reach an answer. It's different for everyone, and I suppose I am that fickle, that changeable. La donna e mobile.
Is that wrong? I can be anchored if need be, but if there is no anchor, I see no reason to stay the same. Nay. I can't stay the same even if I wish for it. I've tried to find last semester's me in vain.

Alas.

I kind of like this me, I have to admit. This vague, blur, directionless me. This me who wants to just while my time away from college, reading and absorbing stories and information, absorbing music and drama (in terms of musicals), absorbing friendships, living my life.

I've never been so tempted to step away and do something so totally rash. Tempted, but I know I'd not. And dammit I need to be able to get a job that pays well enough for me to watch concerts and operas and musicals. >_>

Help me. The more I listen to Dr Goh, the more I think I'm suited for a quiet life of mediocrity. I just don't have the ambition to want to do big things. Achieving such things wouldn't make me happy. I mean, they would, but I'd just be happy and gloat for a few hours, maybe, then get bored.

I wonder.

What would be sustainable happiness for me? What kind of a life would make me happy? Starting to wonder how much my whimmy message to K today rang true. I doubt it, though. Ah well. Trial and error it is.

And for now, I shall cherish my connections even as I feel the urge to break them and slip into the shadows with silent footfalls. Not now, not yet.

2010-05-20T23:01:00.003+08:00

Someday I will read through the archives of this blog, and marvel at it. At both the brilliant and stupid posts, at the me of the past.

I wonder which version of me I am now.

I wish I could be the me of last sem this sem too, but I think I'm not. The only solution is to create a patch, and upgrade the me of this sem to be a better me.

--

Manga and webcomic ban is in place, with the usual exceptions. No RO or other games. Strict cap on drowsy freecell or solitaire binges.

Read -that- now. Group before self. Wake up early tomorrow. Go kickboxing? Yes. Or no? Settle -that-. Call Kell after midnight to settle tickets and inform Hippo. Read -that- goddammit. In a while. POST THIS AND READ. Yeah yeah whatever.

and put on music.

Okay.

Look at me, look at me,

2010-05-17T12:45:00.002+08:00

the monster inside me has already grown this big!

Written on a wall, in German. Also, in blood.

Mmm.

Stupid college computer time (nearly 1 hour ahead). Never fails to give me a scare.

So's I talked to a gaggle of tutors today.

Hm. I wonder what other designs I could do for shirts. Ah well. Will reread Monster and dump text here whenever.

--

Mmm. Nothing else matters. I miss kickboxing. Bloody period.

--

I still find it bloody amusing when people try to pair me up. Especially when they are just so baitable. *grin*

--

guh. Will just post inane post and continue reading.

Everytime I try to talk to you I get tongue-tied

2010-05-17T11:59:00.003+08:00

lyrics that just went past my ears.

Hello, me. I've not talked to you here in a while. Though goodness knows I talk you you all the damn time.

It's funny that I can care so much about what a few particular people think of me, and care less about what the rest of my friends think. Of course, that's partly because I like the me that you see. It's not that the me that you guys see is perfect, no. It's because you like the me you see even though you see the glaring flaws. Makes me wanna try to be a better person, or rather a better version of me. An upgrade, if you will. A patch.

I wonder how many clothing styles I've gone through since I've started college. I can vaguely feel the edges of a few, though I kinda prefer not to remember. So what am I now? Brighter colors, funkyish graphics (and headphones)... Hmmm, mainly brighter colors. Aren't I lucky my coloring suits both bright and dark makeup? Yeaaaaaaaah.

Mmm. I wonder what designs to put on the navy shirts. I'd like to do a rabbit skeleton, but I'm afraid I'm not that good with detail. Maybe if I do pinprick template....

Which reminds me, I ought to do a pure pinprick one. Mmmmm. Ought to do a shirttrade some time. And bah, thin shirt is thin. Getting cold here. Bleeeeeeeeeeh.

Hey, me. I like you. Keep growing; keep changing. I trust you. Do me proud. Do the core proud. Be a good person and live a happy life and rub it in people's faces, aye?

Undead bunny, over and out.

2010-05-16T22:26:00.002+08:00

A hot, humid, rainy night like this, I wish I was on a beach, dancing about in sodden clothes. I'd want to have someone there with me, I think. Someone that I trust enough to act however I'd like with.

I reach my hand out to the dark, and wonder what will grab onto it. A long-fingered hand? A short-fingered hand? A tentacle? Nothing at all?

(I do not have a hand fetish.)

It would be nice to be outside. I might catch my death of cold, but the night and the rain call to me. Yet, I realize how much I am like a housecat who thinks there's a wildcat inside her. Now is not the time, but someday... someday I want to wander the country (hopefully in a 4x4), seeing the jungles and beaches, with someone nice to lean on as we yowl at the stars.

Come to think of it

2010-04-30T11:53:00.002+08:00

I do hide a lot of me from you. Or rather, not hide; just not show. Ach, well, whatever will be will be, eh?

Added later: 'snot like I'm doing it on purpose, ya know? It's just that there has to be certain things in play for me to act in certain ways, and in college, or most of the time at home, the keys just aren't there. I've been brought up not to flaunt, and it still feels weird calling attention to aspects of myself. It's not that people don't know, either; I have my core of people who have seen how ugly I can be and still love me as a friend. And it's not like other people always don't notice. The 215 responses I got speak for that.

(though I do feel that you're hypocriting a bit... you want others to show all of themselves, yet you choose not to show most of yourself (refer your own posts)? Not that double-standarding is necessarily bad... *clings to Kant's sleeve*)

I believe childishly that the truth will come out. Who knows. Maybe it'd come out too late, or something, but what it will prevail anyhow.

Whim

2010-04-20T18:45:00.003+08:00

Suddenly I catch a thought. A snowy day, and we're sitting somewhere high up. A nook in some tower, somewhere forbidden and dangerous and hidden; somewhere dark and warm and safe. We laugh as we talk, and I wonder what we're talking about. Perhaps we're sharing intimate secrets. Perhaps we're watching how people are behaving, way below us, from our vantage point. Black coats move on white snow, the walls we lean on a deep sandstone.

The thought flies off.

Another thought; we walk on clouds, a pace faster than a leisurely stroll. What do you want to show me? Your eyes are bright in the moonlight, shining as we pick out our path. Clouds are, being clouds, hard to tread on. You do not hold my hand, though our fingers brush against each other. Where do you wish to lead me to?

I release the thought.

I grab a net and return to the aviary. Surely there must be a more substantial one, some plump bird I can cook.

I sweep my net back and forth, but the thoughts evade me. Fickle things! They'd flock to me if I had seeds to throw to them, but the tree of hope has not been forthcoming, and I do not wish to use hope as mere birdseed to lure my thoughts to me.

Aha! Netted another! I stroke the plumage of this one tenderly, eagerly. No, no, no! The thought, being just another stupid bird, has released its last meal onto my gown. That was a letdown. I suppose I still cannot dissociate that one from the sea. I grip the bird on my lap absent-mindedly as I gaze at the fluttering creatures above me. This one is probably one I overlooked. A quick wring of its neck shall do the trick. I do the deed and toss the body aside, where it vaporizes quickly. Thoughts fade.

A particularly eye-catching thought goes past me at head-level. I lunge! Ah. A lazy afternoon. Well-fed and watered, warm sunlight filters in and onto us. We lie sprawled on the bed reading, legs touching but content to leave it as that, more absorbed in the contents of our respective tomes.

Ah! The thought flew away.

I wipe the sticky blood of the thought I'd murdered earlier on my already-soiled dress and unlock the door. Before I leave, I glance again at my thoughts, marveling at their variety and color and grace, wondering what would become of them all.

How do you see me?

2010-04-17T21:56:00.003+08:00

Misunderstood, they call me. I'm "actually a nice person". I wonder what they see. The ones who glimpse me seem surprised. Glad that I do not succumb to how people perceive me.

How DO they see me?

I wonder.

I think my mask works too well.

For me to talk and laugh loudly, people must think I'm an extravert. To be such and not be friendly to all hints at arrogance. Yet I am introverted, and I am not naturally inclined to approach people I am not familiar with.

There are people around me who think I am outgoing. Not socially awkward at all, no. The very idea of me being quiet and withdrawn is ludicrous to many.

And of course, that's the charm. Both are me. All are me. All sides of me are me. Of course they are; I create them, and what other material do I have but me?

I will not know the future until it arrives. So I wait for it, wanting to see what kind of a me I'll be. But I savor the me of now, for once it leaves, I won't have much time to miss it.

IX - Rerum Edax

2010-04-17T21:45:00.002+08:00

I am time?
I,
devourer of things?
I am
the ninth;
Hermit
Wise, they call me
Intelligent
I wonder why.
You come to me
for guidance
to lay
your mind at peace
what can I do?
I listen
I try
But you know
Hermit I am
these days
detachment feels nigh
I want
to see
what
lies
beyond
and what
lies

inside.

How it strokes my soul

2010-04-13T23:28:00.002+08:00

The opening bars of Another Morning Stoner, by ...And They Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead.

Actually, I wonder how you leave a trail of dead. Just go about slaying people as you go about? Kinda inconvenient. =/

I'm okay. I'm okay. If I tell myself that long enough, eventually, I will be. Haha, placebo button. Eventually, it will be okay.

It's horribly terrifying if you are reading The Bloody Chamber, and listening to In the Hall of the Mountain King, and it gets to the fortissimo part when you're at the scariest part, btw. Augh.

I really need to read more weird literary fiction. Mmmmmm.

Aaaaaaaa, squirrel, you've got me hooked on Grieg and Fievy.

I will be okay. Of course I will. What is Peer Gynt about, anyway?

Ah, I see. I'm hungry.

I am okay.

Cake.

Help me, sugarpie. Grab onto my hand so I do not fall. Belayers, belay harder.

Stuff

2010-04-13T22:54:00.001+08:00

I am fukken psychic. I predict like a pro. I'm a genius. I put stuff together and my insight is accurate. *dances victory dance*

The Unforgiven

2010-04-12T23:58:00.003+08:00

What impeccable timing, Windows Media Player. I agree.

Well.

If you have
made it
so
so
so
utterly
clear

Basically, there is nothing
nothing I can do.

The only way I could
own you
own your heart
is to
cut it out
of your chest
with a knife.

Even then I know
she will
her poison will
that woman will
always remain inside.

What can I do?
Nothing.

Added later:

A thought

2010-04-12T18:56:00.003+08:00

Perhaps boys
would like me more
if I were
less

STRIDENT

INDEPENDENT

OUTSPOKEN

Perhaps;
I do not know

Would they
like me more
if I were
more

meek

quiet

demure

But that
wouldn't be me

You want me
to be like her:
Flirty
Sweet
Busty
Sexy
Gentle
?

I
say
no
.

Rock

2010-04-12T18:40:00.002+08:00

Stone.

But I meant the music. =D

Maybe.

I feel like I can let go now.

It's not like I don't still wish, but ya know, there's that feeling that when the inevitable comes, I will be okay.

Is it really inevitable?

In my head.

Zombie.

I am reminded. I handled that badly.

I wonder.

I wonder.

How bad did she hurt you? How much pain are you still in? Your posts all look the same, you know. More or less. Slight variations, but still.

I will hope.

Not necessarily for you, ye ken? I will hope for my future.

I suppose I ought to dream more, speculate more, but why? Why not live each moment to the fullest instead of pining after the past or even worse, for the future? The now is now. Live it. It's not like I don't.

I think...

I think I'll be okay even if I never get a guy to my liking. Even if I'm an old old maid. I have my core group; I have my brain; I have me.

I am not some pansy-ass little girl who wishes for fairy tales. I am not some ignorant girl happy to be coddled. I am not some strong businesswoman who has no use for men. I am me. I am real. I try to live the world as it is, and it works for now. In the future, I dunneh, but I'll make do.

I always will.

CLASSSKIPPER!!!!!!!!!

2010-04-07T12:46:00.004+08:00

That's the tenorphin. (And perhaps, the other one.) He skipped class. Oddly, I didn't. It was the first time I'd gone to ethics in....months? Felt alien to be in my own class.

So treat me delicately.

Do you miss me?

Say you miss me.

The above are song lyrics. I quote them because they are in my head. But ah, you may say. Why be they in my head at this precise moment? Why is it that I feel the compulsion to bash them out on this keyboard?

To that I say: I like the clacketing sound this keyboard makes; it is so much more satisfying than the minimal noise my Fluffy makes.

But really. I overheard Fly talking to the boy with the magic nuts. I heard her say that so and so is leaving soon, that she wants to organize a farewell party for him. I...Will I be invited? More pertinently: does it matter? Surely... Don't I... Do I matter enough to not need these socially condoned arenas?

Will he miss me?

The time is not yet here.

I must forget these questions, lay them in slumber, until the time comes.

And even then, I may never know the answer.

I expect him to eventually stop replying, though I don't think this expectation makes it hurt less.

Trust him, you say? On what basis? Dare I?

Stupidly, I dare.