User advisory. The following material is highly unstable, the product of a mind of questionable sanity. Proceed with caution and the author takes this chance to indemnify and absolve himself of any guilt that may arise out of harm, mental, bodily or in any other form, that may befall the reader in the process of, and as a result of the perusal of this document.

(cheesy opening music)

ello everybody...

goodness i'm in so many moods today...

like i'm bimbotic one moment... then i'm quiet and thoughtful... then i'm just plain mad...
then like i'm hyper... then paranoid... then i'm moody...

then i'm...
then i'm...

the echoes of my person shimmer across my memories...

and of course at some point or another i'm just totally melodramatic...
and to bad effect...

like now...

anyways...
i've just realised...

like seriously just...

just realised just right now that i used...

err what was it now... oh yar right...
that i just used "just" more than five times in the last few lines...

eh wait no...

oh yes...

i just (see! just again!) realised that i use "anyways" so liberally that i should just (and another!) use a line... or numbers... to mark where one bit of my ramblings start and another begins...

like before "anyways" just starts to rot and fester from overuse...

anyways...
(argh!)

i just (ding!) realised that i ramble incoherently and get totally sidetracked and flit from topic to topic with the attention span of a butterfly that had goldfish for parents and grew up watching too much tv...

and oh did you know that goldfish don't really have short attention spans it just (oh well i just (grr.) give up.) seems so cos we all they think that they'd get bored in their little bowls but actually they do focus and they can actually remember their owners and will swim expectantly for food when they see their owners approaching...

and seriously... i really wonder why...

wonder wonder wonder...
(wonder why i ramble so much... not wonder about goldfishes' attention spans...)

anyways...

since i had an "and oh did you know" moment i might as well go on an "and oh did you know" spree...
so...

and oh did you know that "cobweb" has its roots in the Middle English word "coppe" meaning spider...?

oh and did you know that "coppe" is short for the Old English "attercoppe"... from "ator", meaning poison, and "copp", meaning head...?

yes maybe the reason i ramble is cos i'm just writing to pass time...

and cos i don't really abide by writing about how i spent the day... not anymore... i remember i used to... that was like so yesterday... and so tacky... but basically not many days nowadays have much interesting going ons for me to write about anyways...
but i love reading about what goes on in other people's days (the juicy bits of course)... it's always so much more interesting than my life...

and so as i was saying...
i ramble is cos i'm just writing to pass time...
and thus... you... my loyal reader...

you have to suffer my intolerable idiosyncrasies...

(talk about melodrama...)

(dramatic pause.)

but nana-nana-na-na i don't care!

i'm so gonna get murdered one of these days.

hello...
top of the news today...


Heart of Glass


What is Your Heart REALLY Made of?
brought to you by Quizilla


ooh...
i have a heart of glass...

and at risk of sounding terribly cheesy...

once broken considered sold...
aww...

fawn fawn fawn...
over me me me...

goodness... i can be such a bimbo at times...
i should really stop now shouldn't i...?

well nighty then...

courtesy of leonard's blog, which was ripped from corrie's blog (which was ripped from dawn's)

Seven things that scare me:
1) being loveless (which, as i must point out, is far different from being sad and single.) ie. not loving anyone and not being loved by anyone.
2) slugs
3) stepping on snails (i think snails are cute. just not getting crunched anywhere near my foot.)
4) that the entire universe might just be a completely random occurrence
5) becoming an apathetic, ignorant person
6) being lost
7) waking up one day and finding myself deaf and mute, or paralysed, or mentally incapacitated

Seven things I love the most:
1) love (yes you read it right. i love love. in all it's myriad forms.)
2) music
3) God (yes God, though not necessarily in the religious sense. in the sense that there has to be someone in charge out there)
4) chocolate
5) hugs and kisses (fine. go ahead and laugh.)
6) singing
7) stars (the ones in the sky.)

Seven important things in my room:
1) paper and pen
2) telephone
3) books
4) flute
5) computer
6) bed (oh yes. i'm a veritable pig.)
7) hi-fi

Seven random facts about me:
1) i talk to myself (or at times it seems directed to various plants and animals but it's mostly just me)
2) i let people trample all over me (and that's quite fine by me. i can live with it.)
3) i dislike it when people say i should stand up for myself (i do. i stand up for my right to help others at my own expense.)
4) when i'm all witty and talkative deep inside i want to be quiet and introspective (and vice-versa. fine i have identity issues. but i can accept this duality; people should embrace the fact that we can never have just one persona.)
5) in formal situations, i'm particular about the quality of English that i read and hear
6) i procrastinate when i don't particularly fancy the task at hand (and yes i'm ashamed of it.)
7) i look at people when they aren't looking and think about what they're thinking

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1) study music professionally
2) fall hopelessly (and hopefully mutually) in love (i'm such a sap.)
3) see the aurora borealis
4) get someone to show me all the constellations in the sky (seeing that i'm totally lost by myself and all i can see are Orion and the Southern Cross)
5) do something creative, something that isn't superficial (if someone publishes my blog it's one off the list. publish as in Penguin or Heinemann. not Angsana.)
6) get a house
7) write a will (the kind that tells people what i want them to hear after i'm gone not the kind that divides my fortune.)

Seven things I can do:
1) play the flute
2) write (both creatively and critically)
3) sing (or at least i think so. whatever.)
4) laugh, or at least smile at the smallest things, when i need it most (that God for that.)
5) cry (oh yeah. you should see me at the movies. sappy ones of course.)
6) dive (as in scuba, not blindly)
7) make a complete fool of myself (at times completely unwittingly.)

Seven things I can't do:
1) draw for nuts
2) handle written Chinese (yes i'm such a shame.)
3) stay angry
4) get over sadness
5) like sports
6) talk about sex without euphemizing (i'm such a prude at times.)
7) math (like totally.)

Seven things I say the most:
1) hello
2) nighty (this only when messaging)
3) huh? (i realise i do this to make people repeat themselves even when i got what they said the first time. don't ask why.)
4) okayyy (spoken with an upward lilt. can be used in agreement or in patronising someone.)
5) tsk (almost a standard when i'm cornered in an argument. or when i'm being insulted)
6) the name of the person i'm talking to and unfortunately irritated with (spoken with narrowed eyes, used as a sentence, with a pause after it.)
7) like

ello all...

quick note #1: i have turned on word verification for comments my blog... this is after i've received comments telling me how interesting my "articles" are and how i should pop by to such-and-such a website to check out their latest discounted products...

which are anyways of a rather unrespectable nature...

so from now on when you want to comment... please humour the computer when it plays that three year-old kids' game of asking you to type out exactly what's the bloated, distorted nonsense word in the little blue box...

at risk of lying to everybody by having quick note #1 ramble into not-so-quick note #1... i shall conclude it and go into today's post proper...

hello there everybody...

ooh everybody please go listen to The Last Time by Eric Benet...
me listening to it was like placing sweet, dark chocolate to bask under the warmth of the sun...
and melt...

...

there was a moment of horror there...

i've been sitting on my rump (and well in other less glamorous positions) reading Stephen King's Desperation the whole day...
the image of melting chocolate... when applied to people... didn't have the exact effect i intended...

but i suppose it's just me...

moving on...

i've realised that i'm hopelessly butterflying around when it comes to university courses now...
well i know what i'm not going to do... but heck...

i don't know what i want...

at times like this when i'm so deeply entrenched in what i'm doing at the current moment... university seems so far off my fickleness becomes laughable...

and poetic...

somehow... i think so...
maybe one of those people who are really studying now and have a better idea of what's poetic can tell me if it is...

moving on again...

goodness i'm on a streak tonight and i'm just going on and on and on...
i'm moving through what i've got to say so fast i can almost imagine some anonymous teacher-figure marking out huge chunks in red ink and writing develop this point! in huge underlined scrawls...

much like my essays back in school...

anyway i was just going to say that sometimes i go on so fast and write so much that i just feel that i'm banging my head against the wall...
much like the metaphorical tormented artist...
metaphorically speaking...

and finally... i've run out of things to say... and so i've saved this for the last part where i hope people who skip this entire post just to come to the end will at least read this...

well actually there's nothing else i have to say...
bwahahaha...

gotcha...

ello!

whee i finally have material to blog about...

"I close my eyes and see a flock of birds. The vision lasts for a second or maybe less; I do not know how many birds I saw. Was its number definite or indefinite? This problem involves the existence of God. If God exists, the number is definite, because God knows how many birds I saw. If God does not exist, the number is indefinite, because no one could have kept count. In this case, let's say I saw less than ten birds and more than one, but I did not see nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, or two birds. I saw a number between ten and one, which is not nine, eight, seven, six, five, etc. That integer is inconceivable, ergo, God exists."
- 'Argumentum Ornithologicum' by Jorge Luis Borges

this courtesy of Yvonne who showed me this problem to me from her Analytical Skills assignment...

and so i was like:

Regarding the first part of the argument, on counting. Counting and definition have no real connection to the existence of God. Whether or not God exists, there will be a number to the birds; we cannot say that if there is no one to count, then the number is indefinite, because it is not. It is indefinite only to us.

The second part of the argument draws a connection between God and the inconceivable. It is common to link God and religion with the inconceivable as both are acts of faith, faith being belief in that which cannot be proven. So it basically argues that if one saw birds, of a certain number that does not exist, to us, or in our surrent system of logic and thought, it is inconceivable, and thus proves the existence of God.

And this is where the argument fails. If it is inconceivable, is it not also indefinite? We equate an indefinite number with the non-existence of God do we not? Therefore, the two arguments, in being nestled so closely in theme and subject, are in conflict with with each other.

well well... it is after all the Argument of the Birds...

that was amazingly refreshing...

but of course my dear friends swimming through the peak of their academic careers now would all choose to disagree... they're all saying it's hectic and it's tough... and honestly...
i'm freaked out too...

moving on...

i think i've figured out why i've put written poetry to be put up here...

it's 'cos i, as a person,

let's repeat that...

it's 'cos I, as a person,

need to create... and since so far i've always been writing music... i can't put it up here and thus i can satisfy that sick need i have for approval... so i find other ways to have people fawn over me...
by writing...

i'm so damn screwed...
but aren't we all now...

bwahahaha...

anyways...

The Rosewood Sofa

I grew up within its arms so cold, so hard,
but blood-red, precious blood-red. Blouses with
chrysanthemum and carnation, proud and blooming,
but always thornless, clothed its cushions.
Mother-of-pearl inlays faced my back as I grew, and

I think they were beautiful, faces that showed pine and mountains, fishermen and
old villagewomen. I can't remember now.
Now, when I look back I see the wood's rose-hue aged and
blackened, wrinkles where grains of deep blood ran.
Old, enfeebled, it now hardly holds my weight; and I'm like

a springy shoot off its majestic trunk, a sapling from its fruit.
I am its love. And I will see
it age, its cushions tatter, its body break, and
die eventually,
and mourn.

The Castaway

I trod onto the hard sands, castaway but not lost.
Flung like a rock out of a mean kid's catapult, useless
wishbone of brittle twig,
I found my way to where I was to go:

away. My ship has changed its course but it doesn't matter. I think
I will be back aboard: I can swim, I can craft a ship;
in this place that is the wake
of that ship;

this place that can hold possibilities like hearts
hold dreams. Letting go only in
passing waking
but never freeing.

On this island
perhaps I will rest first, maybe not.
There is actually much to do, things to make,
fish, birds, trees, rocks. Slowly

this island will become a port of call
and the ship will come and I will board
again. But maybe I'll rest first, daydream,
the seas, after all, were rough going.


Maze

This maze is huge, I have walked here
all my life but only now I see the marble walls,
the floors covered in aquamarines
so bright they cut my soles, the air thick
with bees and their honey-tinged stings.

So painful. But I walk, knowing, naked; searching
for my clothes and shoes, and smooth salve like a blind
beggar thrashing through thorny undergrowth.
There is momentary respite: sometimes I find
rags and dirty water.

I am lost, but I know that it's only for now
and I will reach where I have to go like the
compass will point North eventually. But I
have no compass and I can only
wander. And believe these words

that I say to myself. In the maze
I am hapless but when I'm finally done
with it I will be beautiful, a child resting far away
from this maze so huge
it is the distance between two lovers' hearts.


in these recent days life has been rather boring and i have been rather bored... thus for some reason i need to create, to write, and this is what i've come up with... it's an urge, a whim i have...

i think it's here to vindicate my existence...
or something like that...

sweet nostalgia...

that's the reason for my latest flight of absence from these pages...

i remember how some games used to entertain me to no end as a child... how i would stay up far later than what my parent's liked to endlessly immerse myself in those realities...

well they're all back... while surfing around one day i found www.the-underdogs.org and there i found those games that i used to play as a child...

(there are some that think i am sophisticated beyond the act of enjoying computer games.
well.
some people are mistaken.)

and thus i have negelcted to write... my adventures in a faraway galaxy have proved to have a great hold on my attention...

and still there's more to reminisce...

i remember how i used to read endlessly... and now it seems i'm at it again... i sped through Stephen King's Misery... and now i'm lost somewhere in Kafka's Metamorphosis... and to top it all off...

i just found out that good 'ol national library actually holds the entire Sandman series...

well in other words it may come to pass that i don't write at all for some time to come...

well well well...

school's open again!

well for some of us at least...

have fun everybody... you all must come back and tell me what's the entire university thing like...

i mean like if everybody has been saying that's what we should be doing and where we should be headed for then it must be something right...?

err... right...?

anyways...

i have read Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince...
and you all have to finish with it fast so i can blab it all out of me...
and we can all bitch about the latest developments...

hmm... there seems to be nothing much to talk about nowadays...
i mean... like the most interesting thing that happened to me (or that i think i should be writing up here) concerns my journey home from work one saturday evening....

so i walk into the elevator... which happens to be the penultimate obstacle on my ardous journey home from work...
the time... for the record... is somewhere near eleven... pm... and i have spent close to two hours and a half on public transport...

so i walk into the elevator... and peer into the cracked mirrors that are the walls of the elevator and that the designers must have rather erroneously thought added a touch of class to the decor... and scrunch up my eyes and peer into the shards trying to make out my own reflection...

and i realise that my hair has been a veritable mess all the way home...

oh another thing to blab about in my rather plebeian life...
i have rediscovered my penchant for reading (which was last seen being thrown rather unceremoniously overboard somewhere near September last year...) which has seen my devour Brave New World and other books in the last week...

did someone ever tell me that Brave New World was funny... i thought not... it was thoroughly disturbing... brilliant, but disturbing nonetheless... it evokes a sense of fear in me... something deep and foreboding... in that vista of the future so incredible yet frighteningly an utter possibility...

Terry Pratchett was good though... it wasn't ha-ha-fall-on-the-floor-clutch-your-sides-laughing funny but it was good... giggly good...

then there's Stephen King... which is just... well...
plain disturbing... on an epic level...

looking at what i've written so far... i'm must say i'm rather surprised at my lack of endless, mindless chatter...

it reminds me of something i saw in someone else's blog...

"I want me back!"

i remember my writing used to be at times thoroughly cheesy, irritatingly whiny, divinely inspired, not-so-divinely inspired (meaning the result of desperate scrabblings for something else to think about during night study sessions), mindless, or sometimes just plain mad...

but it used to be pretty interesting...
(i like to think...)
and i got a kick out of writing...
(now that i know for sure...)

(well actually i still do get a kick out of it but it comes sort of delayed now... like only after a few bad spurts at writing then do i get the kick of it and then it all flows...)

(like now. )

(well it seems "like now" complete with period wasn't at all a good choice... i'm stuck...)
(ok let's just assume i'm writing the conventional way, and you can just skip all the stuff in parentheses and carry on... so as i was saying...)

and i got a kick out of writing...

and it seems now i'm quite stuck into a corner, parentheses or not, and i think i'll just call it a day...

not bad a length... actually...
come to think of it...

hello...

well i was just watching the Oprah show on The Desperate Housewives (not the desperate housewives that she searches all America for) and i just realised that Plath, in so much of her poetry meditating on women and post-marital life, was so far ahead of her time and society...

like wow...

i imagine that she too was once the picture perfect desperate housewife... a veritable celebrity in English poetic circles married to the wildly successful Ted Hughes from America... in a crumbling marriage and utterly trapped between the committments of her as a mother, wife and poet...

and she took her own life too...

i do well believe that the series will aid in the understanding of some issues... and in other circumstances lead the reader to interesting questions and discussions on the concerns of Plath... but since i'm writing this i might as well leave a warning to anybody reading this... that the similarities drawn between Plath and The Desperate Housewives are dangerous hypotheses to postulate... something that i in my currently non-acedemic employment can do with reckless abandon....

so if you're actually studying... well exercise caution...

and in the New Paper today...

A school for children with below-average IQ and learning disabilities was subjected to complaints and requests from parents to remove and replace articles that had come in contact with a certain teacher, on the grounds that as a homosexual, and involved in a public indecency charge, he was putting their children were in danger of being infected with the HIV virus. This was after he was issued a warning by the police for an act of public indecency in which he was involved in sexual acts with another man, which he claims was consensual.

i try not to be guilty of media conditioning in the above lines...
it shocks me when i read in the paper that parents "tear down the toilets"... there is clear exaggeration of the extent of aggression and even an implication of non-existent violence on the part of the parents...

When one is charged with a duty as important as passing on information, i believe that one should exercise prudence and caution in not distorting truth and fact. It is saddening to see that for some journalists this prudence has taken second place to writing the perfect attention grabbing headline, replete with alliteration. But I speculate, I emote, I imply, and i exaggerate. But I can; can they?

i have no idea whether the idiocy of parents or the flagrant disregard of journalistic ethics as seen in the paper disgusts me more...

As parents of children who have had the ill-fortune to be born with learning disabilities it is rather ironic, even shocking that rather than maximise their own knowledge to better mentor their children they remain stuck in such baseless and backward assumptions. For some of these children their lives will be lived in innocence, given their special needs; yet it somehow seems impossible, given the perceptions that their parents hold.

and still this human world rends and tears the compassionate bystander... for after all can we blame these people who would go any lengths to safeguard their children in these uncertain times where biological agents and viruses are real threats...?