we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Sunday, September 29, 2002
7:32 AM
Frenzy Mode
3 days to promos.
3 days to complete 3/4 of the syllabus of physics.
and. 1/2 of the scope of math
also. 2/3 of the chemistry conspectus.
not forgetting. 1/2 of econs contents.
I like it. I like the stress building within me.
For stress brings about impending risks of failure.
And risks kindles the adventurous spirit in me, fuelling the adrenaline rush that courses through my veins.
I like promos. I like the way we study together. I like the study sessions that bond people closer than they thought would do.
I like the late night stays, the pizza calls, the interaction of mugging strangers, the night soccer, the grotesque playing of the piano.
I bet i'll miss the times of j1 mugging, just as i miss my Os mugging with yongfeng, junbin etc.
I like promos.
But of course, the end always beats the beginning.
Aha. Its only 8 days to chalet.
the voices in my head-
Friday, September 27, 2002
8:31 AM
O prom oh
Prom rocks. Promo suck.
Amazing what a single o can do.
I wished i had started earlier, as always.
As always, i'm not able to complete revision of syllabus.
I just have this uncanny feeling that i'm going to screw up, as always.
As always, i will screw up.
But heck.
Everyone's overwhelmed by the fact that promos is naught but a trifle 5 days away.
I prefer to think that the end of promos are just a mere 10 days away.
As always.
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, September 24, 2002
5:37 AM
Diary Extracts
TamBB, Mrs.
Dear Diary,
Today ah, less than half the class is present at flag raising. Why they not there, I do not know, but i think tomorrow when i go ask them, they sure say flu lah, stomachache lah, gastric lah. The way they drop out of class like flies hor, you'd think got some epidemic around in 69. Sigh, and those that come also, tsk, half the time don't attend lesson. Haiz, i very worried for them leh. Dear Diary, write in you some other time, i got to call up that jiajun now and try to discover why he not here for a gazillion days already.
WaiKit, Master, the great.
Dear Diary,
Oh-i-am-so-bloody-shagged you know? I've been mugging so hard my head is suffering from decreasing returns to scale. The law of diminishing returns has had its effect on me, and pumping in more knowledge into me would be likened to balancing the centre of buoyancy of a limkamputi on a gasful of CH4. But anyway, i decided to skip the first 4 lessons of school today because i just didn't have enough mass times acceleration to haul me off my bed this morning. Unjustified as it is, i see no point in attending silly lectures that bear no importance to promokaninabei anymore. Oh well, i guess i'd just have to lai my way out of this once again, and hopefully TamBB's divine enough to act the cyclops once again.
the voices in my head-
Friday, September 20, 2002
9:12 AM
Myths are public dreams, Dreams are private myths.
Yinbing freaked me out, atop of my already freaky dream about my class. Apparently she had yet another dream along the same lines, though her sub conscious mind was a teeny weeny bit more corneous.
But anyway, dreams are nothing but a false illusion. B. Quilliam's quote There is a fine line between dreams and reality, it's up to you to draw it. is flawed thoroughly. Sometimes, dreams bear no link to limkamputish reality, and to reign over dreams would be likened to retaining water in cupped hands.
One should not dwell upon such thoughts lest be consumed by them. In any case, as EV. Lucas states, One of the most adventurous things left us is to go to bed. For no one can lay a hand on our dreams.
Promos are crashing headon. I've got to mug tomorrow. I'm going to sleep.
the voices in my head-
Thursday, September 19, 2002
9:12 AM
Music Of The Night
As requested, i will not post what had happened today, i won't post the sappy heart-melting words of dear sok, nor will i post the tight resounding spanking of juleeear's butt! Hmm, but amidst the cookie baking, the singing, the gossiping, the laughter and the music of the night, we've bridged one of the many gaps between 3 souls. Hopefully, its just the beginning of a beginning and not an end of yet another beginning.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, September 18, 2002
7:42 AM
Atomic Kittens
The tide is high but i'm holding on
I'm gonna be your number one
I'm not the kind of girl
Who gives up just like that
-the tide is high
Ahaz. If only atomic kittens could atomize promos into a gazillion bits of limkamputish organismo, or if only these uranium pusses could atomize me into a self-churning processor of 69 megabytes/cps. Then indeed, i'll be number one.
Its alright, and its okay, and its alright and its okay and you're not here but its okay.
-its OK
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
7:50 AM
ahola means Family. and Family means no one gets left behind.
so speaks one of the greatest philosopher of all time.
Imagine a pile of shit, murky and nauseating. It stinks like the bloody armpit of a god-damned orangutan, and it will rot for eternity even if it were sent air-mailed to the nineth pits of hell. Detested, despised, even by its screwed owner.
So was the state of it.
And now, wrongly thought me that it couldn't have degraded further, was an attempt to flush that pile of ordure. Swirling and swirling, it chokes up the bloody toilet bowl, leaving a shitty stain that leaves a mark on my perfect bowl. my perfect life. How i wish i can use my dirt-rimmed fingers and scrape that usque off, to drown it in the whorling torrents of water. It swirls on and on, with pathetic me desparately operating half-flush and full-flushes at the same time. Alas, to no avail.
So is the state of it.
Its was in the pits. Its swirling yet again. And i'm flabbergasted to realise how calmly i'm taking all this in.
Maybe it doesn't matter to me anymore. Maybe i've learnt to accept the cold hard existence of it all.
Someone, anyone. Please send me a toilet brush for X`mas.
the voices in my head-
Monday, September 16, 2002
7:45 AM
Exceptions Occur
I was hauled into Mdm Tan's office today, yet again. Wondering what on earth could be up this time, swirling thoughts consternated me. Had she found out about my lying to her about me not being attached? Had she found out about my spate of aWak3n|nGs? Or was it to reprimand me over the senseless CS essays i kept churning out wednesdays after wednesdays?
Alas, little did i know that over these years, i had slowly but steadily bricked my exequies. Tragedy of tragedies, catastrophe of catastrophes, calamity of calamities, she had discovered this site! Yes, this site!! ~-shudders-~
Undoubtedly, she particularly picked out the Mission Impossible 3 entry and questioned me on APCs. Well, from the bottom of my heart, i admit that i'd suffered the fallacy of hasty generalisation to term APC as Assholes Packed Cars at that instantaneous point of time. It was, on the contrary, a military vehicle which transports both ammunition and provisions.
Oh, and of course, Mdm Tan did inquire about the aWak3n|nG on the top of the blog which was literally screaming for attention. And of course, i told her that i had only decorated a few spots with my trademark once in a blue baboon, which i've had certainly removed. Living up to my surname no doubt.
Alvin was right after all, i had blatently ignored his constant reminders that my site was garnering a wide sea of audience, and failed to watch what i post. Anyway, the moment i entered her office, the heavenly dam burst forth, spourging accusations and castigations from her divine lips. What the hell, thought me, just convict me and send me to another CS. But beneath that yakatiyakata, a smile lurked beneath, and some feeling returned to my legs after realising that i was not to be punished after all.
Humour's a powerful tool, i realised. An apple a day keeps the doctor away, a laughter a day keeps the CS at bay. Which has inevitably reinforced my life motto to Not Worry, Stay Happy!
Oh, for those more intellectually-advanced organisms out there, you might have realised i would get into hot mushroom cream soup if Mdm Tan stumbles upon this, but as the nice lady she is, she has promised not to view my site again due to some philosophical reasoning on invasion of privacy. Nevertheless, i had said that it was posted on a public domain and it was both her right and privllege to feast on this masterpiece. In any case, i'll still blog as if today had never occured. And if she were to accidentally stumble upon this site once again, she wouldn't approach me, for a kind damsel always lives up to her words. Which has undisputedly reinforced another of my common beliefs: everyone is nice when you get to know them.
the voices in my head-
Sunday, September 15, 2002
7:32 AM
Obscure Obscurum
I'm confused. perplexed. confounded. bewildered. bothered. very. bothered.
Why, i asked. Alas, I found no reasons.
Hopefully its just my phone.
the voices in my head-
Friday, September 13, 2002
9:49 AM
Practical Magic
Women. The female species of mankind which thrives on planet earth. They bring happiness, they bring woes. They bring laughter, they bring joy. But on top of it all, they bring out the muliebrity of man.
Today was another of those days, lessons aplenty, toilet breaks abundant. Nevertheless, the issue of girls seemed to plague me throughout the day. First, it was Zhiyang with his Ms Congeniality. The all-too-familiar overwhelming state of infatuation consumed him as he bounced through the day. So much for the beginning of yet another Lazo Del Amor.
The day dragged on and i was squeezed between kelvin and shirley during double feesics tutorial. Feeling [oh-punch-me-in-my-face] bored and terribly bronomachikambei-ed, i played around with anything and everything. Soonafter, a squashed up bear caught my attention. It was 4 inches high, with a scrunched up face with every bit of air vacuumed out of its ballooned head. Tied around shirley's bag, that deformity sparked my curiosity and i questioned its origins. Expectantly though truth in doubt, shirley retorted in a split of a second that it came from a girl, then we went on chatting about the culture of RV and how it seemed that RV bred a pool of silent thinkers and sophisticated individuals who practised Fabian Policy on the constant. Faltering upon my bad habit of labelling once again, i figured that girls from RV make cannot-make-it girlfriends but superb housewives.
What about nY then? Or even rG? Do different environments carve out differing characters in these mulher species of humanity?
The day climaxed at the end of CLAO, and i whisked my butt out of A304, only to find an un-vernon-y vernon at the classbench. Writhing in him was the pounding misgiving of a girl, yet again. The smile, the laughter, all horribly masking the overpowering emotions beneath. Girls, what are they? It'd take me a lifetime to discover the first step to understanding such a complex creature.
I was in love. I'm in love.
But who under this blue baboonic moon knows what true love is? Who knows what women want, what women needs?
Think me, a lady's man. One who characteristically reveals the muliebrity of himself.
Think like a woman. Back to the basics, put yourself in one's shoes. And practical magic's done.
the voices in my head-
Monday, September 09, 2002
7:45 AM
On Backstabbing
He used to be my best friend.
I used to be his only friend.
We shared anything, everything.
I did so loved him.
We were great pals, from `99
He and i, great friends, bosom friends, best friends.
Inseparable we were, like dusk and shadow
I did so loved him.
I hid his little faults, his minor cracks
He hid my dark secrets, silently, faithfully
And closer we got, to souls extent
I did so loved him.
His network was vast, like the oceans and seas
His power was great, i respected thee
He helped me in gals, in friends, in gangs
I did so loved him.
Today, i called, he did not respond
He tossed his head, that nifty shit
And turned on me, like a snaked-skin beast
I so fucking hate him.
That prick took what he gave me
Contacts, my friends, my gal, you see
Day and night, talk not i did
I so fucking hate him.
He taught me a new language
He taught me a new culture
But in a day, he reaped all back
I so fucking hate him.
High class he thinks he is
But shit thinks me he is
Lousy, blackish, dirty and old
I so fucking hate him.
He once stood gleam and proud
With me always, but now away
His name is...
Nokia 8210
the voices in my head-
Friday, September 06, 2002
9:11 AM
The Tale Of Bronomachikambei
Far far away in the land of bronomachikambei, there lived 27 little limkamputs. Limkamputs are defined as lower forms of life so simple in structure as to be without organs, but still called organisms, since they have different parts analogous in functions to the organs of higher plants and animals. Limkamputs, though microscopic, not only have an unsurpassable intelligence, they have gender differences too. Male limkamputs have 2 heads, hence being termed limkamputi, whilst female limkamputs have 2 lips, thus being termed limkamputas. These are highly capable of thought and deduction, nevertheless, subjected to an annual torture (otherwise known as promotikaninabei), where they would be confined to a pinhead-sized cell, made to regurgitate up to 69 megabytes of data in less than 69 minutes, 69 seconds.
One day, the curliest limkamputa decide to hold a feast to commemorate the national day of bronomachikambei. Together with the tallest limkamput, she planned a large scale invitation for the 25 other limkamputs. Alas, promotikaninabei has struck fear into each limkamput, and many of them were rendered unavaliable before the feast could even commence. Two limkamputas had already made plans to devour lilyjune (a water plant which blossoms only in the month of june) and could not turn up for this event, while the shortest limkamputi was balled down by some form of competition. Moreover, the most violent limkamputa, together with many many other limpamputs, expressed utmost regret at their absence.
The feast commenced nevertheless, with less than half the nation represented. First to leave was the limkamputa who always had socks on. Apparently, she had to partake in a waterpolo fest, god bless her if she'd forgotten to remove her socks before jumping into the pool. After the sumptuous banquet, ms curly limkamputa led us into a mass rapid transportation service. Mass rapid it was, and mass rapid too was the speed limkamputs left. First, a right-armed limkamputi explained his early departure, followed by the hasty exit of yet another limkamputi. With post-highjinks-wassail activities not falling into place, the dark limkamputa left us after tailing the express transport for more than 10 booths, closely followed by the limkamputa who was the queen of limkamputish-lobangs. They supposedly whizzed towards a tranquil unit to input more data into their DeepBlue-like processors.
Soonafter, it was down to the duke and duchess of the nation, together with the tall and curly organisers, accompanied by a naked limkamputa. Much as the duke and the tall limkamputi would love to roll their eyes over the naked creature that lay untapped before them, the curly limkamputa finally buzzed the company to a medium that disseminates moving pictures. Sadly, the duchess of the nation had to leave for her unit cell for more data input and was, with extreme regret and utmost misfortune, unable to grace the occasion.
All in all, there remained only four limkamputs when the nation's birthday cake was flaunted in full blossom. Cheeky, sneaky and playful, cream soon splattered over the duke's face, the curly limkamputa's slender arms, and of course, the naked limkamputa's belly. The tall limkamputi escaped unscathed, savouring all cream in its alimentary canal instead of wasting sleeks of it over childish innocence.
Happy birthday, Bronomachikambei. Fuck you, Promotikaninabei. Bless me, Oh-almighty-God-above.
the voices in my head-
Wednesday, September 04, 2002
8:34 AM
On mugging, yet again.
Yongfeng (10:47 PM) :
fuck lar promos suck
Nothing I can agree with more.
I woke today at 2pm to a horrifying screech and that all-too-familiar pounding of my door. One day, my oak door would collapse into gazillion splinters and hopefully it falls outwards. Anyway, from the second i awoke, the voice at the back of my head kept pricking me, telling me that i've two uncompleted tutorials screaming for my attention. Dragging myself through the day, i tried to brush that nagging hubbub away, but that assholic thing just stubbornly refuse to budge.
Tried to roll my fingers over the piano, to let the melodious music waft through my brain, and siphon out that spastigated cell responsible for grevious break up and destruction of the tranquillity or settled state of my mind, but alas, the plan backfired on me and instead, my neighbours were subjected to half hour of bizzare tunes escaping my music room.
Turning to basketball to seek solace, basketball smacked me in my face instead. I played so horrendously i was sure to qualify for the top 10 most peepeepapeepo ham-chi-peng player in the estate.
Okie, think me, i guess i'd have to tend to my tutorials after all. And pissed i got, after getting stuck at the first ionic equ. qn and after confronting integration and getting all clamped up at its tutorials and after turning to halogenoalkanes and getting boinked too and after affronting econs yet getting stranded once again.
Sometimes, i wonder why i try to study so hard. Unlike sip and alvin (coincidence regretted), i have no burning desire for S papers. "To get promoted, you dumbo", says the voice at the back of my head. Yes indeed, but that would not require the summoning of the buried mugging spirit within me. sigh, i guess its just my ego at work, 8 pts at Os was a morale-deflating, ego-crushing, face-hurling, heart-slicing, lung-coroding, kidney-failing, dick-castrating tragedy, and perhaps its just typical me trying to prove my history wrong.
But at the expense of my don't-worry-be-happy motto? at the cost of my routine of play? Neh.. no way.
Fuck lah, promos suck
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, September 03, 2002
9:52 AM
On perfection
Okay, this entry sucks but anyway, today was perfect. went out with her, played ball, did work. wanted to express the perfectness with poems, but failed miserably. wanted to crap something ankle-spraining out, but my brain's in a whirl. guess today was too perfect to be blogged.
I fancy mugging, I like basketball, I love her.
the voices in my head-
Monday, September 02, 2002
9:13 AM
RadioHeads & DickHeads & LooHead
Thanks to a fantastically inert, or perhaps inertally fantastic pal i've known, Radioheads came into my dictionary. Just a brief introduction by Mingwei, Radioheads is one of the greatest bands from UK, US? (dunno, cannot remember which), and plays alternative music which relaxes your body and soul like Jazz does...
My introduction? Radioheads just a form of music which would piss you off so badly you'd want to stuff your blood-gushed head into your radio set. Thus, living up to its name, presenting the RadioHeads...
Anyway, recent circumstances have somehow brought this eccentric but plesantly horny individual called Loo Mingwei (see? notice his surname suggests a spine-tingling connotation in regard to activities carried out in toilets?) , closer to me. From evening study sessions to night KAP dinners, we talked about anything and everything under the sun, from friends to girlfriends to gayfriend, from pinheads to radioheads to dickheads. Also, this Loo guy has had one of my favourite ex-pasttimes, and his extensive knowledge of Jenna Jameson and Bunko Kawanizu and Pamela Anderson wowed me for a period of time. He's also an excellent analogy of the old maxim "Never Judge A Book By Its Cover". Beneath that mask of a true mugging spirit and angelic innocence lies a vast murky knowledge in the aspect of copulation and self-exploration.
Oh, just take today's econs tutorial as an example. Seated beside the Loo, we were trading rated artistic jokes when suddenly, the Loo exclaimed and pointed out that Mrs Veronica Chua had a chest contrary to the airfield strips commonly spotted on singaporeans. Instead, hers was one of Mt Helen, or perhaps even Mt Everest. Which brings me to the point of my chinese teacher and cheese, but i guess i would not go into that at this moment.
Loo and i immediately devised a way to measure those wonderous assets, and i used my two index as a gauge, and we wanted to measure the distance between the two fingers, then measure the distance from us to her, to get an approximation of those perky elevations. Alas, Mrs Chua caught us with the curved ruler (yes, yinbing, now u know its function...), and threatened to strangle me with it. Oh well, mission failed, but there's always another day, i guess.
Loo's an interesting character, as Chengping puts it, and i'm set to unearth more unvarnished tales about this toilet.
the voices in my head-
i love my girl. a love so beautiful, symmetrical, tangible
God loves me. a love so great, unconditional, real.
my life in a nutshell. working towards loves of sorts. beautiful, symmetrical, tangible, great, unconditional and real.
a page, deliberately left blank.
Love is patient, love is kind.
It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
It is not rude, it is not self-seeking.
It is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth.
It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails.
I Corinthians 13:4-8
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