we cannot change the cards we are dealt,
just how we play the hand.
Tuesday, November 25, 2003
8:22 AM
Simplicity
its been nearly a week, and it amazes me how hypocritical i can get. it seemed only yesterday that i told myself i would push myself beyond my limits during the past week so that i can achieve what i had set out to achieve from the beginning, but the past days just seemed to spiral out of my control, everytime. everywhere. and at everyone.
each time we meet, we were supposed to bury ourselves amongst of our books yet screwed us would always dissolve into some loveydovey discussion which get nowhere. and then we would swear by a pattayan prostitute to study harder the next day, just as the sun sets, and we would embark on a journey home, only to be half freaked by shoes and half saddened by relationships.
perhaps all we needed is to look at things from one another's points of view and the entangled mess of relationships would slowly untwirl themselves.
another thing, i haven't laughed so hard at anything before. there's been woefully little to laugh at these days, yet each time i meet you guys i'd seem to melt in the gay spirits of our president and more significantly, possibly at my own puerileness. to have thought the world to be so simple. i realised, life as it is, ain't as simple as i had reckoned it to be, yet somehow it can't be as complicated as we make it.
right?
on another note, all my notes are now packed into a corner, just awaiting the arrival of fluids before i can hurl the entire forlorn mess of notes into my neighbour's lawn. but as i gaze upon the files that lie neatly at the corners of my walls, it only seemed apt i give them an appropriate parting. after all these are the notes which had determined the brilliance and genius in my academic field the past 2 years while each crook and canny hid a little mouse by fangxi, a salivating face of chengping's, the devillish flower of sip's or perhaps even an endangered species by pamela.
alas, despite a tragic expropriation of the right to fling all this high and away, i would not pack them into a puny plastic funerary box and send them away. for though each wedge of worksheets lie the skeletal parameters of JC education, the drawings on each paper screaming "wake up waikit", "waikit's a pig" and of course the "aWak3n|nGs" are truly the pulp of what i had been.
the voices in my head-
Thursday, November 20, 2003
3:32 AM
Fucked
seriously, i've never felt so fucked in my life before.
fucked enough to come online a whole fucking 18 hours before my paper and blog.
ok. hope the amusement of hearing myself swear at myself will cheer me up.
back to fucking quantum.
the voices in my head-
Tuesday, November 18, 2003
9:24 AM
On Macdonalds
it was unnerving, studying there once again. the place where it all begun and ended. i still remember the routine schedules we would used to share, the ceaseless studying you pursued and that familiar curfew which came alongside the setting of the sun.
and then it dwindled into nothingness, little did i know the next time i crossed that overhead bridge, you would have gone. the fingers that once clasped round something very much alive could only hit hard upon the cold dials of my phone instead.
on another note, there lived an old man. a greasy old man who had a terminal illness, and he was well into the last minute of his life. alas, he realised to utmost disconcertment, that the bed he lay on was the exact one he was born in. and before he could flutter an eyelid, the pulse went dead, and a deafening silence loomed over.
aha. but as they say. with the death of something comes the birth of another.
i await thee.
the voices in my head-
Friday, November 14, 2003
7:49 PM
Dreams
you know something about dreams, they're little nimble things you can't control. fleeting thoughts that brush through your mind when you laze in bed in dire need of a good night's rest. somehow you feel as if you can control your actions and influence the circumstances, yet sometimes dreams seem to be merely mercurial flashes of scenes viewed from a television set.
you know the things that run in our minds in the dead of the night, some of which we'd never dare do in reality, nonetheless surreal yet unnerving that we had actually accomplished in dreams. lust. desire. hatred. all balled into a simple element of our everyday life: dreams.
so here comes the puillion dollar question. ought we feel guilty about the things that happen in our dream? someone tell me please, i just got drunk and climbed..
oh wait. i meant, i just saw myself got drunk and climbed a coconut tree to rape an exotic parjanya aboriginal beauty.
the voices in my head-
Thursday, November 13, 2003
7:35 AM
Legs
i was playing soccer today at the parade square at chinese high. as that silly boy i always am, i tried to flabbergast my opponents with a well aimed overhead kick. balanced upon one leg, poised in that elegant position, my other feet raised to nearly my height when my pivot leg gave way like a limp dick. as you can imagine, i fell to the ground in a mess of entangled limps, while my raised knee smashed to the ground with a sickening crunch and i gave an orgasmic cry of pain.
it was pain beyond measure, i could feel nothing. it was a pain of numbness, the sort of excruciating pain which consumes your limbs, before anesthetising the dead nerves, and then a rush of blood oozes out of that crack of skin, half revitalising those nerves causing one to squirm in convulsion.
its all in the head, i used to say. but i did not know why i teared for the first time in many hard knocks. it couldn't have been the pain, as i shut my eyes in fury. while vernon and fred helped me to the side, i shuddered for the first time in utter fear. a genuine acute fear that i would never be able to skim the courts again, to burn those hoops.
i sat in solitude, and thought for a long time. these legs i have, lean hairy long things. little did i know how much they meant.
even as i doddered up my the hill that leads up to my house today, alongside vernon duck fred alvin, right behind yb sok sip fangs, and right before chengping rach shirley,
it had never seemed further before.
the voices in my head-
Saturday, November 08, 2003
10:05 PM
to whom it may concern:
your voice just took everything away, though you might not have noticed. but fortunately for i, we hung up before my skin was lifted off me.
thanks
the voices in my head-
Understanding
forgive me for stumbling back upon my words, but i just had to seek solace.
somebody, anybody. help
every bloody person is mugging their head off, some day i should write to mr george bush and tell him to send over a peterhawk missle over to cambridge.
somehow, it has to get into you wouldn't it. and get you all frustrated with white hair spewing out of the scalps and asscracks. screw those muthafucking hypocrites who say they feel no stress and A levels are nothing but a breeze.
screw me that is. that incessant smile hung upon my face that it bores even myself at times, i'm still impeccably-stupendously-exquisitely-amazingly happy. going around frolicking amidst the piles of notes, that gay spirit awakens and thrives in me wherever i head.
then i played ball today. and i learnt something about myself. anything that goes up must come down, everything that goes in must come out. look at step, the amount she eats yet she remains out of my line of sight, at least we all know it goes to noise pollution.
and so i thought, all that little snippets of stress churned and built up over the past days, it didn't show but it didn't mean it doesn't exist. but thanks be to god it weren't someone that pulled that plug, but alas, the spark of repeated defeats on court ignited that fuel in me and lurking amidst the amorphous mass of knowledge emerged a very angry soul.
i need to escape, to fly, to hide in a corner and be eaten by the walls. thats what alcohol is all about isn't it? and clubbing too ain't it? that dancing, the dark musky alleys which beckons so invitingly, its all about an escapist's disease, as cher and dalg would put it. and all these times i let fly my pedal alongside mad lorries and crazy taxis, suffering the sight of middle fingers and howls of honks while two earplugs screamed meteora into me. how i desired to speed down bukit timah after this evening, yet something tells me that old man was there for a reason.
i rarely get pissed, which is so very good, yet so very bad. i downed a few gushes of vodka, hurled that pretty pink glass bottle at a passing rat, but it still wouldn't subside. i know not how to cope with it, and all i could do is punch that little tinkiewinkie twit my sister owns.
and perhaps as my feet continues to deface tinkiewinkie, my hands could pass off some of that steam in my head into virtual space. it has always worked for me, i still recollect last year things were resolved over an apology here, and even this year, nemesis could morph into if not friends, strangers at the least.
something fought so hard in me today, that i was nearly ripped apart.
somebody, anybody. help
patch me back
the voices in my head-
Monday, November 03, 2003
5:57 AM
Repairs
sorry to disappoint my ardent supporters of pro-study, but i just had to pen this down before it gets lost amidst the currency devaluation, maclaurin's expansions and photoelectric effect.
you know that yellow black bike i own? its a little toy i could count on to court death on the roads these days, but today i knew my faith was misplaced when it gave way at the bus stop. i was swerving left between the ass of a massive container truck and the head of a tibs taxi when the gear got mangled with a nasty crunch and i skidded half a million miles before coming to a halt.
picking myself up amongst the snake of twisted metal, it was so mighty embarrassing, and God bless this old dotty fool who broke the silence. actually, there was only he and i, but still i would rather have him than i thawed the iced atmosphere. "that was bloody dangerous my young boy" a half croak half whisper escaped his lips.
i jumped. a good reason to, since i am froggaphobic, and not only did his voice croaked in uncanny resemblance, his eyes half popped out of their sockets to reflect an utter toad-like face. but beneath that prickle of apprehension, i felt a shudder of indignance. "little boy? i'm nearly two heads above your botak coconut scalp, you condescending old man."
and then, he wobbled to my bike and surprisingly, lifted up the frame in a vice-like grip. he then walked towards me, and asked if i were ready to foot 5 dollars for him to repair my bike.
"certainly", thinks me, i would have expected an astronomical explosion in my wallet in place of my stupidity, "why not?" with a slight frown, his glance pierced into me, but apart from that, he exchanged no further words and prepared to set the frame down upon the grass. squatting uneasily beside, he began linking up the intricate chains to revive what was supposedly dead.
after a minute or two, he straightened himself up. "its done" he proudly declared, and i set myself on my dear old toy and tested its pedals and all. it was to much surprise that it ran like a fresh penis out of a bath, and my ecstasy could have matched the world's greatest orgasm. unassuming, i forked out 5 dollars with a beaming smile that stretched from ear to ear.
and then he said, "keep it for yourself my dear boy. perhaps a funeral gift for your next accident."
"huh?"
and then i spotted that twisted smile which i would never forget, and he said, "i was once a professional biker. a SEA games medalist mind you, and an arrogant one."
he lifted his long pants, to reveal a carefully hidden wooden pole for his left leg.
"not everyone is as lucky as i, you know."
with that, the old dotty fool turned and boarded his bus 66, and i never even got to know his name.
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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