One day, I'd like to respond, when interviewers ask me how much longer my blog will be around for, that it ain't over till it's over. For that to be even remotely possible, of course, I'd need the following:

A) journalists who want to interview me
B) people who read my blog, and
C) an active blog.

The first two are easy - pay people.

It's part C that I have to contend with on my own. It's a tricky thing, getting back to writing on a regular basis. In fact, that's such a ridicously fatuous statement for me to make at the outset of getting back to writing. Maybe once I've returned to action for long enough, I'll allow myself the use of "getting back to writing" withouth feeling like a twat. For now, I'll keep it as a reminder of what a self indulgent whinger I can be. Can't hurt!

A few points of interest, for this new era:

1) Tim of old was a rambler. Both because my mind tends to function that way - skipping across wide  swathes of ideas and data, but rarely delving deep - and because, to be honest, I thought it a more entertaining way to write. New Tim will rein that in, and move towards a more focused, cogent style. Not without humour, of course! And without completely curtailing who I am. Ultimately, I'd like to use this blog - in part - as a place for the fleshing out of ideas, the working through of thought experiments and the explication of themes that are current in my life. The "trending topics", if you will.

2) Tim of old at times drew laughs via means which seem unsavory to new Tim. It is a natural thing, I suppose, to find one's younger self distasteful in portions. Nothing to do but recognize and move on! Since I've decided roasting, flaming, mocking, parodying and all the other degenerate synonyms I could (but won't) muster aren't for me, I hope you'll decide in turn that they're not necessary for you, within this space. There are many roads to mirth, not all of them mean-spirited!

3) Tim of old was young. New Tim is old. There will undoubtedly be consequences.

I warmly welcome all readers, all feedback, all things.

Let's get started!

Hello Sophie? It's me, Tim!

Hello, blogosphere! This is a ping for one Sophie Wong - are you still out there? I sent you an email, but your address has changed and I have no other means of communication! Leave a comment, if you are.

New Growth.

I'm not sure who is still out there. This ping goes forth into the void, unknowing...


I've begun activity elsewhere, and it will probably supersede this blog. Please, feel free to check out www.tfacpov.blogspot.com.




I'll be seeing you!

I'm not sure that I agree with ALL of these, but it's an entertaining read nonetheless. * marks ones I agree with in particular.





A man carries cash. A man looks out for those around him -- woman, friend, stranger. A man can cook eggs. A man can always find something good to watch on television. A man makes things -- a rock wall, a table, the tuition money. Or he rebuilds -- engines, watches, fortunes. He passes along expertise, one man to the next. Know-how survives him. A man fantasizes that kung fu lives deep inside him somewhere. A man is good at his job. Not his work, not his avocation, not his hobby. Not his career. His job. It doesn't matter what his job is, because if a man doesn't like his job, he gets a new one.

A man can speak to dogs.

A man listens, and that's how he argues. He crafts opinions. He can pound the table, take the floor. It's not that he must. It's that he can.

A man can look you up and down and figure some things out. Before you say a word, he makes you. From your suitcase, from your watch, from your posture. A man infers.

A man owns up. That's why Mark McGwire is not a man. A man grasps his mistakes. He lays claim to who he is, and what he was, whether he likes them or not.

* Some mistakes, though, he lets pass if no one notices. Like dropping the steak in the dirt.

A man can tell you he was wrong. That he did wrong. That he planned to. He can tell you when he is lost. He can apologize, even if sometimes it's just to put an end to the bickering.

A man does not wither at the thought of dancing. But it is generally to be avoided.

Style -- a man has that. No matter how eccentric that style is, it is uncontrived. It's a set of rules
.
A man loves the human body, the revelation of nakedness. He loves the sight of the pale bosom, the physics of the human skeleton, the alternating current of the flesh. He is thrilled by the wrist and the sight of a bare shoulder. He likes the crease of a bent knee.

Maybe he never has, and maybe he never will, but a man figures he can knock someone, somewhere, on his bottom.

A man doesn't point out that he did the dishes.

A man knows how to ridicule.

A man gets the door. Without thinking.

He stops traffic when he must.

A man knows how to lose an afternoon. Playing Grand Theft Auto, driving aimlessly, shooting pool.

He knows how to lose a month, also.

A man welcomes the coming of age. It frees him. It allows him to assume the upper hand and teaches him when to step aside.

*** He understands the basic mechanics of the planet. Or he can close one eye, look up at the sun, and tell you what time of day it is. Or where north is. He can tell you where you might find something to eat or where the fish run. He understands electricity or the internal-combustion engine, the mechanics of flight or how to figure a pitcher's ERA.

A man does not know everything. He doesn't try. He likes what other men know.

A man knows his tools and how to use them -- just the ones he needs. Knows which saw is for what, how to find the stud, when to use galvanized nails.

A miter saw, incidentally, is the kind that sits on a table, has a circular blade, and is used for cutting at precise angles. Very satisfying saw.

He does not rely on rationalizations or explanations. He doesn't winnow, winnow, winnow until truths can be humbly categorized, or intellectualized, until behavior can be written off with an explanation. He doesn't see himself lost in some great maw of humanity, some grand sweep. That's the liberal thread; it's why men won't line up as liberals. (Strong DISagreement here!)

***A man resists formulations, questions belief, embraces ambiguity without making a fetish out of it. A man revisits his beliefs. Continually. That's why men won't forever line up with conservatives, either.

A man is comfortable being alone. Loves being alone, actually. He sleeps.

Or he stands watch. He interrupts trouble. This is the state policeman. This is the poet. Men, both of them.

A man loves driving alone most of all.

******* (Perhaps most of all). A man watches. Sometimes he goes and sits at an auction knowing he won't spend a dime, witnessing the temptation and the maneuvering of others. Sometimes he stands on the street corner watching stuff. This is not about quietude so much as collection. It is not about meditation so much as considering. A man refracts his vision and gains acuity. This serves him in every way. No one taught him this -- to be quiet, to cipher, to watch. In this way, in these moments, the man is like a zoo animal: both captive and free. You cannot take your eyes off a man when he is like that. You shouldn't. Who knows what he is thinking, who he is, or what he will do next

Very well then! I shall return.






Tomorrow, forsooth.

Testing Testing Testing.

This is a ping! It's been an enormously long length of time since my last post. If this doesn't feel right/if I don't get any comments from anyone in a while/if I forget about blogging again, I may start completely afresh somewhere.

Hit me back!

Insight.

Spiritualists speak of insight achieved through stripping the physical body of necessities - through starvation, fasting, deprivation. Thus is satori achieved, sayeth the gurus - thus is revelatory revelation revealed.

Perhaps that's why I find myself, at 1.30 in the morning, deprived of sleep, suddenly understanding - with an immediacy akin to cold water - that all along I've been operating under false pretenses. And with this newfound knowledge comes clarity.


You're not my friend, let alone whatever other apellations one might have chosen to use in the past. A simple enough conclusion to reach, it seems in retrospect, because friendships don't work like this. And this isn't even some big whinge, some quiet bitch in the night - it's just fact, neither galling nor gladdening.



So I leave myself this message, a message from Timothy Harries at 1.30am, sitting atop the summit of Enlightenment, in order that I might remember, in times to come.




Friendship's different.

Hello, my old friend.

Its a skill. A muscle. A way of thinking, of acting - operating - that one loses, with time.

Time.

Your ability to write atrophies, wasting away, day by day, until you find yourself avoiding the issue entirely - which of course only serves to hasten the entire process.

Such things are not immutable, however, so here I make my stand, and vow to change!




Maybe later.

Facebook frivolity

Greetings, my (by now perhaps long gone) readers!


I WILL construct a decent update soon, I solemnly swear, but for now, for posterity, a marvellous collection of facebook exchanges!


It all began with this......



Rebecca Reid:
"You are online...
And so am I...
The weather is not fine...
I want some pie...


See, I could be a song writer. Yes yes I could"



I wasn't going to let THAT stand, of course. So I replied.

Timothy Harries:

"A songwriter? No! That cannot be!
You supplied no bit of melody.
A few simple words - all quite paltry.
Not indicating even key!

The absolute temerity!

Now THIS then is genuine song,
The sort to which one sings along
(Mostly getting most bits wrong)
Like that one with all the place names, you know, how's it go......
Oh yeah.
"I've been everywhere man (blah blah blah) Dandenong"

As for you desiring pie
I'm afraid that I cannot supply
A single morsel. You ask why?
I cannot bake, nor shall I try!

Goodbye!"


Becky then wrote on Morgan Haselden's wall:

"I have all but monopolised your wal [...] p.s. check out Tim's poetry. He likes to use big words"



So I jumped on that of course, because I saw a decent sized word! So I replied (on Morgan's wall)

"Sorry to use your wall as a battleground morgs but I don't "like to use big words", they just come naturally! Two very distinctly different things.

Although I must say, I saw "monopolised" in Becky's post and though "Ah, a polysyllabic word! I must top that!"

So that's done now :D"




Meanwhile, becky and morgan have both written on my wall:


Becky:

"Oh my, Timothy Harries, that was quite an effort. I'm going to have to think about something brilliant and get back to you... you poetry-nerd. Are we celebrating your return to Sydney with pub on Friday? I'm working Saturday and Sunday so I'd like to make the most of Friday."

(obviously stunningly impressed by my work)


Morgan:

"Hey slut features. while i am moderately impressed by your impromptue poetry it does not change the fact that im an going to kill you in poker tomorow!! Mwa hahaha haha ha ha"

(obviously delusional)



On Morgan's wall, the situation progresses:

becky:

"YOU'RE a polysyllabic word. Take that! Wait... your name is Tim... looks like I lose on all fronts. Except for the western front.Sorry Morgan :)"


me:

"Well well, how's that for a somewhat infantile comeback! Although I must profess a measure of curiosity - what's this western front you mention?No apologies from me. HA!"


Becky:

"The western front... WWI! At last, I know something Tim doesn't"


Tim:

"You cannot claim supremacy based on a pathetic little snippet of information, presented without giving me the slightest IOTA of a chance vis a vis comprehension. SO THERE!""


Becky:

"Yeah I'm thinking I'm going to have to go all surrealist on Tim and then he'll have no idea what I'm talking about. I won't either, but thats not the point. Oh dear god, there's something in my roof... No really this isn't me practicing my surrealist moves there is actually something in there, clattering... bloody possums. I am proud to be host to your longest ever message! Sure beats being host to Tim's haikus"


(in explanation of the mention of haikus, Becky had earlier changed her status to "Is apparently now hosting a blog for Tim's latest poetry". Now come on. I couldn't let that slip past me! so I did this on her wall:

"Your status invites -
I'm drawn, inexorably.
Absolved of all blame.


A haiku!"

Which isn't too bad really!)




Finally, this post's raison d'etre!


Morgan wrote on Becky's wall, in reply to her idea of going surrealist, in a bid to confuse me by obfuscating:

"Greetings. I would highly advise never to speak to mr timothy harries about poetry or history or anything even semi intellectual unless you are the worlds greatest peorson because chances have it that tim will be able to out brain you! I dont think i have ever said anything to tim that he doesnt already know so i have resorted to speaking in (non bach) melody with extreme dynamics and beautiful tone colours to keep him interested. In regards to your poetry i am much more of a rebecca reid fan than a timothy harries nut job, because your style can convey all that you feel in just 4 lines and is still very poetic! Tims poetry however is sooo long that by the end not only am i checking my watch to see how much time i have wasted i also feel completly demoralised as there is no way i could ever whip up a beast like that.. "





Which is both really quite funny and also very pleasant.



Call me narcissistic! Or don't. You're not obliged.





Farewell, for now!

Actually scratch that. I begin to think it wasn't warranted at all!

But good poetry lasts forever.


Those of you that recall the last post, think not there is any ill will. But think, please.








the floor falls out from underneath
you tremble, waver, wobble
what was stone is now sand
and the future mists over.

Milestones and millstones

Old I grow,
Cold and slow.
Death becomes me
'Ere I know.





Well, I'm turning 21 in 9 days. 9 days, yes, that's right.

On the 28th of March, 1986, I was born in a hospital in Newcastle, New South Wales, Australia, and the world was never the same again.

The world just doesn't know it yet.




So anyway. As one approaches this momentous, gigantic, horror-inspiring figure, one begins to contemplate certain things - one finds oneself ruminating, in the idlest moments of the night, the steadfast forward motion of Time, which inexorably steamrolls over everything in its way.


One ponders milestones and millstones.


What, you say? Well, allow me to expound, and wax cynical.




They (the inimitable "They", yes, them) say that turning twenty-one is a milestone in life. A guidepost of sorts, letting you know where you are (which is Life, of course) and what you're supposed to do (keep living, naturally), as well as where you're supposed to go (forward, one would tend to think, especially given the lack of choice involved). Something to mark all that you've achieved (which by the end of the night is, if nothing else, the unique but dubitable distinction of having imbibed copious amounts of alcohol in most occasions), and to indicate where you might proceed next in life (in this case, I'm guessing the nearest toilet).





My opinion is somewhat different though - no suprise there, of course.



If you ask me, turning twenty-one is called a "milestone" in life by mere dint of a simple mis-spelling, a mistake that occured at some point in the distant past, lost in the mists of antiquity. What the people of old would have said is this:

Turning twenty-one is one of life's MILLSTONES.

And do you know what one does with millstones?



One hangs them around one's neck immediately prior to throwing oneself into a lake, with the express purpose being to drown and die.





Turning twenty-one, I put it to all and sundry, is merely the accumulation of another millstone around the neck. Sooner or later they all drag you under.









But enough talk of such gaiety and frivolity. Let us turn our attention to more serious matters, such as bubble-gum, and why 24 hour convenience stores have locks on their doors.






+++++++++++++++++++++


(count them! The number is precisely the one for this post, and also a curious multiplication of the two sacred numbers of Christianity, at least as far as I know. Perhaps this year is to a holy one for me)







Life is a funny thing, I'll say. And by all accounts I've had a rather marvellous journey so far, and been blessed far beyond all deservable limits, extremely above and beyond anything I could conceivably warrant or merit in any way. God has been exceedingly good to me, and for this I give thanks as often as I remember to.

Its been a brilliant twenty-one (almost!) years, and here's a nice big general thank you to all who've been involved in making it so.


While I know the next ten or twenty years won't be as good - as my vision starts to fade, I lose my hearing and arthritis sets in, quite aside from going completely bald and having my hip replaced 13 times - I'm hoping things won't be terribly grim.



And in closing, here's to those who are to accompany me on the next section of life. To those of old who stay with me - Heaven forfend! - and those whom Providence shall bring my way, I wish us happy times ahead, and memories in abundance.





One final thing - to the Timothy Harries of forty: Look back on this young idiot of twenty-one and laugh scornfully, would you?





Mocking in hindsight counts but for naught
At the time of fighting, you knew why you fought
When you set out seeking, you knew what you sought
But Time passes by, and reasons grow short.

Foibles and follies

Well well well!

Here I was, thinking "woe is me, woe is little old me, for not having any comments. Has the world forgotten me? Is my descent into damnation so utterly complete as to have wiped all trace of me from the Earth? Have I drowned, unknowing, in the hidden seas beneath Asia?" (that last bit is true - there IS a subterranean ocean underneath the Orient's feet!).

So.

I was wallowing in self-pity, thoroughly morose, when I logged in and found that I have 16 comments in need of moderation!


Oh joy overbrimming!


But life is a thing of myriad deceptions, and sometimes you think you're home and hosed, only to find out you're actually pissed drunk, and naked in a car wash.



Turns out, I had 3 genuine comments from real people (that's right, i thusly distinguish between people who spam and people who don't), and 13 comments from shameless spammers, or them as shall henceforth be known as the SS, albeit sans black uniforms.

THIRTEEN COMMENTS FROM PEOPLE WHO, FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, AREN'T EVEN REAL.

I mean I just HATE that stuff. it drives me crazy.
It's not like the SS types have anything interesting to say. They're either telling me about the advantages of their particular pornographic website (hardccc0re porrrrn! 18yo girls! your best friend's mother - standing behind you!), waxing boring about cheap pharmaceuticals (get your meds here! Prescription pills available! Unreliable Viagra: it goes hard, then soft, then hard again - turn your penis into a pogo stick!), or else they're telling me about (get this) MANGOSTEENS.

I kid you not.


MANGOSTEENS.

I mean, wtBLEEDINGf is that about? There was this whole LOOOOONG comment about a fruit (which i have slightly less than no interest in, nor have i ever mentioned it in my blog or any other writing aside from year 3 science), but nothing of any particular interest whatsoever.

uh-huh. right.


So what did I do? I deleted them of course!
Thing is, I'm sure that Blogger doesn't have a spam detector or anything, so I'm stuck with continually sifting through all the bloody things and getting rid of the detritus left behind by the SS.


And they say that Hitler is dead. Oh he's alive somewhere, I'm telling you, and he's bent on driving everyone non-Aryan insane through mass-spamming.



**********++++++++++**********
(If you look closely, it looks like 10 asterisks followed by 10 plus signs, which precede 10 asterisks)





(You counted didn't you?)






In other news, I'm back in Australia, and feeling quite ambivalent about things in general. Uni goes back next Monday, and I don't feel quite the ecstasy I was thinking I would - its another long bunch of weeks, constantly surrounded by people trying to one-up or otherwise prove their superiority (when - and I say this with the utmost sincerity, because I have to be able to be honest somewhere - I look at at least half of them and think to myself: There isn't the slightest need in this world, the next, or any part of the known Cosmos to be even slightly worried or intimidated by you lot), continuously scrambling from class to class, week to week, and all the while feeling Time ticking away, an enormous Bogeyman in the shadows.


Perhaps something else will kick in, come Monday. What's life without hope, eh?





twisted evil tiny things
crawling through your cranium.
Vicious little violent beings
Whose wellspring lies within.

My consciousness in streams (A messy place it seems)

- It feels great to spend effort on an important friendship and have one's efforts rewarded in the form of the recipient's pleasure and happiness. Especially vis "once in a lifetime" occasions! And even more especially on a tw_ _! (some jokes are worth reviving and continuing; some truths can best be expressed or hidden in jokes).

- It sucks to find yourself growing steadily more accustomed to living in a place, and then to realise you have but 8 more days in said location. Uprooting is always hard, even one is not a tree.

- It is absolutely wonderful to discover the joy of renewed/refreshed/continued and enriched friendships, from various stages of one's life; the curious sense of joy one experiences at seeing those whom one has spent significant time with grow and mature, and begin to plot the course they shall follow, is a fearful, strange, wonderful and awesome thing - during and through the experience, one simultaneously becomes aware of both how much and how little has changed with time, and of how the diamond-in-the-rough that so many of us are in our youth can, with some skill and no little measure of luck, be polished into a many-faceted jewel of great worth. I dont think I need to go into the merits of being single versus being attached - suffice to say that, as with all things in life, there are two sides to the coin, and I've been lifting up the 50c piece and seeing what the other side looks like.

(Is the single side Heads or Tails, you say? I dunno - being attached perhaps means Head is normal - if lucky! - whereas being single means checking out Tails all day long. Maybe that
's it!)

- I'm incredibly blessed to be able to fly as much as I can, because if it wasn't for my particular situation, I wouldn't be able to fly 6 times a year - especially not just for a week to celebrate my birthday! Thank you, God, and thank you, Aunt.

- Speaking of blessings, I'm incredibly lucky to have the friends that I do. I wont name names, because (invariably, just as in an awards acceptance speech) I'll forget to mention some vital types, but I think you all know who you are. Much manly affection (which is, of course, code for 'love')

- It does rub, at times, the need for secrecy and covert behaviour. Obviously cannot be helped, however! Here's to a suitable resolution, at some point in the future.

- Here, also, to those who have turned/will be turning 21 soon - myself included! Let us face the dying of the light with dignity, being at all times of proud carriage.




- Let us also, of course, remember that we dont actually have to talk strange after we become adults. For some, its nothing more than a lifestyle choice.

- Intellect seeks intellect. Like seeks like.



At the end of the day, it's been a great trip back. Many thanks to those that made it so, and to those with whom I frequently interacted (what a way to put it!) over the past 3 months, I shall return!


In closing:

- BC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- Must finish NJO!

- And finally, a sedate sentence, sans exclamation marks: I will be returning, just a few days after the 28th of March, so consider it not unreasonable for me to perhaps expect a little something. :) I'm glad things were well received! PP paper and all :D






Time laps at the sand of memory, erasing what came before.

Photographic splendour - of sorts.

Well then! Here I present to you, ladies and gentlemen, my very first FOUR OF A KIND I have ever received in Texas Hold-'Em Poker. that's right, i had all fours 2s! (True, its the lowest possible four of a kind, but hey i'm not complaining).


My total profit off of this most amazing of hands?








Five cents.

Here stands, tall and proud, the inimitable Macdonalds Man!

Made from the scraps and debris of empty food containers, he boldly surveys his domain, wearing his lordly cape of argent NAPKIN on his broad shoulders, his tufted crest of serviette standing tall, his proud plummage a fitting cap to his glory.

(I made him at the Centrepoint Macs, and left him there to stay - the cleaners didn't take him!)

One last look at the most daring of denizens, the victorious vigilante, that most audacious of augmented men - Macdonalds Man!

We salute you!

A friend (Ting!) asked about the meaning/purpose/rationale behind the second half of my previous post, and the response I gave seemed worth posting here:



Regarding my blog - one of my objectives was to get my readers (assuming I HAVE readers - Ha!) to sit back and reflect on the lives they find themselves leading, and to think to themselves if they're following the guidelines and strictures they, in their younger days, thought they would be. Whether the life they live and lead is in line with the suggestions and precepts of their parents, or religion, or society, or culture.



Basically I wanted to convey what I was feeling, which at base was a sort of calm desperation at seeing everything being inundated by corruption of a subtle kind, and a slow, sure detachment from anything even vaguely resembling the moral centre I believe in - not necessarily a detachment within myself, but a detachment occurring on the outside, in the society and environment I move in.


It sounds heavy, and deep, and so forth, but I continually find myself feeling like my innocence, or sanctity, or something, is being ripped away by the world, or the World, rather, an entity in It's own right, who laughs at me for my foolish naivete. And at the same time its an inner struggle of sorts, because I feel like I'm not quite the person I want to be, but I'm not letting go of that person; its still something I aim and strive for, regardless of whatever impression those around me might get, judging me by my exterior - an exterior which, by its flawed nature, causes me to find myself tangled up in situations that inevitably lead me to further lament the yawning chasm between where I am and where I want to be.


So there you go!




Shield of shining light
Paper thin, and pierced with dark -
The World shines through, black.

Am I not pretty enough?

Perhaps I lack the cool quotient in sufficient quantities.

I've been looking around blogs, and maybe I need to spice things up a little.

Should I:

a) Insert a random hyphen somewhere, a la www.un-deniable.com, or www.un-likeable.com, or maybe even www.---word--word-hyphen---.com? Will this make my readership increase, exponentially?

b)should I come up with an inspired name? I could call it something like www.indecentindiscretionsofincubus.blogspot.com or something like that! Maybe that'll make me cool.

c) there's always the photo option! I could become one of those photo blogs....problem is, i need faces other than my own in order to prevent a certain blandness from setting in. This would suggest a need for friends.... ah well back to the drawing board

d) A SEX BLOG A SEX BLOG! which, of course, hinges on sensual, sexual, scintillating, stimulating sexy stories, simulated or otherwise. My talent for alliteration alone may not prove to be enough.

e) I could become a fashion critic!



Right.



f) I could...... write about the things I do each day? That seems to get some people off! Problem is, there can only be so many of those types around, and given the number of boring blogs abounding everywhere they must surely now be in rather short supply.


Perhaps I should desist in my attempts to gain popularity, and take heart in the fact that....

in the fact that....


that.....






Gee great weather isn't it!



* + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + * + *




I think that somewhere within most people there's a little music box - made of a dark, lovingly polished wood, and elegant in its simplicity - that contains all the cherished ideals, hopes, dreams, wishes and desires that are the sum of everything we desperately want to be true. This little box is rather tightly shut, the more so as we age, in order to preserve the sanctity and purity of the things contained within, but every so often something or someone gives us a strong enough bump that the box's lid falls open, and we see things that at times are hardly even recognisable. As we idly finger through the items of yesteryear - the little fairy ballerina slowly spins in a circle to the tinkling tune all the while - we remember the naivete of our past, and find ourselves wondering how the world we find ourselves in manages to be so vastly different to the one we expected.


My music box is open - stupid as it may seem, i still get shaken when things of seeming certainty turn out to require only the slightest of shoves in the wrong direction. One day i'll grow up, I guess, but even as I say that, I feel sad to think that what I really mean is: one day I'll be truly cynical, hardened and jaded, one day I'll genuinely lose faith, one day I'll stop believing. One day I'll burn the box.


Because, at heart, I don't want to. I want to stay optimistic, and stay sentimental; I want to remain the romantic I am, in all senses of the word; I want to believe that there's something better than the baseness we see all around us; I want to believe in the goodness of things.


It's just hard at times.






Pretty house, within the woods
Adorned with flowers and light.
Seemingly good, and honest and true
Within it nothing is right.

Oh Joy Overbrimming!

Short and simple this shall be
Perhaps its the epitome
Of that virtue - Simplicity.
In closing - I am Timothy.




You see, 20 years ago, my prescient parents (alliteration!) knew that one day I would need a name that rhymed, a name that would fit, a name that BELONGED. and so they called me Timothy.




This is purely a results post! I'm quite the happy trooper, because most things have gone up (and I wasn't really sure I'd get the distinction for Guitar. I personally think its unfair that dazzling technique is what gets you a high distinction. What about dazzling musicality!). For comparative purposes, I've included both semesters. because 30 years down the track, I won't have access to the Conservatorium website any more, perhaps, but (presumably) i'll still be coming here.



Guitar (Major) - Semester 1 75% Semester 2 75% (Ok, can't argue! Its better than a credit. Must work on technique! because The Man dictates the rules of the game, and I scurry along trying to avoid the falling dice)

Strings Performance Class - Semester 1 74% (I know wtf right. 1 more % wouldnt kill you!) Semester 2 82% (Yeah!!!)

Historical and Cultural Studies - Semester 1 76% (which was annoying) Semester 2 85% (which, obviously, isn't. Yeah!!! i say again)

Aural Perception - Semester 1 69% (which is, of course, disgusting) Semester 2 81% (which is better. Thrice Yeah!!! I cry)

Harmony and Analysis - Semester 1 88% (which was extremely fantastic, especially considering the last time I did ANY theory was 2002, and that was grade 5) Semester 2 77% (which makes me somewhat morose).

Music History 1 - 69% (slack, tim. Very slack) Music History 2 - 68% (TIM. you slovenly, porcine waste of SPACE. this is the era of BACH and you did so atrociously.)


HD = 85% D = 75% C = 65% P = 50% YFYN = <50%

(where HD = High Distinction, D = Distinction, C = Credit, P = Pass and YFYN = You Failed You Neanderthal)

And (just for the record) in semester 1 I got 84% for Music Tech (i cannot BELIEVE he didn't add 1%) and 76% for Music Through Literature. which is a wonderful course.



I know, i know. Its disgusting, getting 68% for baroque music history. Believe me, I know. I should've actually DONE something!

ah well. Still, my average has gone up from 76% last semester to 78% this one! Next year - a high distinction average.


I have become utterly unlike the me of yesteryear.


The prose today is neither witty, stunningly insightful, nor cutting with a cynical edge - in short, nothing pretty. I'm aware. Better next time, maybe!

"Clear!" -zzzzz- "A Pulse! We Have a Pulse! Wait, do we want a pulse? I mean, are we sure?"

Well well well!

The boy lives!

The boy has even managed to scrape together a new template! Granted, it isn't a very flash template, neither is it a very pretty one, nor is it particularly musical/theatrical/artistic. But then we can't all be musicians/actors/gay, can we.


Excuse that last bit if you're of a certain persuasion.


Otherwise, of course, just have a laugh with me. Its not necessarily an anti-anything comment, so please don't take it that way! Perhaps you could think of it as simply being a rather astute assesment of the way things are, some of the time.


++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

So yes, I have returned, riding into the world of Blogs on a donkey. Well, not so much a donkey as a rather-more-comfortable desk chair, really. But still. The image was good.

Why am I back, you say? Why have I decided, acquiescing ever so kindly to the fervent prayers of my devotees everywhe- -

had to duck down below my laptop for a sec - someone seems to have thrown something. As I was saying, why am I back? Well of late I've found myself showing sections of my blog to a few people. And, as we all know, when first we step down that very long and winding road marked Nostalgia Lane, we find it hard to turn back - indeed, having taken a few steps along the path, we turn around, looking towards the present, only to see that our point of departure has been obscured, blocked from our view by twists we've taken without even the slightest awareness. When we reach this point, inevitably we say "perhaps if I keep going, I'll find my way out of this."

The past is a seductive thing, filled with former glories and despairs, triumphs, victories, failures and losses - and the boring bits are where the rollercoaster that is emotion comes in. Some of the most vivid memories arise from silly little chemical reactions.

To return to task: Having shown my blog around a tad, I remembered more and more how much I'd enjoyed writing in the past, and how I'd sometimes felt such a sense of accomplishment. I remembered, too, that invigorating feeling of having the fingers move across a keyboard, and watching words almost miraculously appear on screen. It is creation in the truest sense of the word - and yet it is also the most fallacious, for a cynical man would say all I do is rearrange pre-exisiting words in a manner which I, for some reason, find pleasing.

But no matter. Going back over what I have written in the past, I found some of it to be quite wonderful, to me at least! Other stuff was, of course, singularly trashy in nature - poorly written, and even more poorly conceived. Such is the folly of youth!

I resolved, then, to start writing again, for any talent or gift, God-given, should be excercised. Whether the supreme arrogance and self-assurance of the preceding sentence is justified remains to be seen.


So I'm back! Stay tuned.



I leave you, my hypothetical reader, with this. Try and find the meaning within, because there is one!



A vestment of verses
A garment of gaiety
A homunculus, a hearse -
A facade, hiding frailty.

Stars

In a perfect world, the stars would call to anyone and everyone – to all. Religions throughout the ages have started in deserts for a reason; the crisp nights and utter isolation leave one with clearer skies than anywhere else, giving the viewer a completely unadulterated view of the galaxies, the endless vista of bright points – the Universe, and a hint of the multitude of mysteries It contains. Not for nothing have men been obsessed with the stars – what are they, what do they mean, what do they signify, who put them there and why, how do they affect our self-image? Indeed, it seems almost bizarre that most of us as a race, a species, the supposedly-sentient Homo Sapiens Sapiens, today can continue to walk around, exist, thrive even, with an Unknown of such staggering magnitude over our heads, and remain oblivious to it.

When I look at the stars, something inside me trembles, shivers, terrified and exalted all at once, almost buckling under the weight of something I can’t quite put my finger on. All I know is that it is ethereal, uncanny, inhuman, cold yet incendiary, and so far removed from anything I am as to be completely unknowable – and yet they beckon and pull at me in ways I don’t understand. Looking out from a plane, thousands of miles up in the air, and seeing them apparently in front of me magnifies the feeling ten-fold; I feel so incredibly close to them, as if they really are in front of me, just as they appear, close enough to touch – and it is at times like this that one finds oneself resolving, no matter how, to get up there someday, to get as close as is possible, this side of death, to Them.

Is it the fact that they are so enormously far away from me as to almost be unreal? Perhaps – and yet it seems strange that things so completely removed from me should affect me so. Maybe it is that the Creator might have made them simply to delight Himself, much as a child decorates a Christmas tree with electric lights – the sheer enormity of such extravagance leaves me in awe, both of His wonder and the beauty of His creation. Then again it could be an intrinsic desire of mine to get there, to get as close as possible to such stunning beauty. Possibly it’s my mind feeling daunted by the mystery that they are, and compelled, much as so many of us are compelled by whichever supreme deity heads our faith, towards them.

As is often the case, the pat and scientific answer as to what they are provides no satisfaction. Explaining that stars are massive balls of combusting energy and fuel, of hydrogen and helium, doesn’t satiate anything within me – because that explains the form without touching the substance; describes the matter without approaching the mystery. Stars, each and every bright, twinkling point, encapsulate so much of the Unknown, the Unknowable, and the Otherworldly

This thing is DEAD.


Like, you know, DEAD.


Dont know why though. Time was when blogging gave such a thrill. A sense of ACCOMPLISHMENT.

maybe now I'm just doing more with my life. Sure, we'd all like to think so!



=)



Well. I'm assuming no one comes here any more, but anyway. I love the Conservatorium, its absolutely unreal. I love Australia (always have, always will). And I love Jacq! PBSiaBP! :D




And that, ladies and gents, is that.

oh to be able to do long blog posts again. I wish for the day!


i guess when i begin commuting for several hours in Sydney and to Canberra there'll be all the time in the world. Oh joy overbrimming!




Ah well. I'm still alive, for those that were planning a party.





still alive, but barely kicking
the pulse machine is barely ticking
i'm the marble God is flicking
straight towards the bag

we'd like to think Death's far away
"OTHERS get it" we all say
But Death might visit any day
And then your soul He'll snag.



(Anthropomorphism: every budding poet's friend)

Golden it shines, so bright
there's almost pain
Pain is the mother of change.
As vague as smoke
Real as the Sun
Truth is central to both.

Buried deep within
Shining through your pupils
Secrets that are known.
Nursed and cosseted
Offered up in sacred bliss
Gods like it when you're sincere.

Returned in pieces
Mangled, broken,
Spat upon, despised,
Almost lovingly torn apart -
Your dream, crushed.



- - - - - - - -



I thought dashes were more appropriate than my usual asteriks or plus signs. The flat lines look like exactly that - flat lines. This thing's dead, Doctor; take it off the IV drip already.



As for those who are interested in what all that's about, you ain't getting nothing.


* * * * * * * *


If anyone's reading Knife of Dreams by Robert Jordan right now, isn't it simply marvellous? I'm reading it slowly because the final novel wont be out for at least another year, I'm sure, and i want this to last as long as possible!



The idea of the book blog keeps coming back to me. I think maybe the idea really isn't half bad. If it gets big, that'd be nice - I'm still hoping a blog can be launched from Singapore, become popular, and yet not involve naked photos or utter stupidity. Well if wishes were fishes there'd be no space in the sea, but the fact remains.




Here's a strange thought: I was looking at the cutest little kitten the other day at a student's house, and the strangest thought popped into my head. It'd been percolating in my subconscious for quite a while (ever notice how you can sorta tell?) but it finally came into the open - out of hiding, so to speak. I looked at the kitten, and thought to myself: That's not alive. That's not life.

Now I know that sounds very strange, but let me explain:

- No, I dont mean that the kitten wasn't sentient. *Please.

- No, I dont mean that I think the kitten was fake. Refer to "*" above.

- I DO mean that something strange was sparking away in my cranium.


Here's what it was like, in a vague sense. I looked at it jumping around on the table, batting a piece of string the way young cats do, and I thought "That kitten doesnt seem alive. It just seems like some amazingly well made mechanical contrivance, designed to give the illusion of independent movement and some limited thought." It seemed like something or someone had created this marvellous, but definitely not living, toy.

Which is, of course, a very very strange thing to think.


It did lead me to two very interesting ideas:

A) Did that thought cross my mind because I am, subconsciously, at least, beginning to subscribe to the idea that all I perceive is merely the product of my imagination? Or perhaps a lesser facet of this: that the animals I see are imagined? (Closer analysis of this will reveal that there's a dangerous similarity between what I'm saying and the rantings of a madman. What must be said needs to be uttered, however)

and

B) Has some strange power replaced some or all living animals on Earth with machines? Yes this does sound farfetched, I admit, but really, is it more farfetched than (A), which at least suggests that you, dear reader, are the creation of my fevered mind?


of course, there's always

C) I'm stark raving mad, a lunatic, insane, one Valium short of an overdose, one sandwich short of a picnic basket, slightly round the twist.



And yet how will you ever prove to me that the kitten is truly alive?




I leave you with that thought.



Promise me you'll be around
when I start to slip away
All I want's your solemn word, your promise,
That when my eyes fall slowly shut,
You'll stay.

Ironies of Life

Its funny, when we're growing up we make ourselves these little promises: Oh i'll never do that as a parent, oh i'll never be that gawky teen trying to fit in, oh i'll never be the person who lies about studying, oh i'll never be ______. you know what i mean. thing is, 10, 20 years down the track, if you have any metacognitive faculties at all, you realise you haven't quite stuck to the things you planned to.

oh what a tangled web we weave
when the future try we to perceive


In this case, I always looked at people who let their blogs go dead and thought to myself "Gee I'll never do that! I will always have time and creative energy!".

And yet look at my blog today. The most recent entry was 3 months ago! Hardly inspiring, i might say. ("Downright shoddy and disgraceful!" scream my detractors. Although me HAVING any detractors by now is about as likely as a 3-month old corpse having detractors. Come to think of it, the line there between analogy and reality is very insubstantial, like soggy bread.)

So... yes, I'm still alive. No, I haven't started another blog. No, that isn't a cunning ploy to cover up the fact that I HAVE in fact started another blog, and wish merely to put you people off the scent/track/trail (i provide alternatives in case you protest that you are not hounds/deer hunters/wild pigs in the jungle).


The truth is that I have simply fallen to the depredations of Time, and - to harp once more upon that lovely Law - Mighty Number Two of the Thermodynami persuasion says that things get less and less maintained as days pass us by. For the last 3 months, this blog has been testimony to that.

Now, however, I arrive, a bolt out of the blue, Anti-Physics Man!



* * * * * * * *

Long windedness is all very well, but you and I both know that everything above the stars was really my way of saying "I'm Back!" But then, we wouldnt have it any other way, would we?


Time steals through the night of Life
A dream, from which we soon wake
A thief, a crow, he snatches the shiny
Leaving only dross.



I look at the world I find myself in these days and I dont really like what I see. Hell, half the time I can't even believe some of it is real. We've got people threatening Australian leaders on one hand, citizens of Singapore dropping like flies (the murder/suicide/accident rates do seem to be increasing alarmingly), terrorist threats virtually around the clock, and to top it all off there's a book fair on at Bras Basah that I quite possibly will miss.

But seriously, I think that we're approaching something big. Either the Biblical End Times - a possibility I in no way discount, by the way - or we're heading for collapse into anarchy, where the world as we know it will burn, and new civilizations arise from its ashes. I'm a firm believer in the idea of cycles in Humanity's existence - initial steady but slow growth, period of developement, stagnation, Renaissance, and war peppered through it all as the necessary goad - and I'd say its quite possible that the events we see now are the lead pipes to 2005's Rome.

But who knows? I'm also a believer in the idea that the world today isn't really that much different to the world 2500 years ago (you can change the clothes on Homo Sapiens, and give him some cooler toys to play with that make more flashes and sounds, but nothing incredibly substantial is different) so maybe all that's happened is that we're more aware of the world around us than we were 30 or 40 years ago. Who's to say if the Beatniks and company were better off?


+ + + + + + + +

I've been wondering about starting a book blog. I'm not quite sure about the existence of decent ones at the moment, and I don't know how well mine would be received, but I think it wouldn't do too badly, since I'm open to pretty much any genre, and I read 2 or 3 books a week :) let me know of any opinions or ideas! Email address is on the left.


While on the subject of books, Book 11 of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time is out, and honour of the immensity of that I started again from book 1 recently. I'm finishing book 9 now, and I can't wait!




I can't believe soon it will have been one entire glorious, wonderful, love-filled year. I love you to pieces!




Here I end, the savour of joy renewed
Still sweet upon my lips.

*various expletives*

Its been a while since I last came in here and said that its been a while since I said its been a while.


If that made any sense to you, you're seeing something I didn't put there!

(and no, the title means nothing at all. That shouldn't suprise you any more!)

******


I still find it deliciously self-assured, the way i always and unfailingly assume there are people out there, somewhere, who read my posts. Althought perhaps I only think that because to think otherwise, and to then have to type "That shouldn't suprise me any more!" is disturbingly schizophrenic.


Speaking of readership, it continues to disturb me how much people seem to appreciate and adore A) Xiaxue, and B) Harry Potter.

I've a feeling to pursue this will leave me about as popular as Salman Rushdie in Iran.


Alright then! =)


A) XIAXUE

Let's just be frank: The girl's blog portrays her as a bitch (very carefully worded! Wendy Cheng may well be completely unlike how her blog makes her sound! Please duck your head as the pigs swoop by!). What with the consistent sprays of bile, vitriol and derision, the flaunting of her utter heartlessness (not giving up a seat to a pregnant woman because she didnt ask the woman to get pregnant? Oh dear I'm sorry Wendy, but I really didn't ask you to walk into my knife!) and her utterly deplorable (and this is the real clincher for me!) lack of anything ENRICHING to read, quite why anyone bothers with her blog is beyond one such as I. Maybe I have too many brain cells, maybe I have too few (or maybe I'm smart enough to know that its really not how many brain cells i have that determines my intelligence ANYWAY! - but that's beside the point) but I really can't understand why, for the life of me, when I search her on Yahoo (down with Google! If only for the bad colour scheme!) i get a whooping 121,000 entries.

That is both VERY VERY disturbing, and VERY VERY jealousy-inspiring. I will openly admit the latter :)



(just for the sake of an interesting - and depressing, it turns out - comparison, searching "alithien" on the same search engine gave me 35 results. Which, while not as bad as the rather slim, solitary and upright digit I had been expecting, is exactly 120,965 behind Ms Cheng. WHY! is it because I'm black?)


So what exactly is it? I mean the girl wins awards and stuff, and she gets a job writing for a local newspaper (the column is in a similar vein to her blog: bitchy, rather empty, and leaves a bitter aftertaste. Jokes aside, the one that I remember most - about her encounter with some poor sod at Delifrance - left me with the impression that she's a pig-headed, petulant person, who felt since she was paying she was entitled to anything she wanted.) and people donate money and stuff to her and all I can do is ask WHY WHY WHY the fuck WHY? I honestly do NOT understand.

Cheap rhyme time!


Why oh why do people flock
to gawk and love, but not to mock
- eyes to her webpage for to dock -
to Wendy Cheng's pink page?
to imbibe all of her hate and spite?
to indulge their voyeur's appetites?
because they cannot find MY site?
Or just because she's all the rage?
I wish I could just understand
Why people like her in this land
Why they even lend a hand
When she's in need and down?
For me I say stay far away!
Find another place to play
Hope she gets hacked again one day!
I'll pay! (spread word around!)


Before anyone calls their lawyers, rhyming's always in fun! I must protest that fact, at least. I was saddened to read that someone got into her stuff online, because it really really isn't the way to solve or prove anything.

No, i WASN'T sad just because I didn't hack into it first! I swear!


I should just clarify: I have nothing against her as a person. Indeed (and this only occurred to me as I was creating this post) i rather admire her for continuing to be unfailingly honest (at least, that's the premise!) in her blog, despite her increasing levels of fame. That really takes some spunk, i've gotta admit. Perhaps more than I have, myself. And besides, I have no RIGHT to have anything against her as a person, since I've never met her, I know nothing about her aside from the information her blog provides, and I shouldn't judge others in the first place - wishful thinking, but there it is. My only burning question is what is it about her that makes her so incredibly popular?????? Feedback will be much appreciated.



The question of popularity-which-is-for-the-life-of-me-beyond-my-understanding brings me to my second topic,

B) Harry Potter

I'm not going to say much here. I could not, cannot and will not ever be able to understand why it was, is, and almost certainly will remain to be so mind-blowingly popular. I mean, J.K. Rowling is the all-time best-selling author! (and kudos to her, i must say) All i'm wondering is what is it that makes everyone go nuts over the books? I read a (in my opinion) highly respectable American reviewer say something along the lines of "in book 6 Rowling has revealed more and more of the brilliant and intricate world she has created." WHAT?! She's created NOTHING. Merely tacked on a half-world to reality. There's no significant history to her world, unlike Tolkien's, there's no great moral dilemma/ambiguity to it, unlike Donaldson's, there's nothing mindblowing in its scope a la Herbert, there isn't any cunningly-shifty narrative such as in Wolfe's work.... There's NOTHING special about it!

Ok, so people make strange choices in books every now and then (The Da Vinci Code, actually, isn't one of those strange choices. The subject matter really was compelling. It was just the writing which was painful). But to become so obsessed with the first book as to compound that strangeness over SIX NOVELS strikes me as somewhat bizarre.

Once again, feedback please! I'd love to know why everyone loves Harry Potter.

Oh and yes, I do read it. I never said it sucked! just that there's nothing special about it, to me at least.



Explain, i implore you! Or empathise with me, if that's your thing.




+ + + + + + + + + +


19 years old, and I'm so glad I was there to celebrate it with you, and twice at that! There are images from that night which will stay with me for the rest of my life, and I'm so incredibly deliriously happy that I made you feel special. You're my princess, and I love you!




(everybody else, just politely avert your eyes, please)




swim between the never-seen
the ups and downs and in-betweens
capture life and what it means
then watch it slip away.

Life, death and the joys of wrestling

LIFE

Is short, usually not very fulfilling, and for us, depressingly, lasts for a shorter period of time than the Giant Sea Turtle.

DEATH

Is the culmination and end-point of Life, and is preceeded by scenes from one's life flashing past one's eyes. Contrary to popular myth, this does not occur when the skeleton with the sickle approaches. Rather, this is a process called LIVING.


Short, fairly succint, and that's that.

Ah, but

THE JOYS OF WRESTLING!

Now THERE'S something i can wax lyrical about.

Yeah I know, I know... there isn't much entertainment out there that's much more low-brow than wrestling. Plus the good old WWE just packs in heaps of violence, worsening an already terrible show. That's what everybody says. But I think this paradigm needs to be examined, and shifted!

I used to think that wrestling was one of the stupidest forms of television entertainment known to Mankind, and the Universe at large (the worst being day-time soap operas. I actually find most reality TV quite fascinating, even if at times in a sick way). I had friends who idolised wrestlers, watched every available episode with religious fervour, and followed plot developments more closely than they followed the lives of their family members. "Why watch the damn thing? Its all bloody fake!" I'd said. "The plots! The stories!" was the inevitable reply.

What-the-fuck-ever.

But one of the things I've realised as I've continued on my long slow slide down to Death, much to my chagrin, is that many things change as I grow older.

This year there've been lots of late nights for me - not having to wake up in the morning for school generally has that effect I'm told. The upshot of that? Lots of late night TV! And because of the incessant whingeing of the concerned parents here, late night TV features WRESTLING!

I watched a couple of minutes of one episode, then a bit more, and more..... and soon enough i was watching it whenever I was free and at home. Not addicted, but interested.

Sorta like a social pot-head.

I realised that my friends weren't just slack-jawed morons who'd had their minds eroded away by the utter stupidity of what was the WWF at the time. Nay, they were right: The storylines and plots, the good guys and the villains, the fake punches and the seemingly-superhuman feats - they all combined to make something incredibly enticing.

In my (not very humble at all, to be honest) opinion, the wrestlers today are the Gladiators of ancient Rome. While this may sound somewhat crazed, listen to this first!

1) Both the fights of today and the battles of the Colosseum featured larger-than-life men fighting in rings for the amusement of spectators.

2) Both forms of entertainment had carefully-planned and orchestrated battles between "good" and "evil" from time to time - concepts as arbitrary then as they are today. For examples of this, the Emperor Justinian's reign is a good period to examine (in Byzantium).

3) Both bring out the savage, primal response in the audience of bloodlust, as they vicariously partake in the carnage being played out before them.

4) Both have the magical attraction of being able to witness men such as the watchers could never dream of becoming fight purely for their enjoyment; they look, and find that it is good.


So what we've got are the heroes of a sizeable portion of today's younger generations! Plus, because its a lot more fake than the days of Rome - I say "a lot more" because contrary to what you probably think, its not ALL stamping-the-floor-when-throwing-a-punch. These guys bleed - your heroes never die until they are A) too old - and these days that's right about when you hit 80 or so, B) move into movies, where EVERYTHING is fake, or C) they become utterly evil (for example I do NOT know what the fuck has happened to Kurt Angle). Because of the nature of wrestling today, there's a lot of cooperation and pre-performance rehearsing, which results in set pieces on TV that are sometimes so wonderfully orchestrated that they approach aching beauty. Its something along the lines of 300 pound ballet with blood.

The plots are thin, i'll admit that. But they do get you interested! So you gotta give kudos to the scriptwriters and all those people, too: They keep the crowd entertained, and give 'em what they want. I dont quite know how it happens, but I get sucked right in, and pretty soon i actually GIVE a damn about who wins in a match and who bites the dust.


So we've got engaging storylines. We've got bloody entertainment. We've got people to do the impossible for us, to heart-wrenching perfection, while all we have to do is watch. Plus, we've got indestructible supermen who never seem to die.


So what are you waiting for?

Singapore needs a Fifth Amendment

Its been far too long yet again. That's going to be like the catchphrase for this blog if I dont watch it, i swear.


If you're wondering what the new title of my blog means, well do your homework! it never hurts to pick up a Renaissance phrase or two. for some strange and quirky reason it seems to make people think you're intelligent. God knows what goes thru some people's heads at times, i swear.


**********

Singapore needs a Fifth Amendment. If i'm remembering right, that's the one that says people have the right to freedom of speech/expression. No, i dont know what the first 4 are (except that one is the right to bear arms or something.... we can skip that one!), but i think the 5th is damn important!

Not to say that there havent been attempts. The government's trying really really hard. I mean, can't you tell? what with the SPEAKER'S CORNER??

puh-leeze. Its a wonder that one isn't already an old joke with comedians.

But anyway. What's setting me off on this path? A path which is dangerous, filled with pitfalls? A path where the path's pitfalls are filled with people ready to jump up and pull you down if you're lucky enough to miss the first few?
Its the whole goddamn blog thing!

First of all some PSC scholar makes a racist remark. Where? ONLINE. in a -get this- BLOG. who in all of Dante's hells gives a shit? Obviously some do, because the poor SOB got shot down. I cant remember what the punishment was, but it can't have been fun.

Disclaimer: Yeah yeah i'm all against racism and all that jive. I really am! (try being mixed in an all Chinese secondary school. it messes with you!) but really. A grown man should be allowed to express some things in the privacy of what is, essentially, a diary in cyberspace. What's next? Invasive procedures to check bad eeeevil thoughts?


Next we have the poor sod otherwise known as Sarong Party Girl. so she posts nude pictures on the web. SO THE FUCK WHAT?
I wouldn't respond with such strength and vitriol if the arguments put forward against this blog hadn't been so utterly pathetic as to be laughable. I mean we're talking pathetic on the level that going up against the United States Army with a can of spray paint and some rocks is pathetic. "What if my brother chances across her site and gets addicted to pornography?" What on earth is someone who says something like that THINKING? "What if I walk down the street and a plane falls on me? I think we should ban planes!"
I think the chances of a brother happening across SPG's website and getting addicted to porn BECAUSE OF THAT WEBSITE are abt the same as me being killed by a plane crash tomorrow.
What the cerebrally-challenged idiot of a sister should have thought abt was how her complaining IN THE NATION'S ONE AND ONLY NEWSPAPER might cause many many many more poor, pure and wholly innocent younger brothers to, because of the publicity, visit this EVIL, DESPICABLE blog, and get addicted to porn.

Not that having the last two unaddicted young teenage boys (there cant be many more than that left!) become porn lovers really makes a difference by this point, anyway. Come ON.



Next we have people who said "It will tarnish Singapore's image!".

Oh god. where does one even START?

ONE NUDE PHOTO let me repeat that ONE NUDE PHOTO is going to tarnish Singapore's reputation? well then! either
A) You yourself think very, very VERY lowly already of Singapore's image, if this'd make a difference
B) You have very strange ideas about the minds of people in other countries, or
C) You really don't give a damn about Singapore's reputation, but because you either dont have a decent enough body for a nude shot or you're pissed coz YOU aren't getting the publicity you're doing the whole "Oh Lord save my nation's purity and virtue!" act.


I understand the first, i guess, but then why say anything?
The second wouldn't suprise me. People here have MANY strange ideas, it seems.
The third? Ding ding ding! The answer, i think! Because who really cares about a country's image?! Or if you really do, who genuinely believes that a nude photo is going to affect it in any negative way????




And of course in the midst of all the furor over this blog, the writer over at xiaxue.blogspot.com has to give her two cents worth, of course. Or rather, a whole $10 bill in small change. Sounding rather green with envy, she disdainfully dismisses (not that she uses any alliteration - i suspect its beyond her) SPG's blog as a passing fad, and says she feels absolutely unthreatened - which is why she felt compelled to come up with some snide little animation about her non-rival. Ladies and gentlemen, Singapore's top blogger - revealed as the insecure jealous girl she must obviously be!

a comparison has to be made between the two bloggers, because this IS singaporean journalism, you know.


What self-respecting person really cares about the opinions of someone who says that SPG's blog is full of "cheem" words, though, anyway?




But my purpose is not to attack Wendy Cheng! (although my inner self rubs its hands gleefully at the prospect. Down, boy!) All I really wanted to do was to lament the sad lack of freedom of expression in this country. I'm sure its better than before, but there must be a way for Singapore to progress beyond a point where the only people with the audacity to speak freely and yet not be lambasted in the local media are taxi drivers!




Think on it. And if i've upset any xiaxue fans.....

Onomatopoeia! Xenophobia! Existentialism! Psychosomatic symptoms! Telekinesis! Thermodynamics! Arbitration! Draconian ideology! Believer in the Strong Anthromorphic Principle!


That should be enough in the way of "cheem" words to scare you twits off for good. -insert saccharine (you get that one for free!) sweet smile right here-

Performing is a drug

Once again, its been far far far too long. There's always so much going on in my head, and this blog, which was once a massive river of my outpourings, has now dwindled to something of a gurgling gully. A metaphor which is really rather apt.

Here's to smashing down dams then!



+++++++++


Yes indeed, performing is the ultimate head trip. There's the anticipation, the rush, the crash afterwards, the elation........ only thing is, it DOESN'T cost a bomb, and it won't land you in jail - nude exhibitionists excluded, naturally.


Yesterday I had my first acting performance, and it was at the Esplanade Concert Hall, no less! I still have the pass to prove it :) But my GOD it was such an experience. The dressing rooms, with their mirrors ringed with lights; the corridors, with people rushing around in various stages of dress; the backstage area, where everyone waits with their breath slightly held; the area behind the organ loft where I waited, alone except for a stagehand, with naught but a flashlight to hold pitch blackness at bay (I was the extremely dramatic and apparently rather effective speaker for the work "Of Sailors and Whales" by McBeth); the sheer NERVES before walking through the door; the thrill of having a spotlight trained on my figure, and knowing that all eyes were on me - an almost physical sensation.

I was playing with the Singapore Philharmonic Winds Orchestra, just in case anyone's wondering what it was all about.


The biggest rush must have been when the conductor, after bowing himself, selected me to be the first recipient of applause, and to be the first to bow after him. Quite an honour, if I may say so myself! But the cheers and the swell in the applause for me was intoxicating. Lest you think I deceived myself into thinking I heard what simply wasn't there, I didn't dare to believe it myself until people in the audience told me it genuinely happened.


I guess they must have thought I was alright :)


Doing my first professional acting gig - even if it wasn't necessarily the biggest role in the world (a wry smile would fit quite nicely here!) - and at the biggest venue in Singapore of the sort needed in this situation has firmly established in my head that i want to PERFORM. I could do it my whole life, and not grow bored. There's a vibe to the whole place that provides a perpetual thrill, and it's really quite addictive.


The most special thing about the evening for me would have to be having the love of my life there. Thanks so much for showing up - and curse the bitch of a friend! I love you.



Angie - The Rolling Stones

I've never meant to hurt you, ever, and I really didn't mean to today. I'm sorry, and with everything I have in me I hope that you'll forgive me. I do love you, more than you know.



*********************



If you're wondering what that could be about, you'll never know!




So. Nice to know that some people do care about whether or not I do new posts. Always flattering to know I'm being read! I don't update this thing half as much as I'd like to, but time just doesn't permit these days.


Now. There're a coupla things (my mime students are well acquainted with THAT particular phrase of mine!) I'd like to quickly deal with:

1) Michael Jackson was cleared of all 14 charges. My faith in the justice system has been somewhat restored. Because really, he can't have been guilty! Its just not what I think would ever happen. Hell, i doubt that shit way back in '93 just as much as I doubted (correctly!) this year's debacle.


2) The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - The Movie is, in my not very humble and indeed somewhat vaunted - by me, of course - opinion, the best and most true-to-the-spirit-created-by-the-author movie adaptation of a book I've ever seen. If you thought it wasn't fantastic, you either A) just don't get the humour of Douglas Adams - because there really was lots of it in there; B) have too little control over your own mind, and far too little genuine maturity to let go and have some occasionally mindless but often quite brainy fun; or C) you just don't really have a sense of humour, and you are a grumpy, depressed person.

I can understand A, I can excuse B, but C should just result in such people being put on an island far, far away. Where they can watch CNN all day or something similarly mind-numbing and humourless.


3) I think Gene Wolfe is one of the best authors alive and writing in the English language today, regardless of genre or style or length or any of those fiddly little semi-annoying words. Here's the thing: While you're reading it, you feel compelled - or at least one feels compelled - to pick the book up and just flip another page or so whenever one puts it down. Moreover, when I came to the end of The Book of the Short Sun, i couldn't breathe. Now THAT is a conclusion. And there's no exaggeration there (If i wasn't myself and I was reading this, I'd have my doubts about not being able to breathe at the end of a book, so trust me, its true. At least for me). The Urth of the New Sun was also amazing - like i told Dominic, I just couldn't think of any suitable metaphor to describe it. It was somewhat like a box of chocolates in its continual surprises and richness - only the chocolates would have to have been made of obsidian and opals, darkly and brilliantly reflective, and wrapped in crushed diamonds and gold, priceless and wondrous beyond words. I recommend reading The Book of the New Sun (all 5: The Shadow of the Torturer, The Claw of the Conciliator, The Sword of the Lictor, The Citadel of the Autarch, and The Urth of the New Sun), followed by The Book of the Long Sun (all four volumes!) and finally The Book of the Short Sun (all three!). If you're anything like me, you won't regret it. It will enrich your mind, and you'll come to the last page and want to start all over again.
(Incidentally, me saying he's one of the best writers alive today was by no means a first. He's been said to be THE best, and Ursula Le Guin - whose name should mean something to any serious readers - thinks he's fantastic.)


4) Coldplay's album, X & Y, takes a little getting used to, but its really pretty great once you get over the initial double-take. I highly recommend it!





His index finger traced small circles on his cheek.

Took a break from the blog thing, went on hiatus

Distubing fact of the day: I got the same SAT score as Joyce from school! How is that even possible?? (its a shame this is typed, rather than written - if it were the latter you would see how my pen strokes became deep and emotional as i wrote that sentence). I've never heard of anyone ELSE getting 1470 before! 1600, 1500, 1440, 1100 and all the rest, yeah, but someone i actually know getting 1470 just hasnt occurred yet.

What can this possibly mean!! Twins, seperated at birth??? (obviously with the caucasian gene somehow removed from her - or added to me)


On the flip side, apparently I scored higher than Al Gore, George Bush and Natalie Portman. BUT! Lower than Bill Gates. But the school that fits my SAT score is Massachusetts Institute of Technology?!?!?!?!




++++++++++


Some days i wake up and i just feel completely talentless. For example, right now i'm really just rambling on in a rather meaningless, pointless, futile and overly-verbose manner, because there's no real direction to this. (Amazingly, it all seems to work out in the end) There are just some days when I wake up, and i can't write, i can't practice piano, i can't practice guitar, i can't teach, i can't do anything but read the papers! (If this were a certain type of blog written by a certain type of person, here would be where i say "And even reading the papers is hard on these days!". now, far be it from me to deny the truth of such a statement, but let me just say this: if it IS true, these are very sad individuals)

Thankfully, of course, the feeling wears off - usually within a few hours, but in bad cases by the next day. Its interesting, though, to take that feeling and analyse it, to break its bones, extract the marrow within and then put it on a microscope slide. Often I find the cause of such deep funks is not immediately apparent, and I just leave it at that. It'd probably be interesting to take up psych and figure out properly from what inner wellspring of depression such loss of faith in one's abilities flows from, think you not?




I think Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith was really pretty good. The excitement that washed over me as the opening strains of John Williams' masterpiece were heard, the euphoria that I experienced as the bold yellow words STAR WARS appeared on the screen, and the unwillingness to face the truth - it was, incredibly, fearfully and very much sadly over, for once and for all - as the closing credits scrolled up were feelings well worth paying 10 times the price of the movie ticket, and indeed i hope to watch it many more times.

Part of me still can't believe its over. Traitorous as this may sound, I hope someone comes along (my betrayal lies in knowing that this someone won't be George Lucas, and yet still desiring this) and turns the Star Wars books - all 90+ of them at my last count - into movies. It doesnt matter that I've read most of the books already. The whole world knows the story of episode III - or at least they damn well should - but that hasnt stopped us from watching it!!

Perhaps my largest fear - and this may sound the most trivial of things ever - is that the fact that there will probably not be any more movies set in a galaxy far, far away may mean that interest in the Star Wars universe will slowly but surely die away, becoming like a sort of almost-lost religion - the Byzantine faith, for example. That would be a very sad way for one of the 20th and 21st's greatest cultural icons to fade into the mists of Time. And yet it is inevitable that this shall happen eventually.

I don't plan on being a proponent of such a decline, however.




May the Force be with you.

Ode to the End of the World, and assorted ramblings. You were expecting depth?!

It now seems it can't be stopped
So let's go out with a bang.
Let's end the show, and make damn sure
In the Firmament, Earth doesn't hang.

Nuclear war? Hell, yeah let 'er rip
Press those buttons for all we are worth.
And when the dust settles, and no man's left alive
Then cockroaches shall rule all the Earth.

Venus will laugh, Mars mourn our passing
And Jupiter will sob for his son.
But we will be gone (and its only our fault!)
So let's at least have us some fun.



+ + + + + + + + + +


Somehow I saw that one coming out slightly better than it did. And also rather longer. It's hardly an Ode to anything, except maybe an Ode to the Diminuitive.
Hell its barely long enough to be a haiku!

Its length doth shame me
Lowly do I hang my head -
Inadequacies.


Funny thing is, i may actually prefer that haiku. Never really appreciated them before.





Synchronicity

Alright its a rather grand-sounding word, dont you think? Its just the name of a concept i heard about from dominic several years ago. (time flies too damn fast. that day at tiong bahru seems like last week or something. in reality, i think its at least four years) As far as i can remember, the basic idea is that of coincidence-with-purpose-or-design. I may be wrong (like galatic cataclysmic events, this does happen once or twice a millenia) but I think that was the gist of it.



So here's my version: two weeks ago dominic (amusing how this all wouldn't have happened without him - p'raps i should explore that in greater depth) told me I had to read a book by Ursula LeGuin (quite the writer! - and that's about the understatement of the century, i'm sure many would say) called Always Coming Home. Anyone familiar with it?
Anyhow. He got the book down off his shelf, showed it to me, then said I couldn't borrow it because that would be the book he would snatch up if he was facing the End of the World - or maybe the End of His World, which is to all intents and purposes the same thing as far as he's concerned, of course - but he did highly recommend it. Also included in this list of information was the joyous speculation that I would find it very hard to get. How jolly! To be presented with a book apparently WORTH reading (unlike much of the drivel that's widely available) and then to be told i'll quite likely never get to read it.

So.

Later that day, I was at church and one of the ladies comes up to me (side note: for some reason this woman thinks that her and I are both bookworms and "buddies" because of our interest in dead flattened tree matter. She's the "Da Vinci Code" sort, get the picture? I havent' quite worked up the heart to say we're pretty much chalk and cheese... it just sounds too elitist) and says that there's a book which i simply MUST read, because its so amazing. 'cept she didn't bring it with her on that day - i'd have to wait till next week. Alright sure! i was thinking it'd be some dan brown-readalike or something.

So the next week rolls in and then i'm face to face with the same woman again. She pulls out a book, and LO AND fucking BEHOLD its the very same book! Even the same edition! The thing is, I heard about the book, was denied the book, received prophesy to the tune of "You'll never read it!" and then was given the opportunity to read the book (and strangest of all from a person i never would have expected to be the "One" to give it to me) all within one day. Just didnt know how this all fit together until the next week.


Life's a funny thing.



Question is - Pure coincidence? Or synchronicity? If you favour the former, then you're of the opinion that things just happen at random (Or maybe you're a proponent of Chaos Theory and believe that we just don't know enough about our universe yet. Fair enough). But what does it mean to favour Synchronicity? I think it must be that there's some greater design or purpose behind our lives, and ostensibly not a divine one (because its much easier to say "Oh look! It must be God!" than "Oh look! It must be Synchronicity!" .its very simple. 6 syllables versus 10) because, for real, otherwise people would just say God, methinks. Synchronicity seems to me to be an idea thought up in order to escape that.


So that means the Universe, or God, or some alien collective consciousness, wants me to read "Always Coming Home". Who knows - after reading this, you might have someone come up to you and offer you a copy of it as well. In which case I will have been an instrument of the Universe, God, or some Alien Collective Consciousness. Rather a cumbersome title - plus it'd make the world's longest name tag!




Walk this way - Aerosmith

As soldiers, we sometimes just know when a cause becomes something we can't fight for any more. Somewhere down the line, when we're fighting hand-to-hand in the enemy trenches, battling tooth and nail, hand and claw, we realize - even while fighting for our lives - that we should just give up. That whatever point there was to start with has been so blunted by bloodshed and hate that it's now completely pointless. That no matter how hard we try, no matter how many enemies we conquer, no matter how many unwashed unbelieving infidels we strive to convince and convert, through force of arms or scintillating weapons of wit, we will never succeed.


Some would say my effort to educate people on the merits of Limp Bizkit is such a war without any hope of true progress. That no matter what arguments i put before an unenlightened public, they will remain unable to attain satori. Such advisors would counsel me to give up, having fought the good fight, and ride off into the sunset, unbowed, undefeated, but ultimately unsuccessful. I, however, respond to such naysayers by loudly crying NO! Never shall I retire from this field of battle. Relentlessly will I continue; being only one, I shall strike from the shadows when there is naught to see me, and slowly, slowly, but steadily shall I follow my chosen plan of attrition. I'll push, push and keep pushing, until finally, at last I shall have all listening to the greatest rap-metal band on Earth!



*please insert evil laughter here*


Alright that's all I'll say on that. I thought i'd turn one or two sentences (which would've expressed about the same thing - but in far less words. Where's the fun in that?) into a rather longer bit of entertainment - if only for me. But hey in the end that's what this whole rigmarole is about, isn't it. Good old numero uno.


(the secret's out!)


+ + + + + +


I dont write half as much as i'd like to these days, and the stuff I write half the time isn't half as good as I'd like. (Anyone remember good old Bilbo?). Still, there's really nothing to be done for it. Life gets more and more hectic the older i grow (by Jove! The Second Law pops up again!) and time constraints well, constrain, more and more. Sorta like that giant monstrosity ... what's it called. Anaconda yeah that's it. Now THERE'S an analogy that hasnt been heard! Sure, we've got "Life only gets worse", "It only stops when you're dead" and all that jolly shit. But "Life is an Anaconda that only grows bigger"? Ain't nobody never said that!


Its pretty said, because not a day goes by where there isn't something I'd like to write about - if only to preserve that day's special thought or insight (there's always at least one) for posterity. But more often than not I don't get around to it, and that thought flits away, a brief sparking of neurons which is almost certainly a one-off.



* * * * * *

Time ticks by
My, how it flies,
We watch it pass
And hardly grasp
How soon our eyes
Will close
Forever.


^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^


Rather morbid I must say
In fact I don't know why I said it.
I wonder what you lot will think
Just after you have read it?
Will you blink and scratch your head
Or p'raps some less nice place?
I don't really care, I'll sit and stare
At that vague look on your face.

Once done with looking i'll stand up
Walking off into the stars
I'll make one or two quick stops
Maybe Mercury and Mars.
I doubt that I will stay for long
(The first one's pretty hot)
I'll try and avoid small li'l men
I don't want to get shot.

When I'm done with those two planets
I'll head off to pretty stars
White dwarfs, red suns, big black holes
And those strange ones called pulsars.
When I'm done with all that stuff
I'll probably head on back.
And then, being pretty tired
I'll maybe hit the sack.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Deepest, darkest, hidden desires
Trip the light fantastic tonight
They're dancing, dancing all over the place
Watch out or you'll get a fright.

Alright this's been boiling inside for quite a while now, and its about time I let it all out.


JUST WHY THE FUCK DO SOME PEOPLE HATE LIMP BIZKIT SO MUCH?


ok now I'm aware that some people may regard this as something of a ridiculous question, rather akin to "why is the sky blue?" or "why is the sun yellow?". However, I put it to you, ladies and gentlemen: there is a logical and correct answer to the second and third question - no, they're not ridiculous things to ask - but for the life of my fucking green TURTLE i can't find a good answer - well perhaps a satisfactory answer would be a better phrase - to the first one.



Ok so let's break it down ("break it down one time say wha--at"). We've got a pretty talented band. (I rate DJ Lethal far higher than that snivelly little pissant from Linkin Park. Lester Hahn or some such). We've got pretty catchy riffs and stuff. More importantly, we've got what was, at one stage, one of the biggest new rock bands in the WORLD. (time was when it seemed like EVERYBODY owned a copy of "Significant Other" - these days everybody seems ashamed of it or something). Then there's the fact that - and you can say what you will. I cant hear you, anyway - Fred Durst is pretty damn good at chanelling anger, rage, angst...... EMOTION.

Then you've got great songs. Now i'll be the first to admit, "Rollin' " isnt exactly "Bohemian Rhapsody" in terms of sheer brilliance, freshness and daring. But it IS a pretty catchy song. And everybody knows it. Then there was "Take A Look Around" (off the MI:2 soundtrack) with that nice little riff going thruout the song. It says something, dont you think, that they were asked to do the.... what's the term.... title? lead? first? track for a movie like that?

Yeah of course it says something. it says that THEY'RE PRETTY DAMN GOOD. that's what it says.



Best thing about them is that they dont stick to just one sound. You've got pretty clean rock (Just Like This) then you've got the mixed-up hard stuff a la Korn (Pollution) and even some nice slow ones (Boiler, Rearranged).


I know that rap-metal/hardcore rock/whatever-the-fuck-you-label-it-i-really-dont-care isn't for everyone. But for those people that it IS for - the blessed few - i just wish i could understand how you can ignore a band that makes pretty decent music, and fun to listen to at that. (I especially appreciate that they dont get too caught up in the whole image thing. I hate that a LOT. but then again, maybe that's why people dont like Limp. Because they DONT do the image thing. you know how humans are).


But anyway. I think people might just hate the band because of stupid reasons like "Oh Fred Durst's a poseur he doesnt skate that good when he says he used to be sponsored" and stupid shit like that. i mean COME ON listen to a band/group/orchestra/soloist because of the music they make. An analogy: dont ignore a copy of Dune just because of shitty artwork!



Think about it.

The Second Law of Thermodynamics - as applied to LAN shops.

Alright so i've got a pretty damn glorious title up there don't I? Surely that must mean there's going to be some amazingly insightful text to read below, right?

Right??


Well anyway. As the loyal readers (if any) amongst you surely know, I like using the second law of thermodynamics in my writing a fair bit. (For those who are interested, the last time i checked there were 3 laws. Basically they can be summed up like this:
1. You can't win.

2. Everybody loses.

3. You can't get out of the game.

Short, succint, slightly cheesy, but pretty accurate, all things considered.)

Quick recap: The Second Law states that within any closed system (read: a house, a society, a planet, a universe etc.) the amount of chaos within that system will, over time, increase, and only increase. The idea is that entropy will continually march forward under all conditions and in all circumstances (because when you get down to it, everything counts as a closed system). And its pretty true. Civilizations collapse (name one that hasnt. Present ones notwithstanding, of course. Our being alive now negates any ability to pass judgment.), things grow all and die, even bedrooms get steadily more messed up as calender pages pass away. Think about it. The Law works.


But then again its all very good to KNOW something, but to know something is, well, something else, isn't it? if you catch my drift. We're all creatures of emotion and illogical thought, no matter what we'd like to think to the contrary.

So! To the crux of the matter.
There's this cybercafe in Thomson Plaza that I've been going to since God knows when. If I had to guess (and i dont, really, but i'd like to) i'd say its been about four or five years at least. I'm friends with the owners of the place, and also the fifty or so guys who've worked in the shop. Its like i've seen the place grow up, in a bizarre sense: from a shop which dealt solely in CS (incidentally one of the greatest games of all time, in my opinion. Proof: its been around for 8 years at least and its still going strong) to a real souped-up place with pretty much any game you could want. Within reasonable limits, of course.

It seemed like it'd always be there. A permanent place I could head to whenever there wasn't much to do, or when my fingers were feeling a little antsy. And yet, just yesterday it closed.
Entropy set in, and the shop, having been increasingly poorly maintained over time, eventually became too lousy for anyone serious to want to go there. Business got bad, then worse, then "no fucking way am I wasting more money on this", and so on Thursday, the 31st of March, 2005, finally came the night they called it a day.

Thing is, my mind could hardly wrap itself around the idea of this shop not existing. It'd always been a place of fun and swearing and good old horsing around, of typical male bonhomie. And then as if someone did no more than flick a switch, it was gone. Good old law number two had run its course, and that was that.


It made me sit back and think, it really did. The thoughts I was thinking weren't particularly original - but then what really is? - but they were important. This, in a way, drove home the impermanence of things, and the idea that everything is in a constant state of flux, if one can only think on a sufficiently broad enough time-scale.


So what's the conclusion i've drawn from all of this? Nothing lasts. Now i'm not taking a nihilistic approach to Life, the Universe and Everything, neither am i about to say So Long, and Thanks for all the Fish (I may, however, wish to dine at The Restaurant at the End of the Universe sometime soon). But I'm definitely in a frame of mind at the moment that is somewhat cynical.


Cynical cynical cynical
everything's always inimical
to you, it does seem
everything's so damn mean.
Oh and things are always political.

++++++++++




I wish you were here.




i adorn myself with lies you see
until you barely can perceive
the weaknesses i try and heave
outta the fucken door

but just because i hide them well
dont mean that everything is swell
and trust me, people, time will tell:
i'll crumble soon for sure.