Sunday, 8 August 2010

my grandfather

was a kind man.
he liked cigarettes and fried chicken.
he lived to be 95.

Monday, 1 March 2010

you wish your love could see you grow older

oh jonsi how i adore you already. i cannot wait for april 5th (or maybe i can, since that means it is closer to doomsday)

*chants* i will not download the leak, i will not download the leak, i will not.

i love your boyfriend too

aaand nothing else of much note has happened (besides that fact that i am kind of sick. you may have heard).
onoz homework.

Saturday, 6 February 2010

i won't stop until that boy is mine


ty sue vern for getting that song stuck in my head, which i was never really fond of in the first place (Y).

today is the day i do my homework.

brb watching being human then procrastinating.


Wednesday, 3 February 2010

the vilification of lonelines

is sadly rampant.
to be lonely is to be creepy and suspicious. it is to be a lurker, to “not belong”, to be abnormal, subnormal.
this is pretty much yet another manifestation of society’s inability to accept the different. don’t want to join in? we reject you, utterly, before you can even defend yourself.
why do we not allow people to be alone? why do we suspect them of planning the most dastardly of deeds, the most gruesome of crimes, the most immoral of acts?

and in extension, why the constant pressure to ~find your soulmate?
(digression: this was brought to mind by that highly whiny “two is better than one” excuse for a song by whatsthatband and whatsherface, but then there have always been cheesy love songs about finding the one, among them most recently “haven’t met you yet” which frankly is a hope-song for the currently lonely, which again brings me back to my point of why do we not allow the lonely to be alone?)

i suppose the problem is that i am not sure if i can stand to be lonely anymore. i used to revel in it, to enjoy the sheer freedom of not being obligated to anyone, but since i chanced upon a social life (and an “other half”, ho hum) completely by accident (i swear), i feel gaps when i am alone. i like to think i am still as comfortable with my thoughts, but there are missing things.
(damn you acclimatisation. i need to revert asap)
people must be afraid of themselves, to fear solitude so much. when you are alone, you have to face every facet of yourself. yes, those are your thoughts floating in the dark deep recesses of your mind, and those are your hopes and dreams and fears. this is the very essence of yourself, distilled into a pool of what is unapologetically you.

summary: i have begun to fear myself, and i need to stop.

(this was supposed to be a longer post; i need to learn how to organise my ideas)

where do we go/nobody knows

i am contemplating buying that radiohead best of.

so, i fell asleep at 6pm and just got up at 12 am for dinner. wat just happened.

am now, at 1am, waiting for the hot water so i can have a bath.

and, hopefully, go back to sleep.

(people are hard to figure out)
(but i still like them)

Friday, 29 January 2010

new favourite word:

not just in the sense of blood exiting flesh, but mostly the sense of insidious, sly, seeping.

this occured to me in history today (WHERE I COULD HAVE SAT NEXT TO UNF GUY BUT I HAD TO BE ~LOYAL TO NOMI rofl) because i was sitting in front of an overhead projector (digression: i really need to work on remembering the spelling of tricky words i.e. projecter, independant, relevent), which would have been a completely innocuous projector had it not been sitting directly in front of one of those dinky mounted-whiteboard-on-an-easel things, which i always see as either a cute or pathetic extension of the vast gleaming expanse of a whiteboard, depending on mood (digression: don't you just love how white is always the signifier of all things good? purity, cleanliness, innocence, potential. well for once you can fuck off, white, because you may have noticed that in the real world, white always turns to grey. life is too dirty for the maintenance (another tricky word) of impossible ideals. at this point i may have decided to dedicate my life to filth and degradation, but hey, i'm still young. plans can fuck off too, it seems (who am i kidding, i have the same wants as the rest of them).

sorry, i was rambling about bleed, yes.
anywho (which is a completely random word that seems to have usurped the position of "anyhow" which i love because it is an example of the fluidity of language through time), bleed is an absolutely lovely word because of the connotations of slow, steady creeping. be it sly infiltration--

oh wait i was going on about that OHP in history class, um (i have this problem with structuring my arguments in essays too, no worries):
so the ohp, in front of the dinky whiteboard, and you know how those whiteboards are mounted on steel easels? but you can still see the border of the whiteboard, and the screws that hold it in place? well on this one, on the right, the paint from the easel had bled onto the whiteboard frame. i could not stop staring at it (which is unsurprising, it was history, ho hum) because it was... well i was puzzled, to be perfectly honest. how did that paint get there? was the easel repainted after mounting (har, har)? why did the paint seep only on that lower right side? did it gain sentience and decide to migrate, molecule by molecule?
so the bleeding of paint, the bleeding of erythrocytes (ngl i had to look this up; sorry pn lim), the bleeding of ideas.

you know how it's like when you wake up from a bizarre dream and you try to remember it and it bleeds through your fingers like so much water?
you know what it's like when you someone defects from your circle of comradeship and bleeds their hearts into another puddle of conformity (this isn't in reference to anything, i swear)?
you know what it's like when your heart - an overly romanticised bag of valves and vessels - feels like its bleeding, but it really isn't because you would be dead in point five of a nanosecond and are just a neurotic bitch?

i am not sure what was the point of this post

(it sounded better in my head)

(also bleeding - the physical kind - is less painful and/or cathartic than you may have thought. trust me, i have an epidermis-thinning strain of eczema)

today's apotheosis of Bleed brought to you by:
an old wound.

(yes that is a scissors you see on the left. yes i used it in an attempt to gouge splinter out. happy times.)

Sunday, 3 January 2010

nothing makes me bawl like Doctor Who

To be perfectly honest I dunno if I'll miss Tennant. He had four seasons, for heaven's sake. That's three more than Eccleston >=(.

But omg Matt Smith. You had me at "I'm a girl!?"

EoT felt like a goodbye to RTD as well. Since he used the excuse of Ten saying goodbye to revisit all his old characters. Sheesh.

Also Russell Tovey! *squee!*