Untitled Document

getsuyou shigatsu daiichi

yukai bangusetsu. warawa kan'an tsuite ato e-purirufu-ru warufuzake tameni yu- furi-ku irai isshuukan izenni. warawa hoshii kamaeru ato gansaku sonji pe-ji. mohaya warawa minarai korera pe-ji kirenai tasukaru. dakara warawa niseru wan.

ooseru meppou heiheibonbontaru. soshite sokode warawa nareru jirettai soshite gorannasai shu-to sono niseru naraku sohite saiyou mai hitotoori agensuto tekiou sutansu, (yohodo benri itsu yu- kirenai tegakeru nanika minasan kan) datte sokode warawa shinen sore dearou ri-bu ware gorannasai douyou an jijii.

mohaya korede sore - mai e-purirufu-ru warufuzake. doushite tegakeru yu- douyou it sore? warawa gozen kakegoto tonda taisou irai shingapo-ru katei tegakeru tonda kagen nicchuukan tsurete ato 67th range-ji heh heh.

datte on sono ofusetto sono yu- irikireru tame hiken range-ji sokode... moshimoshi!

0013 awa-

itsutsu oite toshiha itsutsu awa- juubun? non wakarikitta tonda. supashi-bo taishite sono dei.

ashikarazu taishite kappamonagare yu- uxeito kaneire honjitsu dake mohaya wareware kan houyou aratamete, soshite to-ku soshite oitsuku soshite naishoubanashi. ashikarazu taishite kappamonagare sono gumin irai yu- ri-bu. ashikarazu taishite kappamonagare nukasu on itsutsu zenpan oite motte yu-. ashikarazu taishite kappamonagare ketsubou mohaya ooini tame ri-chi ue soshite ho-rudo goshujin hando, datte taishite tonda nai sono shujouteki kyouko soshite eiki tegakeru. soshite warawa chakuseki urahara yu- arankagiri ue aratamete dake tonda uxocchi yu- ofa- goshujin bure-n on sono shiruba- oozara. soshite warawa chakuseki yuttarishita in mai ichi arankagiri ue aratamete dake tonda kaku o-pun mai dokuro soshite okurimono yu-.

motte itsutsu oite toshiha itsutsu jibun bakari sorezore futatsuwari ato hitomukashi. kan wareware tonda uxeito sono nagaraku aratamete taishite bure-n naiyou kirikae?

0844 awa-

toransure-to karentoingurisshu in tame range-ji mukankaku ware.
mohaya warawa kirenai haritsumeru tsujitsumanoatta karentoingurisshu ku nannari motto. warufuzake on ware.

0923 awa-

gozen warawa sono bakari ichi motte sono warufuzake? minasan dakara aka ikameshii.

mai namae Sarah
warawa gozen datte mittsu
mai metsuki hareru
warawa kirenai naruhodo
warawa hicchaku bakabakashii
warawa hicchaku warui
nan hoka kan nasu
mai otokooya dakara ikidooru
warawa ganmou warawa gozen beta-
warawa ganmou warawa gozen tonda migurushii
sate moshikashitara mai hahaoya
jizai nao ketsubou tame houyou ware
warawa kirenai to-ku marude
warawa kirenai tegakeru ato fuka
soretomo warawa gozen joumae appu
arankagiri dei nagaraku
itsu warawa sameru warawa gozen arankagiri hitoribocchi
sono taku kuro
mai futaoya tonda honba
itsu mai hahaoya irassharu
warawa nao torai soshite furumau
dakara moshikashitara warawa nao choudai dake
ichi kakuhan koyoi
bekarazu nasu ato oto
warawa dake hia ato ka-
mai otokooya honba
yori Charlie ba-
warawa hia boutoku
mai namae doushi ko-ru
warawa puresu wagami
agensuto sono kabe
warawa torai soshite tetsu
yori ashi metsuki
warawa gozen meppou mohaya
warawa gozen tachiagari tame hitogoe
doushi hiroimono ware naki
doushi zekkyou migurushii kouzetsu
doushi anou sorenari mai ayamachi
sono doushi koumuru atto sagyou
doushi panpan ware soshite ouda ware
soshite houkou atto ware motoo
warawa ageku choudai furi-
soshite warawa ran taishite sono toguchi
doushi sudeni joumae sore
soshite warawa tame hitogoe
doushi teiku ware soshite suro-
agensuto sono katai kabe
warawa botsuraku tame sono yuka
motte mai kosshi hakkubu togiretogire
soshite mai otokooya sonchi
motte motoo warui kouzetsu
"warawa gozen sumimasen!", warawa sakebigoe
datte mohaya sorenari ooini sudeni
feisu yojiru
in tame kirenai imajiniaringu
sono kizu soshite sono itami
matashitemo soshite matashitemo
aya nanitozo jouten, jihi!
aya nanitozo nasu sore shuuryou
soshite doushi ageku sutoppu
soshite hokou tame sono toguchi
kinai warawa nekaseru iten
supuro-ru on sono yuka
mai namae Sarah
soshite warawa gozen datte mittsu
koyoi mai otokooya
satsujin ware.

nanitozo kurikku koko tame shuuryou mai waikyoku!!

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tuesday april 2nd 0118 hours

<pAdi> i neeeeed to talk
<LaPuTa> shoot
<LaPuTa> wots up? wot happened
<pAdi> but i don't understand japanese
<LaPuTa> LOL
<LaPuTa> kekeke
<pAdi> nor can i converse in it
<LaPuTa> tis ok. i'm excellente with english
<LaPuTa> so we can stick to that
<pAdi> hahah mind explaining what the jap's all aboot?
<LaPuTa> kekeke

this is it. i know i've run out of material.

1540 hours

hamdan thinks i'm out of sync again. it's almost like he's taking all that repression from other people's perception of HIS loconess out on ME. you think april first was loco hamdan? CHECK OUT TODAY'S ENTRY! it's the most bullshit and pointless one to date! i mean, wtf i'm so bored i'm eating my own hair! that's right y'all, leave me alone for long periods at a time again!! i refuse to update this bullshit piece of crap anymore!!!

indigo blue rainbows
vertical insecurities of the gender-stereotyped repressees
even things out with a cigarette from your lip
rash thoughts drive the insane back to sanity and it's really too much to handle
until you stand at that ledge and then you look down and what you see is
nothingness at the edge of your life. and nothing zips past your eyes anymore because they're too glazed
out of it. you just want out of it.
umbrellas with pink, brown, yellow tips
tripping in the club cos you can't stand being sober to absorb all that hypocrisy laughing around you
on the verandah he sips his cup of coffee-vodka. he looks down on his lap at the open journal he's been staring at
four hours and the page is empty. still. he knows he is running out of
material. and material gains.
across the room from him she leans against the door and crosses her legs outside the ladies.
they don't understand how badly she needs to go.
endless summer days refuse to allow the
rains to come and cool the faces of our little children.
i stand here on the porch of my head
and i lean against the pillar and i wonder when the hell i'm gonna
leave. and where i'll eventually go.

recommended song of the day - mary j blige's a dream

<turalurra> saturday my hp dropped inside toilet bowl sia
<turalurra> after i berak
<turalurra> jialat sia
<laputa> EEEWWWWWW
<laputa> thats fucken disgusting
<laputa> grossssss
<laputa> knn
<turalurra> i also gross
<laputa> den u jus flush it down ah?
<laputa> if i i jus flush sial
<turalurra> so i flush like 10 times
<laputa> yuuuuuck
<laputa> den?
<turalurra> but it won;t disappear
<laputa> your hp or your shit?
<turalurra> no shit la in the toilet
<laputa> u dont bedek
<turalurra> after i berak and i flush already
<turalurra> sirius la!!!
<turalurra> damn
<laputa> wan to cover up oni
<turalurra> no la
<turalurra> then i take out the thing
<turalurra> cannot use already
<turalurra> so my gf gimme her hp
<turalurra> bcos more impt for her to call me than vice versa
<laputa> eh now ah if anyone call den talk to u u hear their voice on the hp like bubble bubble ah?
<turalurra> hahahah
<laputa> <turalurra> bcos more impt for her to call me than vice versa << wah
<laputa> so sweet
<turalurra> r u being sarcastic or what?
<turalurra> i can't tell
<laputa> no la really la
<laputa> if i aso i give my bf my hp
<laputa> cos i tink i die if i cannot contact him
<turalurra> if i your bf i give u the taik hp
<turalurra> heheh
<laputa> ...

<turalurra> what's that creepy poem ?
<turalurra> u write ah?
<laputa> yea i write. why u tink is creepy
<turalurra> scary sia
<turalurra> kena murdered by father
<laputa> ORHHH
<laputa> no no that one isnt mine
<turalurra> ya and also the last one
<turalurra> can't wait to die ah
<laputa> its abt child abuse
<turalurra> oh
<laputa> very powerful
<turalurra> the last one macam u high then want to die sia
<turalurra> all those imageries clearly of a person on another plane..
<turalurra> ya the child abuse one ah..so cold sia
* turalurra shivers me timbers
<laputa> there's a secret to my poem ya know
<turalurra> u want to kill yourself?
<laputa> no la its not necessarily reflective of me ya know
<turalurra> hmmm yes yes i see
<turalurra> but where are/were u?
<laputa> i dont know i jus started writing anything that came off my head
<laputa> btw, if u really wan to see its secret
[insert secret of poem which shall not be divulged to the masses]
<turalurra> hahahahahhahahahahahahahahahhah
<turalurra> coool
<laputa> hmph
<turalurra> but if u also look at the last letters...it says "i have money to give"
<laputa> WOT
<laputa> SERIOUS/??
<turalurra> hahahahah
<turalurra> relax la
<laputa> knn
<laputa> make me panic oni

if you're reading and you happen to be around the SC, do say hi to the lone gurl sitting around in the dark with her bright green journal. gd eve for today folks~

an entry for memory

walking down all those roads & she can't help wondering if any of those cars or bikes were his, & if he notices the silently thoughtful, independent girl. & if he notices that her slim arms and caramel skin looked familiar. & if the ring on her right thumb seems like a misplaced memory.

& is she in his passenger seat always? & does she notice the curious, intensed expression on his face as he gazes at that silently thoughtful, independent pedestrian?

& do his memories flood into him suddenly, & do they take his breath away? does he suddenly remember how she used to look at him & hold his hand? does it hit him the way she caressed his skin and smelt his hair? does he remember the ring of their laughter or the sound of her humming?

& would he start to miss it all? & would his passenger suddenly see it in his eyes? & would that simply break her, the way it broke that silently thoughtful, confident pedestrian?

does she care enough about him to sit with him through everything. does he love her enough to tear open his chest & spill his secrets.

& would that silently thoughtful, independent pedestrian ever know, or realise that in one fleeting second, she had caused a tear in their carefully constructed canopy?

If you have integrity, nothing else matters. If you dont have integrity, nothing else matters - Alan Simpson

two people died yesterday, neither of whom i know personally. and frankly i don't know whether condolences are quite the appropriate thing, knowing the parties involved. but what the hey, i suppose it's only decent. so Sha and K, my condolences go out to both of yous. it's just little touches of irony finding out about things like this over the net.

<fRestOut> eh u 21 liao rite?
<laputa> no la i 15 oni
<fRestOut> cb ler i askin serious
<laputa> i;m turning 22 this yr zuherrrrr
<laputa> knn
<fRestOut> orh k
<fRestOut> wanna pretend to be fiance & fiancee and get rented apt not?
<laputa> LOL
<laputa> u dont have to pretend to be fiancees to rent apt la kuku
<laputa> u wan to rent apt how u wan to pay? be landlady's toyboy ah?
<fRestOut> fark ler
<fRestOut> rented GOVT flats at 80 bucks a month
<laputa> orh those
<laputa> but u gotta have official documents leh
<fRestOut> chio simi fiancee document?
<laputa> and we cant be fiancees we have to be legally married
<laputa> they rent apts out to legal families oni
<fRestOut> fiance fiancee schme la kuku
<fRestOut> u tunang got paper meh?
<laputa> eh knn there's no such thing as 'OFFICIAL FIANCEES' in the eyes of the law
<laputa> u kukuhead
<fRestOut> YA LER
<fRestOut> TT"S MY FARKIN PT
<fRestOut> DOH
<laputa> ya lah! den how to rent??
<fRestOut> LOL
<laputa> thats why i say want to rent have to be legally married
<laputa> tok kok ar u
<fRestOut> GRRR
<laputa> lol
* laputa laffing
<fRestOut> if i din check out i wun be tellin u ler
<fRestOut> kanina
<laputa> ok ok
<laputa> wots the deal?
<fRestOut> both combined income cannot be more than 800
<fRestOut> mus be over 21
<laputa> LOL
<laputa> <fRestOut> both combined income cannot be more than 800 << thats def us
<fRestOut> fiance fiancee scheme lor
<laputa> and WHERE are these govt flats?
<fRestOut> marine parade la
<laputa> and how many rooms?
<laputa> knn marine parade
<fRestOut> actually i dun intend to stay there la
<laputa> den?
<fRestOut> jus treat it like a place to hang or wot lor
<fRestOut> or use
<laputa> orhh
<fRestOut> in case u wanna smoke ur pot
<fRestOut> lol
<laputa> but fucking hell marine parade
<laputa> how available are these houses btw?
<laputa> i mean are they like all over the place jus need to apply
<laputa> or got waiting list?
<fRestOut> k actually ahh
<fRestOut> shd be pretty readily available
<fRestOut> cos they got strict guidelines
<laputa> ok tell me abt this "fiancee" sheme
* laputa pokes u
<fRestOut> http://www.hdb.gov.sg/isoa020p.nsf/RentalofFlats
<laputa> knn pemalas
<fRestOut> i told u all liao wot
<fRestOut> doh
<fRestOut> income 800 below
<fRestOut> over 21
<fRestOut> wot else siah
<fRestOut> liew
<laputa> Applicant and occupier must be at least thirty-five years old. Applicant or occupier who is widowed or orphaned must be at least twenty-one years old.
<laputa> ah amek ko
<laputa> u wan to pretend to be 35 ar?
<fRestOut> otak lu la
<fRestOut> lol
<fRestOut> http://www.hdb.gov.sg/isoa020p.nsf/9c8eac073dce7f794825667300246f8f/7fc8058e7a943b4e4825668a00283069?OpenDocument

<fRestOut> k go here
<fRestOut> kanasai
<laputa> ok now tell me.. how the hell we gonna be fiance-fiancee?
<laputa> [combined income less than 800 ader hati nak kahwin ni dua mat-minah couple... biasa mentality melayu]
<fRestOut> jus tell em laaaa
<laputa> got such thing mehhhhh kanasai
<fRestOut> they HAF a fiance-fiancee scheme, and there's no document needed to proof fiance-fiancee status, so wot u want?
<laputa> eh this is bloody cool
<fRestOut> wot is?
<laputa> the flat thingie ah
<laputa> knn hangout place
<fRestOut> yea la of cos
<fRestOut> i'm the meister of cool things
* laputa roll eyes
<laputa> ok ah set. u go call dem ask for info all
<fRestOut> Fiance and Fiancee Applicant's Marriage Certificate to be produced within 3 months after the date of possession of the HDB flat
<fRestOut> eh i dun get dis
<fRestOut> they obviously dun understand malay couples
<fRestOut> lol
<fRestOut> camne nie?
<fRestOut> so haf to be engaged for 3 months onie den MUS marry ah
<fRestOut> tt's the kink
<laputa> they mean possession of a solid hdb flat or THE RENTAL flat?
<fRestOut> rental ler
<laputa> wah lau
<laputa> see i knew there was a catch
<fRestOut> yea la but takkan 3 months siah fiance fiancee
<laputa> knn assholes. might s well no need put fiance-fiancee
<fRestOut> abih kalo org takde duit nak kahwin tunang lima tahun camne
<fRestOut> cam kiter kiter nie
<laputa> i think its to give poor newly weds a pvt place to fuck
<fRestOut> lol

it's only 4 but it feels like 7. thunder's singing outside. from my room my windows look like they're greeting sundown stead of impending rain. and i feel detached from the world. i feel left out, alienated, left behind. i don't want to stay where i am. and yet i can't find the strength to step outside right now... because the world is so huge and lonely i'll just start to cry. and so i'd just rather mope around my four walls. it's still lonely... but it doesn't make me thnk about the future. or the emptiness it drags along.

<opiate> hey
<opiate> answer this later when u wake up
<opiate> is it true that chocolate's supposed to kill yer appetite
<opiate> and if so
<opiate> would u say that it's a good dieting buddy?
<opiate> and number 2
<opiate> what's a good name fer a band

1. yes chocolate kills your appetite because it's a sweet dish, which works against the salt dishes. that's why some mothers won't allow their kids to have ice-cream or whatever before lunch/dinner. no it would not be a good dieting buddy because it's fattening, heaty and will most definitely give rise to pimples.

hamdan babes, you've been catching me at the wrong times. i was either away with the tube or curled up on my bed dreaming of... i honestly don't remember what i was dreaming about. but yes, i'm fine thanks for asking :-)

have i or have i not continously emphasised the psychicness of my being? doesn't the high priestess get a lot of her own toyboys? yoohoo volunteers?

Chocolate cookie on the outside, vanilla creme within, you're certainly not what you seem! Plus, the side on which your creme lands after people twist you apart influences decisions worldwide. Cool!

no it's not cool really. i don't even like oreo's. they're the most overrated biscuits on earth. that's right oreo lovers they're BISCUITS not COOKIES! they're like a nike version of new balance - they're kong guan with image and branding and fierce advertising! if you held a gun to my head and demanded i convert, i would cos i'm not ready to die yet. but i'd be a CLOSET CHIPS AHOY FAN. how is it that no loser with nothing to do has come up with a personality quiz for chips ahoyers? are we that elite? of course we are. if YOU are a closet chips ahoyer, come out and marry me! but if you're female we can still be friends.

Wise are they who have learnt these truths: Trouble is temporary. Time is tonic. Tribulation is a test tube. - William Arthur Ward

If a problem has no solution, it may not be a problem but a fact - not to be solved, but to be coped with over time. - Shimon Peres

It would be great if people never got angry at someone for doing something they've done themselves. - Rodney Dangerfield

the drollness of my life aids the reproduction of bile that rises at the back of my throat and contributes to this growing wave of nausea. i wish to be a ditzy blonde.

<opiate> my fren said that
<opiate> chinese girls are sweet
<opiate> malay girls are sexy
<opiate> and ang moh girls are hardcore
<laputa> lol
<laputa> ang moh girls are lose whores
* laputa is racist
<opiate> hahahahaha
<opiate> jialat sia u
<laputa> i think ang moh grls have their priorities really mixed up
<opiate> y so?
<laputa> like they think sexual power means sleeping with 9 of the 10 boys they meet
<opiate> lol!
<laputa> when all it is is the absolute absence of morals
<laputa> or basically no comprehension of it
<opiate> yea it is sadly
<laputa> i'm serious. i think they're jus bimbos
<opiate> heheh..especially the blonde uns eh?
<laputa> and then by 20 they have these huge beer bellies and they dont care cos they think their youth entitles them to ... ya know whatever
<laputa> lol
<laputa> [wot a convincing argument, ana]
<opiate> uh huh..yep
<laputa> and then we have spgs who are angmoh wannabes. thats even sadder
<opiate> those are fucks
<laputa> these fuckheads actually wanna trade all their rich heritage for the culture of beer guzzling, free fucking yankees
<laputa> wot IS the american culture anyway? i mean at least europeans are still culturally rich
<laputa> american food are hamburgers. an american holiday is the fourth of july
<laputa> hamburgers, fourth of july and hollywood
<laputa> thats abt it. thats the american culture
<opiate> don't forget porn
<laputa> did porn originate from america btw
<laputa> ?
<opiate> i think so

how about it? crawled into bed around 2, now i'm as up as a doorknob. well a rusty doorknob. good morning everyone. this day has potential to look good.

i read hamdan's last entry early yesterday but i've only now got the strength to comment. i was watching 28 days - some flick with sandra bullock who's a beer-guzzling, pill-popping writer in rehab. and her beer-guzzling, pill-popping boyfriend who's not in rehab summed life up excellently out by the lake just before his proposal when he said, "life is about loss". you lose friends, you lose money, you lose family, you lose lovers. but i feel the most painful loss is yourself when at the end of every new experience you'll leave some of your old self on the steps and then you move on.

some days you look back with remorse. most times you don't even realise who you've left behind. then you're 70 and you're overweight and wrinkled and you look in the mirror, and maybe you'll finally start crying for yourself because the waves of realisation hit you, once again, that the loss of youth isn't just skin-deep, it's also emotive. especially emotive.

i've lost myself more than i can ever imagine since 16. sec school graduation left the silly schoolgirl at the door. poly entry left the narrow. poly sophomore left the innocent. poly senior left the naive. but 2001 did it all for me i think. 2001 was the icing for the multiple-tiered cake of change. 2001 left the idealistic. and it's really sad because the end product of all that warping and mutating has left me so in between myself some days i don't even know how i got here. but life is about loss. speaking of which, i just lost about 4 lines of thought when dreamweaver decided to be smart and do its own thang. heart-wrenching. boo hoo.

<Ferreteer> just a day or so back this 21 year old music teacher, ex RI-RJC guy) go and molest his 13 year olf student..I think he got the girl to give him a handjob...koyak man
<laputa> oh my gawddddd
<laputa> dennn?
<Ferreteer> kena charge lah what else
<Ferreteer> it was in the paperslah...
<laputa> i mean was it voluntary or did he force her?
<Ferreteer> probably forcelah
<laputa> omg
<laputa> wtf is wrong wif these fuckers
<Ferreteer> fuck up right?
<laputa> cb
<Ferreteer> intellgient.....but not smart
<laputa> cheap asshole. can go geylang jus pay
<Ferreteer> haiyah....probably years and years of repressed perverted thoughts
<laputa> tapi bagus jugak ah... bring down RI-RJC name abit
<laputa> if not these asswipes think they're so fucking godsent
<Ferreteer> heheh...I wouldnt have minded that...being an alumni myself
<laputa> whoops
<laputa> i still wont retract that statement
<laputa> kekeke
<Ferreteer> you dont even know half of it...some of these fuckers really think too highly of tehmselves....
<Ferreteer> like melah
<laputa> of course they would
<Ferreteer> but I think highly of myself for other reasons (fucking, sucking cunnilinugs)
<laputa> i think its so much cooler to be humble abt a hot background
<laputa> ccb sucking cunnilingus is so fucking redundant
* laputa konks ya
<Ferreteer> sucking can be other parts lah tolol
<laputa> u forgot the coma den mister smart pants
<Ferreteer> oops..sorry...the text kena wraparound in my window
<laputa> hopeless
<Ferreteer> mana aku tahu ader missing comma
<laputa> and your cunnilingus is highly typoed
<Ferreteer> LOL
<laputa> cunnilinugs << wots that? a bug species?
<Ferreteer> yeah yeah...just like you to pick on my weak points
<laputa> bloody hell
<Ferreteer> fuck all
<laputa> i cant let u call me tolol and get away wif it
<Ferreteer> hey I'm older...i can get away with practially anything
<laputa> cept handjobs by 13 yr olds. hah!
<Ferreteer> LOL
<Ferreteer> that's a good one
* laputa curtseys
<laputa> kekeke
<Ferreteer> but yeah...that guy should be hangedlah
<Ferreteer> imprison him...once he gets out sure do sumthing stupid again
<laputa> he should be castrated
<laputa> u know a few yrs ago they came up wif a new drug tt lowers the libido
<laputa> and they were contemplating using it on paedophiles and rapists
<Ferreteer> ooh yeah...they call it Margaret Thacher

<Ferreteer> no malay actress has blown my hair back except Sofea jane
<laputa> wot is with sofea jane
<Ferreteer> actress or singer or some such
<Ferreteer> dunno...maybe she has the "come hither" look on her face
<laputa> i only remember her as that woman who did that jewellery ad
<Ferreteer> you didnt watch "perempuan, isteri dan...."?
<Ferreteer> man she was godawful sexy in that show
<laputa> i dont watch malay movies
<Ferreteer> i would have taken her for sure, hands down
<laputa> i'm sure u would've
<Ferreteer> it's pretty good actually.....the dialogue a bit offlah....but the concept was great
<laputa> was it original? reminded me of sex, lies & videotape
<Ferreteer> too bad I cant find it anywhere these days.....
<Ferreteer> original story
<Ferreteer> set in a kampung
<laputa> den kampung girl cum penghulu sextoy ah?
<Ferreteer> errmmm....okay the story is about this girl.....about to ge married...but she runs off with another guy to another country
<laputa> den?
<Ferreteer> the hubby to be finds her...kills the guy, "rents" her to a whorehouse where she learns all the tricks of the trade
<laputa> wah
<laputa> so drama ah?
<laputa> <laputa> den kampung girl cum penghulu sextoy ah? << i was spot on 2 of the three elements
<Ferreteer> then after that "prison sentence"...he comes back..brigns her back to the kampung and she becomes his wife...but she's the rebellious sort...and fucking horny
<laputa> wtf
<Ferreteer> even fucks the village idiot
<laputa> become whore den make her his wife?
<Ferreteer> yups...it's like penance for the girllah
<laputa> ok den?
<Ferreteer> her transparent sexuality also causes trouble in the kampung as the other girls also follow suit
<laputa> ooooh
<Ferreteer> they all start defying their husbandslah...thislah thatlah
<laputa> beh suma tak kena sula?
<laputa> best nyer
<laputa> kalau zaman p ramlee dah lama kena
<Ferreteer> then whole kampung riuh....finally almost to the end of it...she gets to be more of a wife to the guy...but too bad hubby finds out she's fucking the village idiot and kills her
<laputa> ok WOT is the point of the story?
<Ferreteer> the storylinje (more or less is sumthing like that)....quite thought provoking actually
<laputa> wots it sposed to make u think abt?
<Ferreteer> about kampung life...about hidden scandals.....
<Ferreteer> about the role of sexuality
<laputa> i agree on the latter
<laputa> i think they went abit too far wif the husband killing everyone
<Ferreteer> and the role of women in a kampung
<laputa> makes him sound psycho
<Ferreteer> well it was really tragic 'cause almost to the end, she finally accepted to being a wife to the hubby...dah baik2 already
<laputa> wot made her change?
<Ferreteer> I think she was trying hard to pls the hubbylah...but the hubby never touch her at all...
<laputa> but thats jus it - she rebelled by sleeping with everyone.. only to conform again to the standards of the asshole who ruined her in the first place
<laputa> why?
<Ferreteer> well most things in life dont make sense
<laputa> yea la but u'd have thought in a movie trying to break boundaries, it should at least be somewhat psychologically logical
<Ferreteer> wont debate the reaons of plot here.....just that Sofea jane is soooo fucking sexy
<Ferreteer> of course there was the gratuitous shot of her legs apart over the rice cooker...then serving the rice to her hubby with the knowing look (hubby didnt knowlah)
<laputa> WOT?
<laputa> she gave him NASI KANGKANG?
<laputa> ewwwww
<Ferreteer> NASI KANGKANG!!! LOLOL
<Ferreteer> I've never heard that before...fucking funny man!
<laputa> u never heard of nasi kangkang before??
<laputa> bloody ell where u been? u melayu murtad!
<Ferreteer> aku melayu celup babe
<laputa> i should be a movie critic man
<laputa> anyway, nasi kangkang is a black art
<laputa> women use it to control men
<Ferreteer> those who can, do...those who cant, criticise
<Ferreteer> really?...
<Ferreteer> no I've never heard of that practice before...
<laputa> yup. ingredients include menstrual blood, nail clippings, hair
<laputa> shit like that
<laputa> then the guy eats it, den he'll be obedient to the wifey
<laputa> or to whichever woman served it to him la
<Ferreteer> fuck! my gf/fiance/wife better not d that kinda shit on me man...I would be sooooooo cross
<laputa> if she did u wouldnt know. u'd be under her spell <:)
<laputa> but the man becomes zombie-like ah. wont argue back, always do wot hes told
* Ferreteer hides the bankbook and opens up an new offshore account
<laputa> that kinda shite
<Ferreteer> ooh..they dont need to do Nasi kangkang to melah like that...I'll be naturally like that
<laputa> well in the first few yrs of marriage of cos la bini masih jud
<laputa> beh kalau bini tetek dah lepeh, perut buncit rambut botak
<laputa> surely your eyes start roaming rite?
<Ferreteer> LOL....
<Ferreteer> that was so bad...

Which Jimmy Character Are You? I am a the Hippie Guy.

I like living my somber life uninterrupted by anything. Everything goes smoothly because I allow things to happen how they're supposed to. I can be naive or shy, but you know what? I forgot... Which Jimmy Character are You?

Death Star
MWUAHAHA! You're the very epitome of Imperial might. Planets tremble at the mention of your name. Technically you aren't a "character," but it doesn't matter. You can disintegrate anyone who crosses you.

just read hamdan's latest entry. he is sweetness. i feel obliged to mention him here.

i swear i have the weirdest schedule in all the world. it LOOKS normal ... but it ain't, trust me. which normally sane, part-time slacko, unemployed bum would get up voluntarily at 6am and then just sit through the daylight hours? SEE! you're beginning to ponder the purpose of my existence aren't ya? but no matter... i have you completely under my spell.

sunday april 7th 0842 hours

my apologies to all who said helo to me last night. i was curled up asleep on my bed.

1128 hours

From :
"aNa kArE-RaYnA" <casehead@hotmail.com>

To :
louise.waterson@readersdigest.com

Subject :
RE:March Issue - Pakistan's "Terrorist Madrassas"

Date :
Sun, 07 Apr 2002 03:18:54 +0000

Dear Louise,

I have been an avid reader of RD since I was 8, sitting on my aunt's sofa, poring through the tens of back issues she still kept dusty on her shelf.

Your March issue of Pakistan's "terrorist Madrassas" opened my eyes however.

How can you claim that your report was "an insider's view" when Mister Goldberg was obviously a guest? He was not even native to Pakistan. He does not understand its language, its culture, or I dare say, its religion.

He does not understand, or perhaps he does but fails to bring to light, the underlying possibilities for Pakistani hate against America. Given that these boys are being brainwashed, would it not be so much more objective to highlight possible reasons behind this radicalism?

Also, Mister Goldberg was only a guest to one madrassa in Pakistan. There is an estimated 15 000 madrassas in Pakistan. Why was he not assigned to several other madrassas? What was the objective of the article? To paint yet another terrorist picture of Muslims, or to pursue the real spirit of journalism - the truth?

Mister Goldberg highlights that at Haqqania, there were no circular subjects such as world history, or geography. Yet, he does not highlight madrassas such as Darul-uloom, which boasts a 4 000 student populace and offers Islamic jurisprudence, English and computer science.

Contrary to the picture painted by Mister Goldberg, madrassas in Pakistan do welcome girls - Darul-uloom has a 500-strong female student populace.

Darul-uloom also attracts an international mix of students, who come from as far away as China, Australia, and shocks of all shocks - America! To pin Haqqania's "narrow schooling of thought" down to poverty would be inaccurate as well, since Darul-uloom is being run in a poor part of Karachi.

Given that the Haqqania Madrassa is situated in the North-West Frontier Province of Pakistan, where some madrassas have indeed been providing weapons training and enthusiastic recruits, why have you not chosen to also bring to light the likes of Darul-uloom, which are almost the complete opposites of Haqqania, and who represent a more balanced picture of Islamic educational institutions in Pakistan?

Muslims have been labelled enough for their reputation to last through this century and the next. I should think that publications such as Reader's Digest attempt to educate and inform, instead of sensationalise and expand the already wide gap between the Muslim world and everyone outside looking in.

There is also one more matter of interest I should like to bring up - the fact that 90% of the asian issues RD tackles are written by foreigners. I note that you have at least one correspondence for most of the Asian countries RD circulates in. Besides highlighting important social issues, these correspondences should also be responsible for recommending adept Asian writers to tackle their own homegrown issues.

In my opinion, while Western journalists focusing on Asian issues are seen as "objective", they are also relentless in their pursuit of information, resulting often, in blown-up pictures presented as facts. Think the blind men and elephant story.

As such, I hope you might bring this matter up to the editorial and consider a change in policy. I think RD Asia has succeeded remarkably in highlighting the "invisible" issues of Asia. However, I also think these issues need to be tackled with a bit more sensitive objectivity.

"I do desire we may be better strangers."
-As You Like It, act III

"Were I like thee I'd throw away myself."
-Timon of Athens, act III

"Thou clay-brained guts, thou knott-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, greasy tallow-catch."
-Henry IV, Part 1, act II

"You are as a candle, the better part burnt out."
-Henry IV, Part 2, act I

"You cram these words in mine ears against the stomach of my sense."
-The Tempest, act II

"Go thou, and fill another room in hell."
-Richard II, act V

"She is spherical, like a globe. I could find out countries in her."
-The Comedy of Errors, act III

"But he has not so much brain as ear-wax..."
-Troilus and Cressida, act V

"A pox o' your throat! you bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!"
-The Tempest, act I

"Direct thy feet where thou and I henceforth may never meet."
-Twefth Night, act V

"...A rascal, an eater of broken meats, a base, proud, shallow, beggardly, three-suited, hundred-pound, filthy-worsted-stocking knave...and art nothing but the composition of a knave, beggar, coward, pander and the son and heir of a mongrel...one whom I will beat into clamourous whining if thou deniest the least syllable of thy addition."
-King Lear, act II

added the latest rascal to the kitty page. there won't be links in this here sentence go click the actual link itself you lazy bastard.

check it out y'all. groovay colours credited to hamdan babes 100%. thank you darling.

at 9PM yesterday i finally received my chocolate fix. i am officially on a sugar rush. i died and went to high heaven when i stumbled upon this ultra mundo groovy website that had all the quotes from all the coolest movies on my list. so in accordance to tradition, i hijacked em all. by the time you read this, the must-watch space would've been ultra updated. i am in loco-motion.

my sugar rush ended nearly 2 hours ago. and then the craving started again. i have officially finished one mini jar of nutella in around 9 hours. i don't reckon that's a record. but in this weather, spontaneous combustion seems a high possibility.

i have achieved quite a bit as far as web designing is concerned (if you can call figuring out basic dreamweaver commands designing). in fact, i've done so well hamdan has promised me a five figure salary once i'm on par with him. which he says won't be very long indeed given my current rate of progress.

<Ferreteer> i am hereby promising you a five figure salary once you're on par with me, which won't be very long indeed given your prodigal rate of progress. congratulations padawan. may the force be with you.

i learn that i'm in absolutely no position to bawl compared to the woman who lost her husband to war. they didn't deliver his body back in a coffin, they delivered his mind. five years after korea he is an official paranoid schizophrenic. but it was the bird in the story that made me cry. yes. there was a bird.

the happy activities of boy_wonder_who_crawled_out_of_a_pussy_and_desires_to_stay_in_between_forever

<thump> ill be frank
<thump> u wanna cyber?
<bonn|e> no thx. gday
<thump> heard u r a horny girl
<thump> not today huh
<bonn|e> and who the fuck told u i was a horny girl?
<thump> :)
<thump> i know u are
<thump> one horny bitch with lust that is too much for u yourself to handle
<bonn|e> then u're horribly disillusioned
<bonn|e> but then mebbe u're right after all. cos if i'm so horny, it says somethin abt u, that u dont turn me on one single bit.. doesnt it?
<bonn|e> :)
<thump> we have chatted befroe bitch
<thump> i know u
<bonn|e> sure u do
<bonn|e> u know allll about me
<thump> :)
<thump> ahuh
<thump> i do
<thump> shout bitch
<thump> shout!
<thump> hahaha
<bonn|e> aights then. carry on wanking in your pathetic disillusionment to my digital nickname
<bonn|e> gday
<thump> :)
<thump> lets go to 81 bonnie and ill fuck wet
<thump> oooo
<thump> aaa
<bonn|e> *** Added thump!*@* to ignore list
<bonn|e> hope u're happy asswipe!
<thump> :)
<thump> ever sucked a dick in public? i think u have
<thump> ooo

<turalurra> see ya in 3 month's time
<laputa> where u going
<turalurra> nowhere...i'm imposing a chat ban on myself
<turalurra> so
<turalurra> take care o yerself ya?
<laputa> leally
<laputa> whyyyyyyyy
<turalurra> cos i wanna concentrate on my studies
<turalurra> :)
<turalurra> take care miss ana
<laputa> hmph
<laputa> ok la
<laputa> u too
* laputa hugs mister redha
<laputa> bye bye
* turalurra hugs u too
<turalurra> bye
* laputa try to hide tear in her eye
<turalurra> selamats
* laputa wave
<turalurra> heheheh
<laputa> eh wots your email addie
<laputa> oh yea oh yea
<laputa> brightredhair@hotmail
<turalurra> no no
<laputa> no?
<turalurra> don't e mail me there
<laputa> den?
<turalurra> uh...
<turalurra> i'm temporarily without an e-mail accound
<turalurra> so when i get one
<turalurra> i'll e-mail casehead@hotmail.com
<turalurra> rite?
<laputa> okie
<laputa> donch forget me okiieee?
<turalurra> take care u
* laputa sniffle
<laputa> u too
<turalurra> hahahah
<turalurra> good nite
<laputa> gnite reds :)
<turalurra> :)

hamdan baby! i was out. why do i miss you when i've missed you? come back in if you're still up and reading this, luv.

babes! i was in the shower & then i had to scoot! so very sorry. confidence is the key alright. especially when you don't know a quart of the shit you're shooting out your arse. the best of these bastards end up in advertising. harhar ;-)

shisha is da bomb. you drink flavour and you breathe silk. it's a fucking genius. *puppy doogey eyes @ hamdan*

is it normal to be inspired to write reading other people's writing? why don't i get these urges when i read books?

(technically) yesterday i became the salvation army. but it was for an excellent cause - the recharge_of_the_self-imposed_mental_incapacitation_of_ana's_mind drive. i am hereby the new proud owner of four excellent paperbacks and one just-as-exquisite hardback. lugging them around the whole day almost made me miss secondary school.

nina's still not called me yet. i won't lie - i've been worried since april hit. has e erased specific parts of her brain which were storing the ana files? her number is once again obselete. she's the second person i know who changes numbers like underwear.

everytime i ride a bike i have visuals of skidding or flying off. mostly flying off. i try to relax and look totally into it but my tensed facial muscles always give it away. how the fuck am i supposed to even start trying to get that shitty piece of lamination?

the last (which also happened to be the first) time i actually rode (in the first person sense of the word) a bike, i handled it better going at 20 km/h. moping along at 5 km/h made it wobble, and then my brain registered that my feeble arms and legs were not able to control the shitty piece of machinery, which in turn, placed my entire being on panic mode. so i veered to the left (or right) and toppled. and watched as the (male, nevertheless) instructor rolled his eyes. again. and walked over to me to lift the damn thing back up. driving centers should enrol their instructors in customer relation courses. but who cares, because either way the money rolls, it's in the spirit of mockery. very usually of yourself.

word of the day - laksak. ask zai wot it means. or. you could jus secretly email me too.

phrase of the day - dependably crappy. all credit to zu the man-gina of our community.

<sararu-_-> hmmz laputa fan?
<laputa> who's laputa?
<sararu-_-> well
<sararu-_-> laputa is a band name
<sararu-_-> its also an anime name
<sararu-_-> i was referin to the band
<sararu-_-> jrock band
<laputa> no wonder
<sararu-_-> then where u got ur nick
<laputa> i've never heard of the band until 2 secs ago
<laputa> laputa is spanish
<sararu-_-> oh now i know
<sararu-_-> what does it mean?
<laputa> i think it means bitch
<sararu-_-> can't be
<sararu-_-> that was a decent anime siah ...
<laputa> mebbe laputa has a place somewhere in japanese
<sararu-_-> nah, japs like to use foreign words
<sararu-_-> if u say its spanish, it probably is
<laputa> mebbe the anime passed the japanese censor board cos they were banking on pple not caring wtf it meant
<laputa> looked like they were right
<sararu-_-> haha

<Pontifica> u r pretty intimidating urself u noe
<laputa> i know
<laputa> the beauty of attitude
<Pontifica> some or rather most guyz cant take that in a woman i tink
<Pontifica> its not that u remind me of errr....
<Pontifica> myself
<laputa> of course not
<laputa> why would i
<laputa> i'm too exquisite a work of art
<Pontifica> art is to admired.....u dont hav alot of admirers do ya
<laputa> on the contrary, i have too many
<laputa> but they lack the dick to jump the gun. as usual
<Pontifica> they're afraid of challenges
<Pontifica> wussies
<laputa> pity init
<Pontifica> look its nearly 5 n i got some errands to do tom or later rather
<laputa> lucky u
<laputa> gmorn then
<Pontifica> might do it again....when i feel like venting my anger
<laputa> good. happy looking for me
<Pontifica> my hp 9*3*1*2*
<Pontifica> if i dont get a msg fromn u in 10 mins time then i presume ur not sincere in making frens
<laputa> oh myyyy
<laputa> the gentleman hands his number
<laputa> and i didnt even need to ask
<laputa> didnt i tell u they all jus come to me?
* laputa grins
<Pontifica> watever girl

it was fiercely engaging. and it's almost a pity i've decided not to put the whole convo up. but it gets obsessively self-indulgent, and i'm not about to prostitute myself that way yet (but of course i have, haven't i?). if you must know the great outcome, the decision is no, i will not be calling him. i think there's a kind of tragic beauty in letting the good ones slide. sue me, i'm romantic and self-destructive. has there been a better pair?

a special note to the phatcat - i know you check in once a while. hell if you're as no-lifer as i think you are you prolly check in everyday (no offence to the rest). but this here space is dedicated to you because i just wanted to say: half of the shit that spewed from me this night wasn't called for and i know that. but sometimes you make it almost impossible for things to be otherwise. anyway my apologies. accept it so i can start doing it again.

i highly recommend The Royal Tenenbaums. fair warning though: only for appreciators of the subtle human relation and soberly quirky numbers. loads of soberly quirky numbers.

[At the hospital following Richie's attempted suicide]
Etheline: Did you write a suicide note?
Richie: Yes.
Etheline: When?
Richie: Right after I woke up.

reading the (extremely) short bio at the very beginning hit me that jack kerouac was not, as i had thought i remembered, that guy who consciously decided to live in asia and wrote about it. in fact, mister other-guy was italian. what ever got into me?

i was recommended jack kerouac by a stranger who inspired one of my entries a week or two ago. in accordance to ana-tradition i forgot all about it. until this evening when i picked up the book that has, by some strange twist of fate, landed right in my hands.

sha has an excellently insightful piece of writing pasted up on her blog. go catch it.

love and ecstasy make you fly. anger denies you self-control. but hurt brings the crappiness, bullshittifyingness truth home to you - 3 times out of 5 you sleep on the bed of nails.

btw sha, i didn't get the chance to tell you this because you had to go catch your sleep (i presume). a huge part of why it collapsed for me was because i thought i needed to be superhuman strong. i was kidding myself. sometimes the best thing you can do for yourself is to just let it ride. don't go closing all the doors. one day you might find them all locked on you. then crying for the key will feel like mofo-ing shit.

excellente. i get to be the flat-chested, average-looking brunette who survives.

i was looking at scanned images of sadie and myself, and i was reminded of didi's aunt in perak (? was it?) who apparently, is quite the clairvoyant one. she can read pictures - visual imprints on canvases of... i give up. i never paid very much attention in photojournalism class. it shows everytime i snap for someone.

anyway, her aunt can read character just by looking at images. i find it most fascinating. i think i would sit all day with her if ever she decides to embark on "entrepenueal reading" (blast my spelling). but i will never surrender my image to her. there is a limit to how much reality anyone can handle. step over that line and you'll never be the same. i think being humans we're constantly being pushed over. that's why nobody's ever the same person at the end of a year as he was at the beginning.

anyway to didi's muted horror the last time she was there, her mom volunteered a picture of her boyfriend izad to auntie clairvoyant. and the poor girl had to sit there in agony for what must've been 5 full minutes before auntie clairvoyant finally smirked and laid down the best of izad's character. IMHO they were lucky to find each other. and sometimes thinking about them i am stung by envy, and pinched by hurt. but mostly i am happy for them. they're living through what i call the jan 2000 - april 2001 period of my life. i hope, unlike me though, they'll survive.

here is the interesting thought of the day. presenting the seated order of definitions according to Longman's Dictionary of Contemporary English, Third Edition page 864

Ma-lar-key n [U] informal talk that is meant to impress or deceive you but does not mean anything

Ma-lay n 1[C] someone from the largest population group in Malaysia 2 [U] the language of these people

Mal-con-tent n [C] formal someone who is likely to cause trouble because they are dissatisfied

it has been a somewhat desolate night, thanks largely in part to chatfriends who lead so much more an action-packed life than i could ever fathom in my current stationary state. this has managed to chagrin me (new word of the day i might as well use it). cable is playing shit tonight. again. cable is a psychological addiction you know you don't need but are helplessly slaved to anyway. by choice. it's a bit sad looking at it externally. but i'll be damned if i have to be stuck with local programming. i guess 30 channels of shit still works better than just 6 channels of shit. as a result of chat's non-activity and cable's excellent shit programming, i am now officially stultified. i should not have napped just now. now i'm doomed to stay up with absolutely nothing constructive to do. actually, that shouldn't be anything new. stupid, stupid ana.

the re-convergence of the socially-lazy misfits
<Ferreteer> seriously you should get back into it......staying up late is psychologically debilitating
<laputafk> how so?
<laputafk> we have poser intellectual conversations wot
<Ferreteer> naah this is not poser intellectual conversations...this is pragmatic chat
<laputafk> i not saying rite now la
<Ferreteer> staying up late is conducive to meeting intellectual vampires?
<laputafk> of course
<laputafk> because most intellects are bummers
* laputafk beams
<Ferreteer> so you're saying the "dah makan?" crowd generally goes to sleep early?
<laputafk> the "dah makan" crowd generally hold menial jobs
<Ferreteer> which leaves the socially discontent up and awake
<laputafk> which yes, would require them to keep "normal" hours
<Ferreteer> heh...I like that train of thought
<Ferreteer> socially discontent = misfit = intellectual
<laputafk> not all misfits are intellects. but all intellects are misfits
<laputafk> havent u heard tt one before?

<laputafk> good
<laputafk> all's swell and ends swell
<laputafk> knn TYPOSSSSSS
<Ferreteer> I like you Ana...you make me laugh with this pseudo intellectual talk
<laputafk> thank u
<laputafk> i dont try at all
<laputafk> its all effortless for me
<Ferreteer> good...keep it up...you might make member of parliament soon
<laputafk> no way. those bastards are sexist
<Ferreteer> ends swell?..LOL
<laputafk> why am i thinking that had sexual connotations for you o_O
<Ferreteer> oh not at all....I'm far from having sexual thots now
<laputafk> since when DONT u have sexual thoughts?
<Ferreteer> hey...I dont think of sex ALL the time....
<Ferreteer> there's a thinking without sex side of me
<laputafk> have i seen it?
<Ferreteer> there's thinking of sex without being horny
<Ferreteer> and there's thinking of sex whilst horny
<laputafk> hmm
<laputafk> wot an interesting division of all your thoughts
<Ferreteer> right now..it's a mix of thinking withiut sex and thinking of sex without being horny
<Ferreteer> hey I compartmentalise everything
<laputafk> this is prolly cos u've already wanked init
<Ferreteer> *whistles*

<Ferreteer> as for me...i'm not looking for your so called chem-X...i'm more of a soulmate kidna guy
<laputafk> the last time chem-x knocked on my door i found my soulmate too. and now my soulmate's off fucking some huge tittied curly-haired singing malay bimbo
<laputafk> fuck soulmates la. kanasai
<Ferreteer> that sounded funny
<laputafk> wot sounded funny?
<Ferreteer> "fuck soulmateslah" <-- that one
<laputafk> LOL
<laputafk> soulmates usually dont end up together. cos life is abt tragedies. boohoo
<Ferreteer> no....life is about recovering from tragedies
<Ferreteer> it's a series of falling down and moving up
<laputafk> u're a sunny side up. i'm jus scrambled
* laputafk grins
<Ferreteer> some ppl just fall too many times and they cant cope....depends on strength of character
<laputafk> wot do pple who cant cope do?
<Ferreteer> they whither away and die...
<laputafk> well, everyone has different coping mechanisms
<Ferreteer> yeah...mine is wanking and chatting up intellectuals
<laputafk> mine is half of yours
<laputafk> u should know which half
<Ferreteer> wanking?
<laputafk> yup. ahuh. spot on
<Ferreteer> sweeeeet

i am officially looking for m nasir's lambaian kekasih. if you have it, pass it on!! you'd earn my undying gratitude.

the union has spoken
<Ferreteer> hey your quotes all revealed my evil wanking side *sigh*
<laputa> LOL
<laputa> isnt that the best of our conversations?
<Ferreteer> i thot there were better excerpts
<laputa> ok next time we have psuedo poser intellectual talks i'll put up all the dry bits k
<Ferreteer> yesss....you are a dearie
<laputa> :-)

jus read hamdan's latest. almost made me cry for want of that life again. it's a crappy, bullshit system you're forced to subscribe to - you're nobody until the deadline is met. but hell the adrenalin sure is empowering. because if ever you make time for a nice dinner at a nice restaurant, you can look around at everyone else and smugly say "i don't get the rush hour blues." and then commence to devour your steak because you need to be back (in my "tour of duty") on location in 20 minutes and pour through another 4 hours of work. at 6 in the evening of a friday.

i am away for 6 hours and hamdan turns right around and pastes literary waterfalls on his blog. no doubt adrianna has done her quiescent job again simply weaving silk threads of prose, then leaning back to allow the fruits of her labour sow their own seeds of frothy grandiloquence in our fields of "journalisma". the ripple effect is breath-taking. i am trembling with a paroxysm to type type type.

in a reunion of similar minds, over teh and teh-o sha and myself talked about a fraternity of topics, mostly about the mental paralysis of her work. and it should be quite ironic that just a little over an hour before i had been writing about the sudden inkling to be overworked and underpaid once again. hamdan i think i'm turning into a believer of telepathy. while you were feverishly creating, we were laying out the verbal dissertation, of very much the same subject matter.

i am rambling and this is self-indulgent. except i need to state for the record that i am walking on the yellow brick road. but it will not lead to the wizard. it's a sprinting web of derangement that my mind is spinning in... mostly just with the need to express. and the latter fractions of my conscience reminding me that people don't mostly care. my subject matter is hopping from east to south. i am at a peak of journalistic high, with not very much coherence to string it all together. hamdan look what you made me do!

the signs on my yellow brick road are slurred, much as if the paint on the boards weren't allowed to dry before a humble submission to torrential winds. i do not know where i am headed. but i need to know that i am still walking, strolling, running. never, never sit down again ana. you've been seated far too long. you've been seated the last twelve months.

this ripple effect of journalistic expression is still choking me. and what i have written down thus far does minuscule justice to the whirlwinds in my head. i shall have to retire for a bit, to catch my breath. and i have just realised where i strayed - i was trying too hard to scream a point. there is no point to this entry. i apologise for having cheated you.

cruising through fabian's "chack" postulation reminded me of a debate i had with some guy over the conflicting identities of our malay youths. as usual he was slamming the black wannabes, but i, being the ever-zealous disagree-r (even if it meant contradicting my own opinion) started offering a viewpoint lesser seen and lesser thought of. such emulation might perhaps be attributed to their relating to another minority. and speaking as a minority i understand this need to be heard and seen. the american blacks have invented for themselves a loud, brash, trash-talking culture but as they say - any publicity is good publicity. so bad or good, their music has put their name on the map once again. and this time, it isn't chained and shackled to chains and shackles. it's silly of course, to emulate wholesale and completely adopt another culture. but youths being youths we are still groping in the dark trying to find ourselves. i know i still am. still, point taken - i do not completely subscribe to any one particular system of a sort, not even the one i was born into. except only just during hari raya. what can i say babe? gua melayu celup.

a mystery lingers over me. didi tells me about him once in a while. now everytime i meet her i know i can't escape wondering about him. how very ironic that she should be quite the pivot around which my not-so-distant past and now apparently not-so-distant future revolve. i spent nearly an hour around google trying to look for mister latent and his elusive band. always i find pieces of mention. but the spodgy images in my head won't even themselves out. lack of info. so lack of info.

ascertaining a new (to me) "search method" of google, i attempted to relieve the itch of my fingers (against my better judgement as usual) by keying in his full name. it mildly startled me. almost monomaniacal (as i have a tendency to be, in exact situations) my mind began spinning a delusional hypothesis that it could host a key to his past that might somehow lend me some answers. so i clicked.

of course for the best. i know i shall always feel compelled to tarry with this almost hypnotic urge. for the answers to his departure. for the answers to our failings. according to arden (dated april 11th), there are no answers. i beg to differ. there will always be answers. but they choose to come to you.

for the blues appreciator, do visit the new link in my header. KABC is the Kolam Ayer Blues Club, brand new and ravenous for members. be emancipated. (and sign their guestbook too please)

dear mister (or miss) furbyman (or woman), can my furby shit? cos i love to clean up after people and animals and provide the best of all excretory aids to all of god's creatures. is furby god's creature? does it come in pink? will it scream if i stab its cranium? how about with a paring knife? does it have a cranium?

the only saving grace of the day is the weather. if it was hot and sticky i'd gorge my eyeballs out. the weather tames me so i don't even mind the neighbours' contemptous crooning.

the weather is handsome - cool, dark, comforting. but we all lack the blankie, hot cocoa, mountains of movies, and a special body of warmth and dangly arms and legs.

it really is too bad i'm too vain to run in the rain. but i just might with the right company.

we regret to inform you, that due to the webmistress' most trigger-happy tinkering, the kitty page, the must-watch space and the prose pages have vanished. the webmistress offers her humblest apologies, and volunteers to start smashing her head repeatedly against a concrete wall to atone for this most disastrous blunder.

well here we go again. it always starts with one thing that inevitably leads to a complete facelift. well no matter.. sort of one of the incentives to keep checking back in. and i don't want to give a rat's ass if it hurts your eyes. slap them shades on. i'm going to catch my sleep.

sleep curls up and around me like smoke fingers. my gorgeous pillow she calls. but didi had to beg me for a swim. a tan! she says, i need a tan! god knows how with weather like this. chlorine will mess and tie my curls up in rough, sticky knots. would it be possible to just wade? maybe i'll bring kerouac along and sit in the pseudo-jacuzzi section contrived specifically for the helpless herd of the population hauled along by the (ultra-evil) pool-enthusiasts. someone should invent water-proof paper.

a headache (or migraine) is in full ambulation right now. are headaches and backaches the norm at 21 years? i feel so aged. the swim was COLD to say the least. we got chased out of the champion pool cause i was donning shorts. i concluded to didi that the champion wing had an image to keep, and the in look was body-hugging underwear. we snubbed them and trudged to the main container, torso shivering, teeth chattering and all.

on the day my curls are limp, my undergarments undesirably mismatched, and i decide to be fashionably awkward (green top and brown bottom ARGH!), 3 gangley guys opted to pick us up. one of them was perfectly bald, not that it was a problem. i guess the best thing about the whole experience was the fact that they weren't complete turn-offs. i'd love to explain how but the aching in my head is wrecking my focus. all i can say is they weren't all that bad.

we were sposed to wait for them outside when we were all dry and fully-clothed. but being women of the millenia we were too egoist to stick around. or perhaps it was only me. according to didi the ball was in my court. i guess i chose not to serve.

there was a trio of sex kittens (decked in bikinis, no less) romping around in the pool as well. i think we won the coin toss for our beached whale impersonation.

zai, a thousand apologies for the past few times over chat. as you can see, the website has taken a journalistic approach. i conformed, i've caved in. writing has always been an instinct of mine, but no one has ever truly inspired me. reading adrianna and hamdan and leo and fabian provokes me, animates me, impassions me to write. as a result, i'm continously sitting in front of the PC, with the world scrambling past (especially chat) waiting for anyone's next update and itching for my next stanza.

i am currently a paradox. i'm not unlike a catalepsic. but i'm emancipated and delirious.

by the way zai, i've not touched kerouac for 3-4 days now. i find his writing monotonous, although not dull. i guess i'm a regular plot-and-climax joe. i'll pick him up again when i remember to.

Huzzah, you're the fabulous Miss Jubilation Lee, also known as Jubilee. You're a smart-mouthed little bundle of energy who never lacks a snappy come back or witty retort. You're a bit irresponsible at times, but you can't help it if there are better things to be doing with your valuable time than studying or practicing. Pschaw!

i'm half diane and half susanna (kaysen). i'm the jekyll and hyde of generation Y.

the audience was asking for an update. i'm sorry i am unable to produce one at the moment.

Your view on yourself
You are down-to-earth and people like you because you are so straightforward. You are an efficient problem solver because you will listen to both sides of an argument before making a decision that usually appeals to both parties.

The type of girl/boyfriend you are looking for.
You are a true romantic. When you are in love, you will do anything and everything to keep your love true.

Your readiness to commit to a relationship.
You are ready to commit as soon as you meet the right person. And you believe you will pretty much know as soon as you might that person.

The seriousness of your love.
You like to flirt and behave seductively. The opposite sex finds this very attractive, and that's why you'll always have admirers hanging off your arms. But how serious are you about choosing someone to be in a relationship with?

Your views on education
You may not like to study but you have many practical ideas. You listen to your own instincts and tend to follow your heart, so you will probably end up with an unusual job.

The right job for you.
You're a practical person and will choose a secure job with a steady income. Knowing what you like to do is important; find a regular job doing just that and you'll be set for life.

How do you view success?
You are afraid of failure and scared to have a go at the career you would like to have in case you don't succeed. Do not give up when you have not even started yet! Be courageous!

What are you most afraid of?
You are concerned about your image and the way others see you. This means that you try very hard to be accepted by other people. It's time for you to believe in who you are, not what you wear.

Who is your true self?
You are mature, reasonable, honest and give good advice. People ask for your comments on all sorts of different issues. Sometimes you might find yourself in a dilemma when trapped with a problem, which your heart, rather than your head, needs to solve.

one problem with cultural conservatism:
to put it simply, and it's not a problem that only conservatives have, conservatives very often confuse (or conflate) ethics and aesthetics. when gertrude himmelfarb lambasts our (as she perceives it) 'amoral', 'sexually deviant' and 'polymorphously perverse' culture she is primarily responding to something that she finds culturally foreign and aesthetically threatening. i agree with her that values are oftentimes a good thing, but only when they are born of an ethical and pragmatic perspective, not an aesthetic one.

the conservatives want a seemingly neat and compartmentalised society wherein stable appearances are maintained and archaic cultural archetypes are adhered to religiously. i grew up in a world of rigid cultural archetypes. i grew up with white businessmen going to office buildings while their wives stayed at home and their kids went to school. or, more accurately, i grew up with alcoholic, adulterous businessmen who lived culturally insular lives while their wives took sedatives and smoked cigarettes and vented their frustrations on their kids, and these same kids took reams of drugs, got abortions, drove drunk, and victimised the weaklings. i grew up in what most conservatives would consider a utopia; lots of money, prestige, cultural cohesion, and good conservative values. but their values were in fact aesthetics, and maintaining these aesthetics ruled and ruined their lives. almost everyone in this suburban bourgeoisie system hated their lives, but because they had been brought up to worship these aesthetic myths they felt that to question them was an admission of personal failure.

i guess one of the good things about living in singapore is the fact that most of us are too bogged down and work-ridden to be keeping up appearances. but i'm not saying that we don't try to. i'm saying we're too busy to be socially screwing up. in fact that's the government's intention - to grind us to the bone so's they can wring from us worker drones maximum production and keep societal screw-ups minimal. that explains our crime-rate. if you were wondering how it is that our efficient little island still isn't offering 24 hour public transportation (cept for the weekends), it's a policy. providing 24/7 PT encourages people to stay out. that in turn, affects work performance, resulting in lower "maximum production". so you see with our wonderful country it's always about how much the citizens can do in national interest. they forget that without the people, you're only left with a cabinet of useless power execs and an economy that is crashing all around them. so if we do all decide to leave, we should do them a favour and bid them well with a shotgun in their hand.

i'm guessing leo woke up on the wrong side of the bed yesterday, to be ranting about train commuters. i'm a train commuter and the sad reality is, those "ding ding ding" announcements that "could make up an oscar award for longest sequence announcements" don't cut it anymore because they've become part of the audio landscape. at first it drives you nuts. but after a while you'll feel the fidget when you don't hear them anymore. to me the vexation doesn't lie with the dogged resolve of obstinate singaporeans, it's in why we even need the divisions in the first place. are our bodies made of cold, hard steel? are we walking along at such supersonic speed that in the event of a probable collision we wouldn't be able to brake in time? will we all cause major build-ups? why? it's insulting to our intelligence. and it truly is comforting knowing our parents' taxes are going into the construction of such helpful steel dividers and bright yellow arrows that ensure safety for the overwhelmingly perilous rush-hour human traffic.

a few months ago i was nearly picked-pocket by a foreign worker most vile and it happened right there around the steel divides. i was walking on the right side of traffic too. you'd have thought with such sophisticated measures they would at least install petty-crime-preventors. but of course not. what's petty crime compared to disorderly human traffic?

i was reading when i drifted to sleep. and then i was roused by the screeching of the bratty neighbour kids and their cousin. they were always saying their goodbyes, but the women continued to linger around the corridor broaching varieties of distant topics for the next twenty minutes. and that is how i was brought back to this sad consciousness. i hate the way they are so similar to my own childhood recollections, romping around, screaming, chasing each other to exhaustion while the mothers they sat and gossiped. in fact now sitting here still stumbling in the skidmarks of my slumber, i do believe my bunch of cousins were the worse riffraffs than those silly kids next door. i remember the 92 Malaysia Cup with us seated glued to the tube in heated anticipation less for the fire of the game than it was for the excuse to squeeze our lips through the rusted iron window grills and yelp, shriek, howl bloody murder in joyful floods of peccant expletives everytime the ball sailed past the malaysian goal post. i don't remember where all the adults were that night, but we had the house gleefully to ourselves. and if we had had a young, intolerant neighbour like myself, she would've kicked the door down and hung us all one by one at the swing on the sandy playground right beneath our windows.

it is both good luck and ill-luck that there should be only one of me to go around (har-har).

recommended website of the day. reading it all stultified me. see if you can fare better.

it's when you've spent two hours testing variables of a particular execution 200 times, and finally getting it almost right on the 201st try, that you really can't decide whether you love or hate said vehicle in question. in this case, dreamweaver's managed to exhaust me physically, sitting rigid in my chair trying to get it right. but it makes good substitute for valium. i'm turning in.

woke up to the bitchings of the juvenile sister oh joy! my sleep schedule has now officially wrapped itself around her school hours. that's not supposed to happen. i'm sposed to be asleep when she's AT HOME.

when i got up i had this ravenous urge to start writing a script. against my nature i mapped out a romantic comedy of sorts in my head. i've written the first three scenes. they look, to say the least, mediocre. i shall not allow this to happen. perhaps the story needs to take a certain sociopathic-homocidal twist. i'll have the audience regurgitating their popcorn by the end of the movie. shouldn't that be the spirit of horror?

i know i am infatuated with a stranger because i've been lying in bed for most of the day just thinking about him. but i'm in two minds about meeting him. physical contact always manages to dissipate the magic.

i'm sorry for hamdan and his latest misadventure. i've felt the surge of similar contempt for those dog virii authors. i've been lucky so far though. here's to hoping for damage control, minimal loss and a pedarastic nymphoid on the doorstep of every mofo-ing virii author in the world.

on a happier note, i jumped off the bed pumped with inspiration again. wrote another 3 scenes, but compared to my project in final year, this one just purely and completely reeks. i think i should just stick to dramatic hallucinogen-ous storylines.

i can safely say now, that perhaps it was a good thing those few pages disappeared, because hadn't they i'd have been bawling this night renaming and re-routing pictures. i've spent almost 4 hours re-organizing the despicable mess of my files and graphics. i just have to wonder though, why it is my room can't be as ordered. but i ponder objectively. my mother, being the naturally emotional phenomenon, is suffocated in perplexity everytime she allows herself a view. my poor mother.

the oddity of tonight's events, besides spontaneously shifting house, includes the reconvergence with a fellow chatter. he is besotted with me. i keep making him beg for my phonecall.

<salouki> and youd make me the happiest man alive tonite if you did write me down in your diart
<salouki> diary i meant
<laputa> i dont have a diary
<salouki> u do have a fone
<salouki> so call me
<salouki> please

such are the joys of the sexually empowered gender. i am retiring in 7 minutes, to my bed and to the phone. alas i have a heart, however lukewarm it may be.

reading adrianna's entry made me laugh out loud. reminded me of a certain something i'd read twilights ago about the woe's of the disabled and the people who try to help them. it's noble of course, but often times more perplexing for the receiver. which is why i don't offer at all. i understand, see. :-P

read leo's dissertion about the shrinking CD stores. i think what comes around goes around. for years the industry's been ripping its consumers off. cd + pamphlet + marketing production probably only costs half its final retail price. no i wouldn't mind paying for 15 tracks by my favourite artiste. yes i would mind paying for 9 miserable tracks by my favourite artiste. of course right after, he'd cease being my minion.what a rip-off!

i reckon it's mostly a difference of opinion tween mp3 fans (the resistance) and industry supporters (the imperial empire). personally i think artistes and their managements can live more than comfortably overpricing concert tickets and selling them out country after country, as per norm. if mp3s really were so corrosive the industry would be completely dead by now. as it is, nobody's moved out of pleasantville yet so i don't see what the problem is.

ps - why do people convulse over million-dollar artistes and their reclining sales (oh the horror! it's not true though at Napster's peak CD sales were climbing) when nobody's given a two-bit hoot about Nike's $0.08/hour sweatshops? such selectivity tsk tsk.

crushed, dried flowers sitting miserably on my floor. they fell out of my dictionary, where they had been quiescent one for possibly more than three years now, and the other about two. both memorabilia from archaic phases of my youth. one was experimentation. the other was a first love.

they are now both sitting on my floor in cushions of their own crumbs, withering in their dried, brittled states. i think i'll just leave them be. they'd feel like poison on my fingertips. sweet, indelible poison.

i've been deduced more today than i've been my whole life. it was quite the retro-introspective moment. almost like an awakening, but not quite. probably because i've been in-between so long the things that should shock only manage minor inexpectations. and i would write more but my chocolate fixture has dulled my senses and enticed me to a languor. i am shutting down. i do believe kerouac will be my lullaby tonight. hirwin thank you for the cigarettes, thank you for the chocolates (they used to be a battery but tonight they've become my valium). most importantly, thank you for the company :-)

i have been torpid, indolent, dawdling for almost 24 hours now. i've hardly slept, i've hardly thought, i've hardly lived. today goes down in the history of my life as having been completely and utterly catalepsic. i have nothing to write about except this passiveness in time. nothing is moving, everything rests here within me, around me. my insides they scream at me. my physique it is immotile. and time it is animated, it is laborious and it is untouchable to me.

i am beginning to suspect that perhaps half the world sits in morbid stupor with me. hamdan baby, you ain't the only one. i've been feeling like shit the whole day, simply speaking. the nicotine and processed cocoa combination will fuck up your brain. the vile concoction rendered me empty for almost one complete day. i estimate approximately 20 hours of inactivity. sleep was not sleep. sleep was tossing around the bed rolling in and out of semi-consciousness. mostly out.

i've met a lot of interesting people. exactly which one are you referring to? yesterday hirwin told me i write as if i was searching for myself. i've always been. except now i think perhaps i've found a calling. i don't know how long this fluidity will keep rolling off my fingers. i hope it never stops. i'll revisit my lost self if they do. and i'd hate if that happens.

i feel better now i'm snapping out of this self-induced lentor. and what do you mean i should stop doing alliterations?

eh, i just found out that leo is in talkingcock the movie. so now i know a movie star. yay.

i finished kerouac before i started here but i've only now thought to write about it. fabian was right - the ending was unsatisfactory. makes you want to jump into the pages, grab sal by the collar and scream "and then?? AND THEN?!!"

apparently kerouac took his readers 10 years down the road to dean in another book he wrote called Big Sur, but i'm still unsure of beat writing (although i think i tend towards that path sometimes) so i'll keep that for later, if at all i'd remember.

i've currently progressed to tom robbins and still life. the reviews mark him a genius. still life looks promising to me, as with everything unconventional. i've placed links on the left frame. i've placed a link to the royal tenenbaums as well, which i should have done weeks ago when i first caught it. i tend to neglect that frame. i extend my apologies to it.

the royal tenenbaums official website is delightful, but that's only because i'm completely biased towards it. i loved the whole aura of the movie. they seemed to be timeless. the whole family as a unit never ages. you can't put a finger on the timeframe. it's passe, but definitely not. this one's beyond me i can't describe it. and if you've still not caught it, shame on you indeed.

i skipped one full day. uncharacteristic of me, but i foresee more of such days to come. i am finally getting a life.

not completely in the mood to write so i shall be perfectly lazair faire tonight (see? it's begun). contrary to an earlier entry, i didn't think so much about mister latent around didi. we goof off too much to be deeply reflective. but we have our moments. i find myself always relating knick knack-y anecdotes of him to her, mostly because we're both intertwined in each other's lives more than we can fathom.

it's a time machine with didi, knob forever set to BLSS. the four years we spent separate thereafter left chasms for us to fill, and perhaps that's why we never tire of topics. but here's the real secret - we're the butts of our own merriments. us and the whole world. to write that our entanglement is almost spiritual would be grossly cliched. but not to is injustice. we are, then - spiritually entangled. two bestfriends trotting against the ebb of life.

it sickens me that i'm only able to write so much about the longest girlfriend i've had. i don't remember the first time we met again after poly, because we've both slipped so naturally, quietly back into each other. it's the favourite shoe story - you find them dusty and brittle, tucked away somewhere and you try them on again for kicks. and at first it'd feel completely odd, like the disorientation of jetlag, only you didn't just fly halfway across the world - you flew years back in time. but then you settle in, let the canvas sheath your feet, conforming to your toes, your heel, your arch. you let them prop your feet up on a table, ornamented once again. you let them lean you back, let them make you look. then they make you muse over how you got by their absence. and that's when they let you know that all those years you've been away doesn't matter. what's important is now. and now you're home again.

it troubles me that i find the above entry still lacking. i don't know what's missing. maybe it'll come to me in time.

anyway, to fund a future project of mine, i shall have to start selling my CDs. do peruse the titles, and please write me a.s.a.p if you find any that interests. they're dirt cheap, a drastic measure in the face of circumstances. please, please, please, please buy!!! (it just struck me that my little essay on CD production and the mp3 piracy has been slammed back in my face. no matter. as opposed to the industry i am not ripping you off! mostly.)

hardly slept. i think too much in bed. some additions to the list. please buy *begging on hands & knees with puppy dog eyes*

ode to my first customer
sold my first CD
to heaven-sent darling zee...
thank you sweeeeeeet!!

lisa! real good hearing from you again. leo and ismail are two completely different persons, but i think they were old mates so my guess is - they'd both heavily protest.

no prob bout eva. check out her wayfaring stranger it's an awesome blues-jazzy number.

zai, i'm sorry but i can't make it today and how am i sposed to message you without a number? my telekinesis antaenna broke at birth, severely impairing my ability to read minds. the best i do is body language. how about you ride to my place, stand under my window and mime your number?

it's physically draining fixing things up on the web. i'm always free-loading off the merry-go-round, and i don't need that at all. dreamweaver (i wouldn't know about other applications) is like forrest gump i reckon. you're always having to instruct it specifically, step-by-step, line-by-line, exactly which course of action to take. and woe is you indeed should you need to revamp, rename or re-move things around. i'd offer you a mentos, the freshmaker - the candy that sews a smile on your face even though you're knee-high in shit.

let's talk about "democracy" vs "oppressive conservatism". in one hand you can vote for your government, in the other you can't. in one you can sue the pants off anyone, in the other you can't. in one you can steal and get away with 2 months max, the other cuts your hands off. where's that line again?

you're always talking about the oppression of muslim states and how they dictate, how they bound their women, how they leave their people in poverty. what's the difference with say, america the epitome of justice, freedom and democracy?

american justice: defined by how many years, months, days defence manages to dicker off sentence, defined by how much plaintiff can con off defendant.

american freedom: defined by the right of women to don 15 centimetre skirts, 15m necklines and exercise sexual domination where she sees fit, then dragging any male unfortunate enough to be caught staring down the 15m or up the 15cm, to court. despite all these, sexual discrimination is still rampant in the workplace, and females still volunteer to be oppressed by walking on stilts to accentuate the calves and wearing push-up bras to accessorise careers; defined by the right of perpetrator suing house owner for leaving sharp wares in the kitchen, injuring the former at point of unlawful entry.

american democracy: defined by right of government to insist the concealment of military developments involving billions of tax payer's money, helped to fund middle eastern wars and develop strategic weapons of mass destruction; defined by right of government to meddle in someone else's politics when it has not solved it's own back door drug, racial, domestic, gang and school violence problems; defined by the refusal of government to apologise for the lost lives of vietnam, cuba, chechnya, palestine, japan, kenya, iraq etc et al; defined by government justifying a case for the rest of the world to continually support its actions, with or without their free will, for fear of sudden trade embargos and boycotts of a similar nature.

and then at the end of the day you tell me, that i should be grateful i'm not in palestine, or afghan, or pakistan. see the difference between the people of those countries and the people of "democracy" - in a war, a palestine, an afghan, a pakistani is fueled by his will, his excruciating need for liberation, his plenary central belief system, versus your soldier driven by the note stacks. belief and religion are no shields on the warfield. but at the end of the day, a dead unnamed soldier fighting for his truth will be missed more than any one of your named soldiers - marked by dogtags, fighting for a house, a ferrari and cable to go home to. dead unnamed soldier was home.

if i closed my eyes, i could pretend this was seattle, not that i've ever been to seattle. i've read books and i've watched movies about cold, wet, cozy seattle, so i imagine this is as close to seattle as i could get for now (throw in a few americans and it'd get even closer). it's dark outside (we're back in bright, humid singapore now). not like night but it definitely doesn't look like day. thunder grabs the skies in it's huge, gloomy hands every few seconds. some raindrops are dancing on the ledges of my corridor. the wind isn't blowing too much, but if i ran down right now and slid noisily on the grass to lay on my back and watch the rain fall head-down, i'd most definitely shiver. the cold, and the excitement. it's a beautiful rainy day.

i wish i could hug a cloud and let its cool, smooth winds curl around my arms, my body, play with my hair, slip in my nostrils and journey through my lungs. i wish my eyes would keep open when the rain skims my face. i wish i didn't have to guard my breathing so the water don't rush up my nose and give me a cold. i want to dispossess the sky and suck it all in - the solidarity of the earth and its wet plains, the wind and its silent singing, the rain and its wet, sleek skin. i want to be a droplet that lands in a lake and drowns and lives and rejoins the heavens on a hot, sunny day. but right now i just want to drag my bed out and lie on the wet, cool grasses, open to the elements of the soggy sky. it's a beautiful rainy day.

it's half an hour to another day and i'm dying to write something. anything. my days are so stagnant if i were a pond, i'd be dry. in which case,... i wouldn't be a pond. ok let's try the sloth - he who hangs supined and anastrophied from a branch, moving so dismally slow a flower blooming on sped footage spews more speed. thinking about the coming project though, launches my digestives into flurries of butterfly activity. i'm completely out of practise.

didi called me four times today. is that a record? we only conversed on one of the calls. i spent the other three knocked out on my bed, perceived of the blaring, chipped wailing, but too languid in my semi-conscious to garner on my solar plexus to pull my physical state out of bed. because my mental state is still very much in bed. she called back anyway so what's the big deal?

she's still planning her holiday. i had her on my case for a few weeks about june and whether i could make it to thailand. that's the shite bout freelancing - officially recognising your slavery to the cause (whichever cause that becomes the hand) means you've revoked (almost) all conventionally legal employee rights. the best thing about freelancing however, is being able to take all the toilet breaks in the world. hah. beat that you wretched corporate shite (i'm pleased with how fast my expletive collection is growing).

You've got a lot to say, and you'll talk until it's all out, and for
some reason, no one tries to shut you up. I guess you actually
make sense most of the time. Almost everyone likes you, and
it's not just because you're cheap. Haha. Cheap as in thrifty, of
course. You get a bit depressed now and then, but who doesn't?
You seem to have a little anger built up inside, but who doesn't?
You like to stare at people through their bedroom window while
they're changing, but who doesn't? You sick bastard.

i bought this album as a tribute to a friend who left, and in the wake of his decession remained the rest of us all, hurt and desolate from his absence. i hardly knew him, but on that drizzled, overcast day the stabs of pain shot through my heart like bullets from cold, unerring snipers - piercing and dead centre. i had lost a good friend. we all had.

it has been a little over 6 years now, and i still think about him intermittently. and i still miss him and wish he hadn't left us all. he was sweet. sometimes i wish i had fallen in love with him, but my heart would've absolutely withered. we all know that God loves him, infallibly more than any of us, because He's swept him away and left us all standing in the wrecked mines of this earth. that's the difference with Hisham (as opposed to a lot of others who've left before and after), the fact that that fact is crystal clear. maybe his departure sugar-coated the memories (as they often tend to do). and if that were so, i'll never be able to explain how hard i cried that february day, or the following monday. or how i still miss his sweet smile.

this does not surprise me. it was the damn republican question. quizmasters are lazy asses. they just come up with one question that'll define who you are, then invent the other 271 to make it look real thought-through. look at that they couldn't even spell conservative right.

Your choice of life style has enabled you to live a nice long life.. To eventually die of a stroke, or was it a heart attack? Either way you out lived just about anyone that gave a shit about you anyway.. Congrats.

this just fucking epitomises the normalcy of my fucking existence. i am NOT NORMAL! fuck do they actually have to use REAL corpses for this quiz?!! narbey.

i stole the link off someone's blog. had originally intended for a copy of her images here, but i figure she's been exploited enough. never underestimate the calculative steel of big orgs against the common people. in some societies, sharbat gula surpasses even "common".

i dreamt that bugs bunny confessed his obsession for me. no joke. but of course he was only symbolic. i'm concluding that dream had a lot to do with what didi conveyed to me yesterday.

sometimes i wonder why she feels the need to keep me updated. i don't really want to know. but when she confesses she's got some hot piece of news she's dangling honey from a spoon and i can't resist sticking my tongue out to stroke it. yummy, indeed.

it truly and completely sucks waking up hanging over from whichever crap emotion you'd experience. it's not enough we gotta be scared, angry, sad in R.E.M. we gotta feel the same conscious too? of course the feeling dissipates. but nothing ruins your day more than waking up feeling... lonely.

frankly i had a lot of dreams because my sleep was interrupted as much as there are stops on the east-west line. but bugs bunny stuck to me (not only because he is talking, grey, cartoon and wabbit). i guess dreams try to make up for what's missing in reality. i don't get much tease (grevious isn't it), so my subcon feels the need to permeate that space. i really don't need it subcon. what i do need you to fill in for, is.... uhm, how about some wes bentley?

as you can jolly well see, this week has etched for itself a very online-quizzy feel. everyone's either busy with exams, work (read: slavery) or introspective spars, so blogs the whole place are being neglected. not mine, as most of you are already privy. i live separate from the sphere of conventional life. how do i like it?

hung out with K and Hani, where the day has torn down (the berlin wall equivalent of) at least two formed stereotypes (from where i'm standing). #1 - Hani is (or she might attest to it being in the past tense) besotted with now-defunct boyzone. she has a girl-rock, local scenic look so you can imagine my surprise (no actually of course you can't). #2 - Hani relents that not all her sister coursemates are dumb-blondish, stuck-upperoos thanks to the few of us, myself included (i hope). it has been a ground-breaking day.

i am currently fascinated with a blog-friend of zee's who calls herself rina. i do not know where she comes from, who she is or who she sings for (if at all she sings but i deduced that she does having viewed a recent image of herself holding a huge black microphone in her hand... i do hope that was a microphone). but i do know how she looks like (evidently), roughly the kind of music she favours, and that she is sweet and i dare say, completely simple. quiet, unpretentious girls charm me, possibly because i see in them, all the emblems i am not, and therein lays the attraction.

no i am not turning both ways (in the past i'd have trusted you to trust me but i have learnt some things need to be sketched perfectly black and white :-P ). quickly pirating off hamdan's blog, i feel a phileo love with my female kins for obvious reasons. some men i've met are always enunciating a distaste for their friends. of course it's natural to snub some of our own. and then it's natural to embrace some others.

i am about halfway through tom robbins and still life. he is bizarre. he is quite discernably the south of rice's north, who reveres the fantastic dark, the tragic and the beautiful. tom robbins apotheoses reality, so excruciatingly it makes you groan. he writes everything rice abhors (as a goth of her calibre would). rice sugar-coats, robbins sucks it all off and hands you the raw core. he'll tell you to keep it. but as writers they both weave silk that'll hardly ripple liquid. quite predictably, i highly recommend robbins.

now i don't quite know to land the literary plane on an airstrip of closure, so this shall be it. i am the mistress of anti-climaxes.

stumbled into dee in chat (dee, didi, fiddle-dee-dee) and i was so glad i did. she gives me warm, fuzzy feelings. the feeling for rina is not dissimilar. only with diana it's almost hopeless magnetism. and these girls they're no margaret thatchers (we shall thank God shall we?) or cleopatra. but the kitten still has claws. i guess what draws me to dee is her quiet resolve. and the way she lets me be irretrievably silly. dee and didi. i'd wear wigs and red noses for these two. here's to dee's lustrious academic career, and safe journeys wherever. i miss you babes.

i am always, always forgetting to target my links properly. very sorry about rina. she's fixed now.

if you would believe it, i dreamt about batman. i was part of his gang (i hadn't knowledge he had one before today). the villain was the ultra scary dracula, and in it he was not beautiful, nor very charismatic or irresistable. in fact, he looked like a giant, mutated bat. the first part of the dream consisted of an opening sequence of sorts from a movie. the title, get this, was "dracula against disneyland". i don't know wtf i've been watching to warrant R.E.M. like this.

anyhow i remember the image pretty well - dracula the giant, mutated bat was standing atop a castle roof snarling, waiting for batman and our hero comes swooping in out of nowhere and dracula starts giving chase. and it was feverishly animated too (i was holding my breath). the giant, mutated bat was literally at the feet of our normal, superhero bat. finally batman found a window small enough for him but not big enough for drac. he flew in for refuge and to buy some time to re-evaluate future plans. and in there helpfully laid the three of us, his sidekicks, his bandits, his shivering drag-alongs.

this temporary refuge happens to be a toilet. i didn't see cubicles, i didn't smell excreta and i didn't hear flushing, but you know how dreams have a way of just being. so that was that. we were all stuck in a toilet with drac snarling and prowling and scowling outside, probably re-evaluating his dinner plans too (now i'm going to need three extra garnishings stead of one! bother!). finally we came up with a plan (actually i thought it up but somehow batman voiced it out first.. of course since he's the main superhero and a prodigy out-thinking his teacher would look bad on DC Comics). we were gonna bust out of there.

so we assumed our positions. now apparently, in the toilet we were regular civilians. but upon will, we can transform ourselves into our courageous alter-egos. no booths, no batcaves. is that cool or what?

well so now the next scene was intensed. imagine the camera suspended in mid-air, and the shot is of the side of a castle, where a bunch of superheros have suddenly broken through glass windows and are flying magestically out. and, an engaging soundtrack to top it all off (i swear i could still remember the tune when i woke up). i don't know how but suddenly we were all bound together with long ropes, whose ends dangled drac's evil citizens. so we started swooping around ramming the villians against the side of the castle until all that was left of them was blood and bones. and then we untied each other.

and that was that. we didn't kill dracula of course, the main villain never dies. but we never knew what happened to him.

a few weeks ago hanging out with didi, she bought a women's weekly for $3. they had sultry kelly hu on the cover, looking more latino than oriental. anyway, one of the features was spicing up your sexlife (the most overrated cover for female magazines what's new). the noble four-page spread attempted to tutor our poor, clueless singaporean women on making full use of the entire house. some advise on utilising completely new, never-thought-of-before places, such as the bathtub - "be sure to wipe yourself thoroughly first after you get out cause you wouldn't wanna catch a cold!" (sure, it's really no sweat interrupting 40 minute foreplay to dry our cold, pruned bodies) "oh, and staircases make excellent spots too! just be sure to lace your butt with a rug cause it can get pretty uncomfortable on a hard surface (no pun intended). oh and if you're expecting company, try to keep some clothes on." wow how'd they get so creative?

and then cleo's february issue (which somehow landed in my sister's hands) tried to school its loyal fanbase on the art of tantric sex. tantric sex from a magazine? why do women buy these rip-offs? i don't need to pay $5 for a collage of skinny women, 150 pages of advertising that tells me how i should look like, and tardy karmasutra. these magazines are selling pure, simple logic and plain gossip (hmm now gee i've been fucking my husband/boyfriend/lover in the bedroom for 20 years now i think it's time for an itty-bitty change and my life would take on whole new meanings if i only knew who julia roberts or drew barrymore is fucking this time). and women are actually endorsing this million-dollar industry, paying other gleeful socially-equivalent (and for all we know, equally quite socially-inapt) women money to tell them what to wear, do and eat. you know something else? it's actually perceived trendy, like the VISA or Amex. "oh wow look at that femme power exec reading that female magazine she must be a really independent, millenium chick. ain't nobody'll tell her what to do."

sometimes i think empowered women volunteer to be stereotyped. if you're so dogmatic and (financially and emotionally) emancipated, why would you need to look like this spring's collection, or sex tips from glossy papers? our local magazines have long since lost their depths (if at all they were trying to achieve any... which i highly doubt), but the local women sure have evolved with them superficially. kudos to us all.

i've added a page. i saw it done (very similarly, shame on me) by at least two people, both of whom i've grown to admire and respect. so i caved. it's called the who, you can find the link in the bottom frame. a lot of people have told me they still don't know me after this place. i find it most odd. but i understand i'm an acquired taste (que: gag). maybe you'll understand why after a spin to the new wing.

as you've discerned by now, i've also added a "cover page". i don't know why. possibly to brace the masses. it also saves me the apologies whenever someone goes "oh my eyes!". least now they've been warned. i feel an imperative to embrace graphics. but i don't have any to spare. well i do, but they are in urgent need of photoshop makeovers, which is impossible right now since i'm only running on 700MB space. makes multi-tasking increasingly difficult. once again i stress i need an upgrade.

hamdan's completely disappeared. and i think i might know where to. but i won't foil the surprise. let's see what's up his sleeves. i'm slowly but surely retreating into a kind of sanctum sanctorum, an almshouse for the spiritually hungry, an introspective acropolis. i'm always feeling the need to withdraw, and it started soon after i picked up writing again. i feel calmest anonymous. i dread to think of the transition back into workhell. father time he stands on the other side of the court, watching his waist-pocket-watch and gleefully chuckling at me. "you're running out, my precious. you're running out!"

and time is my sacrificial lamb, as is everyone's. the world spins on dollar notes, earned by clocking minutes, hours, days. this is so bitter, knowing i haven't much time left at all. you wicked old man. i should drive a paring knife deep in your cranium so that all the sands between your fingers stop flowing and progression ceases and no one ages, or dies, or hungers or thirsts.

i want to completely let go so i can stop dreaming about him. it's emotionally taxing everytime you think you're perfectly fine and dandy, and then your subconscious goes and ruins it all stirring your murky depths and handing you the cracked mirror of your abysmal fears. how do you invent a closure for the gaping passages of sudden death? father time's laughing at me again. "see, girl? if you stab me in the cranium with a paring knife, and all the sands of time stop flowing, how will you heal? how will you ever heal my incorrigible, irreclaimable girl? kill me indeed!"

muff (as he so insists to be called) is the latest addition to our gen Y-ers up there. go be columbus and discover the new continent.

it started to be a rather frantic evening when my sis brought home a distressed adolescent kitten, whose face had been smeared with tiger balm. the poor feline was rolling and writhing on the ground trying to shake off the hot spice. the mofos. there is an archaic malay belief that if you rub axe oil or tiger balm on their noses, cats will lose their way and never find home, very handy for when you've tired of the small kitty whose outgrown its cuteness. assheads. some people just bundle science off in a time machine set for the middle ages.

we bathed the poor fella. i don't know if that helped at all. and it was quite the flurry of activity in this household, my sister pleading with my mother, who is wrapped only in a towel anticipating a peaceful evening shower (she was obviously getting more than she ever bargained), then perplexed by the audacity of her eldest daughter running about the house in a skimpy singlet, brassiereless to top it all off. and in the middle of it all was distressed kitty, who could hardly keep its eyes open for all the tiger fumes, dipped in lukewarm water and scrubbed with pantene. poor distressed family.

that's zarfan, laid bare. i cannot describe his writings, other than that his words on strings of stanzas are painfully beautiful. sitting myself down next to him on the ferris wheel of literature would be sacrilegious, but i do not lie when i write, for the record, that i aspire to weave like him. how do you explain it when the writings of someone clutches at your chest and suffocates you, and the only beginnings of release is pen and paper (on a personal basis, monitor and keyboard)? aspirations are noble, but everybody fears falling short. always. and here i am.

and i've been staring at the monitor with multitudes, collages, googleplexes of thoughts. but nothing registers. this is my que to exit stage.

i share a love-hate relationship with my father. it started when i was 13 and wildly rebellious. because we were so similar, we couldn't stand each other. handling a teenager for the first time, my parents, understandably, laboured quite miserably. i was black beauty, with most the black and little of beauty, running free on the wild plains, no reins daring to tame me.

it was diuturnal damage to our relationship. my father hardly talks to his daughters now, my mother our bridge and i reckon, his sanity in this household. his is quiet resolve, and piercing sarcasm. his is wisdom and honesty. and his is sacrifice.

he rises at dawn every sunday, his only restday of the week, to drive a blue comfort from 6am to 9pm. just so we could make that mark by the end of this year. just so i could get out of here. just so i could hit the books again, in a foreign land.

and everytime i'm awake at the dawn of sunday i wish to tell him not to go, that we will get by, that i will start my own very soon, that he should get his rest. but i stay in my room. because i cannot face him my father, the man who breaks his back for his family. who breaks his back for me.

today he turns 51. our mother passed a card around for us to sign, so i did. i was up when he came home from his jog, the wrapped mystery and the enveloped wishes on the kitchen table. in my room i wanted so to just wish him, verbally, a happy birthday. but i closed the door instead. when will i learn to speak to my father again?

an email made my day. people take the ease of technology for granted. they don't realise a pleasant electronic hello speaks volumes. i plead guilty. now i have learnt. thank you.

and because they shared with me, now i shall share with you. these are not mine. they are anonymous to me, like the person who made my day. i hope you like them.

my girlfriend died laughing at one of my funny faces. her friends were kind, and told me i shouldn't feel guilty; that she would have wanted to have died that way. they weren't there as her musical laughter turned to chokes, grunts and her death rattle. when i stopped grieving i found a beautiful new girl to love. she died laughing at a joke i made about her feet. the next one passed away similarly. my last girlfriend didn't die. she left me. she said we never had any fun together, that she wanted a man with a sense of humour.

after the shipwreck i was devastated and cried for weeks. when i emerged from my grief i realised that my girlfriend's death shouldn't be the end of me. i found someone as pretty and nice as her, and eventually i invited her on a beach holiday. my old girlfriend was washed up on the shore. she's been clinging to a plank for fourteen months, living on raw fish, rainwater and her love for me. i was faced with a choice. my new girl won because the old one was skinny and bedraggled, and besides, the water had made her all crinkly.

xanthe left me. i found out her new address, and returned the kettle she had left behind. the next day i took her a book she had lent me. i found a box of hairgrips, and delivered one each day. if she wasn't home i would post it with a long letter explaining how i had found it on the floor. when i had returned them all, i took her, on the tip of my finger, a tiny ball of dust. 'i remember seeing it fall from your dress one afternoon,' i said, 'the pretty one, with the flowers on it.'

hirwin, thank you for the scented blue ceramic. my day is now truly complete :-)

self-imposed withdrawal, as with most everything experimental, is the springboard you hit on your dive down. i sit here almost languid and dusty, yearning for a mental spark. unfortunately, a party night in the middle of the school exams is one more reason for another fraction of society's majority to be removed from me, a step up on the ladder of exclusion. by now some are high on a multifarious of spirits. the rest on a factoid libation, necessary for regurgitations on specific days, at specific times, in specific places. either way all of them are drunk on something. i'm the only sober ass, which explains my seclusion. but don't i have only myself to exprobrate.

woke up hung over from sleep, but i couldn't drift back to dreamsville because #1 - it was too warm, #2 - i was too indolent to adjust the fan, #3 - i am nursing arrantly foul ant bites. deplorable insects. to date i must've received over 30 bites in all the past one year. my only obliquity my pair of thongs (the ones you wear on your FEET). they would not yield to a pair of tight levi's either evidently, 2 of the 6 acquired bites sitting happily on each side of my inner thighs (no they never once came off in case you wonder). argh!! what did i ever do to you execrable insects! *scratch**scratch**scratch*

she has officially fulfilled her annual obligation. every year, for her life to attain supreme plenariness (the highest, the full circle, the superlative divinity in the order of all individual intellectual lifeforms), her physical capacity must miss a step, or slip on wet/slippery/waxed surface, and prostrate or supine, over cold, hard concrete. today, not only did she attain her highest ordainment, she went two steps further - she stubs her big toe and grazes her knee. her left leg is now quite (artistically if she might add) the complete canvas for the insect and gravel artistes. she will be on exhibition to the whole world the rest of next week, FOC.

third persons aside, the toe stung for five complete minutes, after which it proceeded to throb, demanding my undivided conscious attention throughout the rest of the day. so the eldest daughter of the family hobbled about the carpark, into the complex, into the restaurant, out again and all around queensway SC. the good news (as is supposed with every mishap, an invention of man for assuage) is that the toe is not purple, or misshapened. it looks the way it feels right now - completely tender. the flipside of that is having people throw skeptical glances in your direction. i bade them all a stubbed toe.

i opted to remain at QSC, since my dad had to rush the family home to resume his weekend driving. besides, i desperately needed a new top (for whatever reasons that will make a story for another day). QSC reeks. it used to have diverse ranges of little-known far-out knick-knacks but they are pretty mainstream these days, woe is me. i hobbled around the place twice (i should think. i can never figure it's topography) before finally settling for a red-orangey flush of prisms. it was the second best i could find at the best place i could find, the first (choice) costing twice of what i had with me. after doubling-back, before i could reach for it, one half of an oblivious couple lifted it and remarked that it was for complete morons. it didn't look moronic on me (not very). it's soft and it fell over nicely. sides, its purchase meant i had 3 bucks left to spare, a tidy sum for a neat pack of cigarettes (aren't i clever). what's another moron eh?

i found a nice quiet spot about 10 minutes (by hobble) from the SC. it was cosy and right next to a curious looking architecture. until someone, perhaps wanting proudly to show it off (or more possibly only fulfilling his labour for the day), decided to switch it on. at first the water fell in fierce, sloven spurts. then it tamed and i sat there sucking on my sticks for the next half an hour, not completely mesmerised but fascinated nonetheless.

there are many cosy residential nooks i've deliberated to live in someday (although i don't rule out a complete expatriation). meiling drive/road has offically made my list.

i don't know why i woke up. i was probably tired from trying too hard to sleep. yes, that can happen. it happens to me all the time.

i read somebody's journal entry about a funeral she attended. it was her friend's, and he took his own life. a few years ago i'd have scoffed and wondered why anyone would murder themselves. but i'm wiser to the world and its scheme of things now. everything is shades of gray (as opposed to black and white, for all you optimists and you know who you are).

it's painful. i won't profess to know how she feels because i don't. but a year ago i was faced with its very real prospect. it wouldn't have mattered if it was just me. my presence here today, or otherwise would've exhibited that outcome very simply (although the topic wouldn't have been broached in quite the same manner). what made it completely tragic was having to watch through glass windows. there were no doors. he refused to let me in.

it's not easy being the audience. it's a lot simpler than the starring role, but is that supposed to be comforting? it hurts the most knowing you can't ease their pain, they wouldn't let you touch them. they're isolated and alone and they wouldn't let you touch them. it doesn't matter how hard you cry. believe me, i cried.

there are never straight answers to suicide, no reasons why. it doesn't matter anymore if he was trying to flee financial woes, or if her heart was so shattered it choked her. they're all gone. and they leave behind the broken china. everybody else picks up the pieces.

i think everybody suicidal should think about the ones who love them. superficially that sounded supremely indulgent (and please believe me when i say i'm not trying to be morally righteous because this is not a moral issue), but it's so much more selfish breaking all our hearts. it's way too simple to state this, but i will because i can - the challenge is life, not death. i hope everyone i love continues rising to it.

would you remember your struggle of the first morning ritual since the water heater broke? did you survive it with one dysfunctional leg?

i am tired. i'd love to write but i seem to be lacking the usual ardour. does the real world have a right to murder the paroxym, fervour and rapturous hysterics of the passionate?

the day began quite bizarrely. i came on time, only to be stuck in the rain, rendering me late. i hobbled in the later drizzle, the worst of my situation not unlike tightrope walking. i came into divinity yesterday, so graceful fate refuses to allow my knees and/or derriere the gratification of kissing the gravelled ground again.

at half past nine, with the rest of the corporate world drowning in seas of caffeine feverishly poring, collating and composing (dry non-fiction unfortunately), i found the office locked, vacant and dark. so i hopped on a table, swung my legs and caught up with robbins. later, as the office began to fill, conversations would alternate between schedules, shoots, scripts and the latest pitfalls of unfortunate-cast-member(s)-of-the-moment. they basically paid me to catch up on the scene (albeit a few minor errands - the cardinal to keeping up appearances). these are one of our normalcies, which was why i was torn at the beginning about whether to call it bizarre. i've been away for one complete year. culture shock all over again.

in my boudoir back home, i became obsessed with plucking my brows, because all the assistant producers (all my peers, all my schoolmates, now all my colleagues) have theirs perfectly shaped. i don't know how they manage looking so good keeping the shitty hours. of course i'm far from looking as composed (farthest in the posse), but i figure i could start with things within my sphere of control. like the shape of my eyebrows.

i'm just like all the rest. did you think i sit around at home growing my armpit furs and twirling my leg hairs? this is basic grooming. i'm still redemptive long as i don't catch the tantric sex fever from some glossy step-by-step-by-step guide.

my brows are still tender (though not as my toe), but it helps knowing they're non-reflective of me - heinously unruly.

ps - i meant to upload a few more songs. i will tomorrow when i have the extra hour since eyebrows don't grow back overnight (hallelujah to that)

pps - oh yes sha touches down tonight. welcome back to this side of existence babes.