For the sake of those people who has been bugging me to post something (even for the sake of doing so).. .. I Shall.. .. Despite my screwed up archives and a lil less screwed up layout (chosen by me with tempation in mind) -snickers-

Do you know that the fall of communism in Hungary, was due in part to Gorbachev's policies, in part to nationalist sentiments, inter alia. Hungarian communism was in fact toppled by rock music. Not just any rock music - but "Beatles, Cream, Traffic and Jimi Hendrix".

Imagine if Limp Bizkit and Linkin Park had been the vanguards for rock music then. It would be highly probable the iron curtain would have never been felled. Likely scenario: "Results May Vary", since "In The End, it doesn't really matter", they'd all be screaming themselves to hernia about how they'd like to "heal" and "feel" the "things they never knew"; things like democracy, free speech, Coke, Pringles chips, MTV. On the other hand, good old rock and roll, in its days Before Being Bastardized, just tells you that Strawberry Fields are Forever. Definitely more substantial material to stage a revolution to!

If the protagonists have their way, an "institute to study rock music's global influences" will be established. This blogger would like to sign up as a Fellow of research, specializing in The Smashing Pumpkins, Tool, Radiohead, Nirvana. But hell, I'm versatile on this one. Let me join the teenybopper-undercover camp and I'll find convincing data to prove the inverse relationship between the level of braincells and a fondness for Good Charlotte, Simple Plan, and of course, Limp Bizkit.

On to soccer..........

I thought my team can redeem itself against the scum last sunday, after last December's embarrassing defeat we'd rather forget. I've long said I identified with Liverpool on many levels, especially that of underachievement - and if they win, it might be symbolic for me as well - redemption after years of disappointment.

Because I've never needed to hear You'll Never Walk Alone more than this.

Some people have asked, "Why keep a blog when you don't blog regularly?"
My Anwer, "Why remain with your boyfriend if you don't love him anymore?"

As warp as this analogy might be, I believe it speaks volumns as to why I ain't blogging as much as I use to. I intend to arrest that problem by changing the template of my blog to something nicer (at least in mine opinion). Change it, in order to give it a new lease of life. Change it, that it might inspire me to blog more.

The last weeks had been rather hectic. Rather emotional and extremely detrimental to my pocket. However, as we enter into the 2nd last week of the semester, things are seemingly better. Better in the sense that its anything but the above. Alas, somethings are too good to be true, especially applicable to life in Temasek Polytechnic. Why does this week seem particularly relaxed then? Answer (no prizes for guessing) : Its the study week!

Yes the study week, the week that brings so much joy and pain to everyone's life. Joy as it signifies the end of the projects! Pain as it indicates the start of the exams! Ironic don't you think?

Alright, I assume thats too much nonsense in 1 day, I must be mugging too much. As what a friend of mine would say, "I better get my sexy ass off the computer chair and do some serious mugging for the day."

Finally an entry in a long while.

Well I've change the outlook of my blog as all of you can see.. this I'm sure looks more "boyish". I had to change it in order to silence the critics and unappreciative. I would not go into finger pointing though you know who you are.... Hehehe... Calling my blog gay and all! Some ass even said it had the same outlook as a Pornsite! GrRrr...

Anyway, feel free to tag on the board if you do visit.. the entries found there regarding colours and cursors are all referring to my old blogskin.

Keep the tags coming and I'll do my part by writing more too!

Ciaoz!

I indulge:

Smashing Pumpkins first thing in the morning to overdue analysis of two poems some prose and some drama. There is only one shot one opportunity and you know this just means I've been listening to too much eminem (shoot me).

I'm losing the plot.

9.50pm, 5th October.
Def Leppard on Kazaa playlist. You held my hand and then you slipped away. And I may never see your face again. So tell me how to fill the emptiness inside. Without love, what is life? And anyone who knew us both can see. We always were the better part of me. I never wanted to be this free. And all this pain, when does it go away?

Then everytime I turn around. And you're nowhere to be found. I know

I gotta long long way to go. Before I can say goodbye to you. Oh, I gotta long long way I know. Before I can say goodbye. To all I ever knew, to you. To you........

I am asked, how can you study when you obsess so much about music at the same time? To which I replied that if not for the music I'd be distracted anyway by the voices in my head. What do the voices sound like? They sound like Billy Corgan telling me next time I'll be perfect and Thom Yorke instructing me to stand up, sit down, that two and two always make a five. Why such music? Maybe it's your choice of genres.

I thought so too but then even with Rachmaninov I hear things. What things? I dunno, Sergei Rachmaninov saying something to me in Russian so I don't understand him but the music, the brilliant piano, the orchestra, appeals to me at my most private, the most intimate sphere I have never shared with anyone else; that which 2 years of classical training from childhood had placed in me. I was happiest then, with complete and unchallenged mastery over my instrument of choice. They spoke for me and let me say things I could not find words to. Individual brilliance was outshadowed and kept in place by the collective effort needed to produce something collectively brilliant. Who would have thought, in time, I would have given up on what I had built up in those 2 years, true to the characteristic weaknesses which now haunt me in every aspect.

Today Jimmy Eat World tells me "I could be so much more than this" (My Sundown).

I fall in love easily - and am always too eager to rekindle old flames. (another story for another day.) Returning to your old lovers is never easy, but when they're your first loves in life, things can only get better..

I'm losing the plot yet again.

No time no time no time no time no time for next time

This world leaves so much to be desired. Yes, I know that you know that and so does the rest of the world. But it's true! No matter what they tell you about grades not really mattering, and how academic success doesn't make a person... that's rubbish, lah. I mean, grades aren't EVERYTHING, but let's look at it this way. If you have good grades AND a good personality and all that, then great! If you have all that minus the grades then it's sayonara to whatever dream life you anticipate.

Actually, i'm kind of fed up with myself. My self-confidence is at an all time low. (BTW, i'm warning you, if you HATE HATE HATE narcissism/self-pity, run for your life.) the PROJECT SUBMISSION DATES ARE NEXT WEEK, and i'm SITTING IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER. What does that say about my self-discipline? That it is non-existent? Yup. So, even if I do wanna get into the Director's Honours List, what are the odds of getting it when competing with people who are perfect A students? I might as well give it up. Shawn Tan is lazy imbecile. I'll be lucky if i can even get all As to qualify for the DHL. Well, look at it this way, all I need is to improve by 2 grades! How hard can that be? I think i'm going mad. Wait i'm mad already, aren't i? I talk to mannequins. ugh. see my point?

One day you came up to me and asked
"Which is more impt, my life or yours?"
And I said mine.
You walked away sadly not knowing that
You are my life.

You are falling like candlesticks which outgrow gravity. You are miserably happy, and nobody will inform you, "The world grows old, and the young learns too late. Take your eternal caress and leave it in my womb."

There is actually much point in writing all this down. Existence in its simplest form is a real beauty. I am honestly quite bored of playing the cool observer of my world. I write everyday (though not on this blog) observing I have always been fond of green apples, and will probably continue to do so for some time.

I do not presume too much about anyone's knowledge these days, not least yours. Not that I presume your stupidity (though ... I have quite often declared it ...) but your stupefying ignorance once rose like a backward tsunami, and it was terrifying to say the least! I say this partly in jest, but ah, since I never take myself seriously, you might consider this a rather accurate reflection of my intentions.

Tonight I forsake my books once again for the gentle caress of my fingers on the keyboard. It is all I can muster, but my glee must attempt suicide soon. I need to wait for somebody, and guess what, my sweetest person, I think I shall wait for you.

Imagine that. Yes, I do agree it is a most stunning conclusion!

Just a quick note before I disappear completely, in the name of academic focus:
Happy national day (time for mandatory reflection upon this momentous event; I must be getting old - felt vaguely moved by NDP2003).

Written On The Body
Articulacy of fingers, the language of the deaf and dumb, signing on the body body longing. Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark... I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut

Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story. I didn't know that Louise would have reading hands. She has translated me into her own book."

The most famous excerpt from Winterson's "Written On The Body". I keep running to her (and Shakespeare, Nin, and Rich) for words I cannot find. My curiously sordid history has been frequently described by those who don't know better as a trophy cabinet with past conquests proudly on display. Truth betold, I am a diehard romantic at heart (albeit there has to be some redefinition on what "love" and "romance" is): there are only a few people in this world who are so close they know how much of an ardent romantic I am (in my own warped way), or who know how my heart skips a beat in every cycle (I never had a steady heart). You are one of them but it took me a long time to learn to say so. The articulacy of fingers is a given here - Winterson was not my spokeswoman of choice by coincidence. All else is visible only in certain lights. Are we done translating, or are we in the midst of it? The recognition that there was never a need for definition. Even in midsleep I know it is you as the phone rings in another room. I kick myself for pretending to be uninterested and aloof when I really want to say a hell lot more. It took me a long time to learn to say all that already, and I'm still learning. Still translating. But I wouldn't have it any other way. All that simply translates to, I choose to be the figure in that light,/half-blotted by darkness, something moving/ across that space, the color of stone/greeting the moon, yet more than stone:/a Man. I choose to walk here. And to draw this circle.

Current Soundtrack of Choice is Wu Ding by Jay Zhou and that girl ( I dunno her friggin name)

I will now Disappear Completely. You know where to find me.
The rest of you - this is goodbye for now!