sUmmer heAt

The Distance.

2007-08-03T09:54:00.000-07:00

The Distance.

And they decided to go the distance,
Across the seas of two separate hearts.
Another pair of strangers of occurrence,
All lost in courtship art.

The happy days they had,
Would shame Venus in envy.
And when the days were bad,
Words exchanged laced in poison ivy.

But they loved each other, no?

When they lay in sweet embrace,
He would think her body --- a dream.
And when they did the deed in grace,
In his very arms she would scream.

But it wasn’t too soon,
Before they quarrelled in the car.
Their hearts were the distance from Mercury to the Moon,
Because just an armrest away…they seemed so far.

And they loved each other. So?

So there are two more lonely people,
Whom directions now go perpendicular.
But if the world is round and their love is ample,
They will go the distance to meet and relinquish their love spectacular.

A Conversation V.

2007-07-30T09:50:00.000-07:00

A Conversation V.

ROTW: And so we meet once again, after an absence of eleven months. Hell, that’s a long time. In your absence, however, the world has left you behind…or caught up with you. Do you own a black berry? Or happen to know what the latest version of messenger is? Or that the maverick you used to idolise has a bit more reason to celebrate Father’s Day now that he has procreated? Then again, have thoughts of marriage crept up from behind and overpowered you? Have the noble notions of making economic contributions to the society empowered you to strife for loftier aspirations apart from those silly ideas you harbour about being a poet?

Boy: Hey, I’m not here to answer your questions. You expect me to know the answers but more often than not, I’m none the wiser.

ROTW: So finally you concede defeat…I’m glad you realised that you’ll probably never have the answers, find the truth or stop the questions coming from me. What took you so long? If you bow down to me now, there’s still time to…

Boy: Fuck you! I’ve never claimed to have the answers. I’ve never believed that the truth would grow out right before my nose like a moustache. But I’ve never for one moment stopped thinking about both the answers and the truth. Except your questions so happen to be inconsequential. Look, the only berry I think of is a cherry, and how to pop it. Not that devilish gadget borne out from her overtly fertile Mother---Technology. Next time we meet, she’d have probably churned out something that lets us stay on the moon. Come on…who cares?

ROTW: Oh yes you care! Or why would you be so uptight? But now that you’ve mentioned it, living on the moon sounds like the solution for overpopulation. And if we could develop the land there to ease our current supply constrains, it’ll cool the property speculation here without having to worry about dealing with the piping hot demand by means of abolishing deferred payments or increasing taxes from property gains. Yeah…why didn’t I think of it? We could build our schools, hospitals, and secondary institutions up on the moon. Imagine going to school by rocket. How cool is that! And then we could…

Boy: Wait. I’m not about to discuss the property market here or on the moon with you. I’ve had enough questions about macroeconomic policies and figures from my recent interviews. Which reminds me, I’ve got one coming up real soon (yes, an interview, not a question about policies) and I’ll rather go prepare for it than banter with you.

ROTW: You just don’t seem to get it…you can never escape from me.

(Laughter, fade out…)

Why Saggy is an Astrological sign of Duality.

2006-09-05T11:25:00.000-07:00

My Dearest Blog,

I think you are such a whore. Never mind the reasons I’m about to cite don’t justify the use of such a vulgar noun. Never mind that I’ve seen plenty of women who seem more deserving of belonging to your alleged profession. Never mind that this really is rather distasteful.

Think about it, I come to you only in times of need. Either I’m lonely, bored, sleepless, depressed, angry, drunk…or any combination of these less than positive moods.

The thing is, I seek you as an outlet to vent frustrations more often than to promote any degree of love. Love really is reserved for my real life. I’m a married man, whom, with my first breadth, got engaged to a physical reality. The physical world is my designated love, my wife.

On the other hand, Blog, you are bounded by the red light district of cyberspace. I come to you when my wife doesn’t satisfy me. And really, not many Man can be satisfied with notions of monogamy and faithfulness. We are all lustful…which to me, translates to some kind of greediness. Yes, you are quite a prostitute.

My puns, my metaphors, my personifications, my warped logic, my perversity….my words…………these are your payment for our transaction.

With lust,
dOminiC

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In this instance, I was just plain bored.
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My Dearest Blog,

I think you are the most loyal friend ever. Never mind that our friendship began only a short time ago. Never mind that plenty of other friends I’ve known for much longer are much less loyal. Never mind that this is getting rather emotional and cheesy.

Think about this: a friend in need is a friend indeed. Even when I’m lonely, bored, sleepless, depressed, angry, drunk….. I know you will be there.

The thing is, I seek you as a listening ear more often than the other way round. Really, you seem to have no complains whatsoever, even when I neglect you. I’m a single man now, and seem quite stuck in this unfortunate reality for as long as fate will have it. Yet, you are still here for me, my Blog.

On the other hand, while you are always hanging around somewhere in cyberspace, I am bounded by commitments to my physical world. Although I cannot always interact with you, I am truly satisfied with our bonding based on notions of my monologue and your faithfulness. Yes, you are a friend indeed.

My puns, my metaphors, my personifications, my logic, my perseverance ….my words…perhaps sometimes you are the only on who understands them.

With love,
dOminiC.

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Damn it, I’m still just plain bored.
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A Conversation IV

2006-06-26T14:18:00.000-07:00

A Conversation IV

Boy: Where we left off the last time, we were talking about virgin and whores. I’m sorry, but that kind of conversation entails certain details which I am not ready to share…yet. Okay, maybe virgins and whores do exist, but I am disdainful of theories; especially those which are mere generalisations and depth-lacking, broad categorisations. It really leaves me feeling hollow every time I broach the topic of women because, albeit indirectly, I get glimpses of how imperfect our male species really are. Please, spare me.

ROTW: Ha! It surprises me that anyone should think that the male specimen isn’t refined to the greatest perfection. Suit yourself then, we shall leave virgins and whores aside. Patriarchy is quite misunderstood nowadays, and probably even becoming obsolete. The last of our dominance has been eroded away and the layered ways of our hegemony has exfoliated. All men…and women are now born equal…

Boy: I almost thought I heard you sigh. Hey, has it ever occurred to you why the human spirit seems so aggressive, competitive and perpetually looking for ways to impose control over others?

ROTW: Power my son, Power. As long as two objects are different, then one must be better than the other…simple as that. Each individual, each gender, each company, each firm, each community, each nation, each race struggles to be the better one, and in hence doing so, subdue the other. Power is the intangible treasure and incentive which motivates us. From Genghis Khan of the Mongolian steppes who conquered a third of the world to the guy in the turbo-charged WRX who recklessly overtook you this morning, Power is their driving force. Power is the wonderful gourmet that feeds their egos. And the ego can only be satisfied with the condemnation and destruction of another’s ego. That is why our world revolves around an imaginary axis of Power. Mark my words, you would be very much happier with just a little more Power. Does that answer you question?

Boy: Well…no, that does not really answer my question. Nothing unusual though, it has been a long time since I actually turned to you for the right answers. Besides, I was not looking for answers. I was merely seeking an opinion which would provide deeper insights. But now that you’ve mentioned it, ego sounds like a bad word, vulgar and crude. If I could substitute it with an equivalent word, I think insecurity would be appropriate. Insecurity bites at those who think that the power, as you call it, to control anything else except their own wretched minds is the ultimate law of the universe. Genghis Khan could well swing his halberd right in my face and I would not flinch an inch. The WRX driver can accelerate for all the horsepower his ride gives him and I would not swerve aside. What are they trying to prove? What can they prove? Nothing…besides how their decomposing souls are being consumed by their false pride. There is an unquenchable thirst for power because it is the drug which gives them temporary relief from their stinging insecurity. Watch their addiction grow! And watch how their desperate need for power slowly enslaves and dominates them spiritually. This very power which was supposed to give them a (false) sense of control in the first place! And finally, watch how an imminent overdose of power gets the better of them! Yes, this is insecurity. And I cannot emphasise enough how ridiculous it all seems to me.

ROTW: It’s been some time since you said anything with such gusto…I thought you have lost your dexterity in oration? But speaking of addictions, you are a slave to many as well, nicotine and caffeine amongst them. Fancy having such a passionate outburst when you are pretty much entrapped within your own addictions. And how many times do I have to remind you that smoking creates negative externalities, which as a result increases my expenditure in health care services and environmental maintenance? I have always assumed that you, a youth with more than a decade and a half of education, ought to know that you are too tough to puff. In order to optimise the benefits to be reaped from your education……and your contribution back to the society, you need to prolong your life. The cigarettes must go. What is wrong with you? Your need to suck on a stick of fag habitually hints at your depraved and unbalanced psyche--- exactly what Freud proposes to be an underdeveloped and hence dysfunctional oral stage.

La vie en rose!

2006-06-13T13:39:00.000-07:00

Never underestimate what a bouquet of roses can do to rekindle a relationship on the rocks.

Frankly speaking, I’ve never thought very highly of roses in any shades of any colour… especially after hearing the Taoist priest chanting something about ‘fresh flowers withering’ (Cantonese) at my grandmother’s funeral. Ironically, my mom used to be in the floral industry…

But these little ironies aside, I have finally seen the magical wonders of a well-wrapped dozen of roses tonight. It all began when I had a tiff with her last night, one of those minor arguments which arise not due to a lack of love but rather, due to differences in the definitions of love. I think of love as something more spiritual, although that runs the risk of sounding too idealistic. She thinks otherwise and prefers a love more physically expressive. And here, I don’t mean simply in the romantic sense. It’s hard to explain what the differences really are…and somehow I think I am digressing…

Anyway, in a bid to reconcile such differences, or at least work out a compromise, I dropped by the florist before fetching her from work. He recommended a mixture of baby pink and crimson roses and mumbled something about my girlfriend (purely his conjecture since I never told him anything about who would be receiving the flowers) being elated. I must have cast him a rather disbelieving look when I paid him, for he reassured me that lovely ladies and lovely flowers were stuff that went well together.

His words must have provoked my thoughts a bit, because I couldn’t help thinking about it while driving down to her work place. I mean, what is the link between a lady and a flower?

A woman in the splendour of her beauty is like a blossoming rose in the summer breeze. The rose’s bright vermillion shade of colour signifies a woman’s vibrant passion for life. Its layered petals stemming from a single stalk represent the essence of womanhood as a woman’s many complexities unfold in unified brilliance. Its soft velvet texture of petals is remarkably similar to the smooth and delightful tenderness of a woman’s touch. Its mildly intoxicating scent is akin to the natural fragrance a woman possesses.

A woman full of passion, character, touch and mesmerising aura is indeed beautiful.

Yes, a woman is a rose.

Having arrived at the porch of Hotel A where she was waiting for me, I stopped day-dreaming, picked up the bouquet and hastily fumbled for the letter I wrote for her. (yes, I write her letters) I was half expecting her to bicker with me but I noticed she was smiling from ear to ear when she saw the roses…and me, of course. What was totally incredulous to me was that upon seeing the bouquet, she seemed to have forgotten all about our quarrel the previous night! Suddenly, as if the roses had cast a magical spell on her, she was all sweet and nice! So my dear brothers, here’s my two cents worth: don’t forget the roses!

Chronicles of a Dreamscape Reality II

2006-06-12T07:40:00.000-07:00

What a lot of things he had to holler out to the world!

But when our dearest anti-hero, more affectionately known as the boy, finally takes time off from his idle, vain and most probably worthless day-dreaming to begin penning down the thoughts he had so enthusiastically wished to tell the world, they (his thoughts) crumbled upon his pen like little specks of dust which disintegrated into the blankness of the paper.

Oh what a long sentence that was! His English teachers would have been totally displeased. What did they always preach about sentence structure? Keep it simple. And precise. Like this…

But a simple sentence probably doesn’t have the capacity to contain what he wanted to express. Well, if what I see before me is correct, then I began this post with an exclamation of the humongous amount of bantering the boy had to say. But wait…that’s him, not me. Why then, should I reflect his state of mind in my own manner of writing?

Now, this is becoming absurd. The boy never did enjoy waiting for Gordon. As a matter of fact, he was never really fond of waiting. Reason being, he was perfectly aware that he had spent the better part of his life waiting for a good many thing to happen…and most did not. Yes yes yes, we must all work towards our dreams because good heavens above isn’t going to bestow to us everything we ever wanted without a certain degree of effort on our part.

But he wasn’t very sure about his dreams. Some nights his subconscious would take him wandering, lonely as a cloud, reciting poem after poem to himself. On other nights, he would dream of that girl he saw on TV, and awake with a weird sensation as the excesses of lust spill out from his hardened truncheon. On some other nights, he would, in his dreamscape, see familiar faces of multiple expressions, or familiar places with distorted variations. And on most nights, he would fail to remember any vague remnant of any dream.

Ah…Dreams….It was making him sleepy. World Conquest….here he comes! Feel his jubilation. He is happy as can be.

The boulevard of broken dreams...

2006-05-07T22:13:00.000-07:00

I walk along the streets of sorrow,
The boulevard of broken dreams.
Where gigolo and gigolette,
Can take a kiss without regret,
So they forget their broken dreams.

You laugh tonight and cry tomorrow,
When you behold your shattered schemes.
And gigolo and gigolette,
Wake up to find their eyes are wet,
With tears that tell of broken dreams.

Here is where you’ll always find me,
Always walking up and down.
But I left my soul behind me,
In an old cathedral town…

The joy that you find here you borrow,
You cannot keep it long it seems.
But gigolo and gigolette,
Still sing a song and dance along,

The boulevard of broken dreams!

Leslie Cheung (1956-2003)

One of my favourite song by the now deceased singer. He is the epitome of perfection, never mind his sexual orientation. Seems to me that the fame people pursue with zest during their lifetime fades away after they die. But for a true idol like him, his legacy and his works remain for all of us to remember him by. Never mind he is dead, his spirit and song lives on...now, this is fame. It isn't about making it to the cover of fhm or forbes. Hell no, it isn't so transient.

Sweet Seduction...

2006-04-22T12:35:00.000-07:00

Seduction is an intricate game between two (and only two) players. It is about that lingering gaze, that sensual touch, that emission of hidden scents, that alluring pouting of lips, and that deliberate flipping of hair.

And then it is also about returning the look with a twinkle in the eye, the running of a finger across her shoulders, the exchange of equally potent whiffs, the reassurance with a licking of lips and the nonchalant exhalation of musky smoke right into her face.

What happens next? The anticipation grows. The thrill of it surges sky high. The carnal desire escalates, and fills every cell in the body with lustful impulse. There is an intense need to release this impulse, but one must keep his/her cool to progress the game. How much further can each player push the definitions of ‘sexy’?

This game is no longer constrained by rules of conformity to social standards. By default, everyone is a slut. The outcome of the game is obvious enough; we’ve all seen what our dog does to the neighbour’s bitch. What matters most is prolonging the process and duration of the game…

He speaks to her. Bad mistake.

It seems Words have no consequence in this mesmerizing game. The unspoken signals which mannerisms sent out emerge victorious over the most cleverly phrased flattery. Unfortunately, men have never excelled in the former (nor the latter).

He becomes her slave of Eros and shall have to do to her bidding to satisfy his yearning. He has lost, again.

She has seduced me.

Nothing has changed.

2006-04-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

sUmmer heAt

I was reading Amos' post from a long long long time ago.

http://tenbros.blogspot.com/2005/02/confessions-of-sentimental-man-part.html

It seems as if we have remained where we were, with our spirits swept along with the passing of time. Now our physical age is older, yet we come back full circle from where we started emotionally. .

A Soliloquy II

2006-03-15T09:20:00.000-08:00

A Soliloquy II

And now, in the quiet solitude of the night, I am again in a state of self-imposed depravation of sleep. My nicotine addiction makes me crave for an infusion of smoke, but apart from that, my wandering mind desires nothing. And though the night, like my cigarettes, shall burn out into the dawning of a new day; it can only be a continuum of my present misery. Besides, these nocturnal hours seem to be in eternal stagnation, dilating time by an infinitely large multiplier.

Juxtaposed against the stillness of time, my unsettled mind moves rapidly over loosely collected thoughts. The mind is weary, but yet it lingers in consciousness.

Perhaps when the mind finally crumbles from exhaustion and succumb to tiredness will the solace of slumber arrive. Only then can I sleep.

A Soliloquy (I)

2006-03-10T11:19:00.000-08:00

A Soliloquy (I)

The empty world.

An everlasting regret it is, that a person sees both ugliness and beauty in equal proportions but chooses to dwell on the former. The obsession with imperfection is morbid and painful. My mental faculties are constantly reminding me of the hideous characteristics of human nature…and how they manifest in my family, my friends, my enemies, my brothers, my lovers and much more so in myself. And I am so heart-broken with these shortcomings that I fail to recall any more goodness and purity each and every human being is endowed with. Slowly, very slowly, salvation slips away…and the mind degenerates further and further away from the mainstream of the world around me. And I think to myself…What an empty world…what an empty world.

A Conversation III

2006-02-05T00:21:00.000-08:00

A Conversation III

ROTW: Enough of your grandiose talk about love and lust. You devalue the very constructs of love while glorifying the obscenity of lust. Your desires surge unchecked and unrestrained, like every bit of your personality. With a clever choice of words, you beautify things which were meant to be ugly. If I can extend this trait to your exterior, then perhaps beneath your designer labels, beneath your flamboyant locks, beneath your brooding appeal is a repulsive and despicable nature.

Boy: Well, then let me be the only judge of what and who I am. The clothes that I wear shows prove of your unsurpassed progression. You may oppress me otherwise, but by and large, dressing style and taste is highly personal. I am happy with both designer labels and their lower end counterparts as long as I feel comfortable in them. There is nothing vain in seeking comfort. By your very ordinance, I was once robbed of my hair and instead given a rank which held no significance to its bearer. How long more do you wish to claim hegemony over the trivialities of my life? I will not allow social stigmas to influence the degree of freedom I think I ought to have. Let’s put it this way…Humans, as a whole, have reached a new era of technology such that we can travel to the moon. Yet we still find it difficult to cross the street and say ‘hello’ to our neighbours. Why? Oh, because everybody has stopped smiling. I cannot smile to a world which does not reciprocate, and instead of struggling with the mechanics of being outwardly friendly, I choose to set myself in thought about other stuff, which might explain the brooding part. Besides, the way a person looks is no fault of his. Nor is it his credit. Remember that. And probably what lies beneath is quite the opposite of your superficial, preconceived notions.

ROTW: I am utterly disappointed with you. You are your father’s son, and your father had quite a bit of the rank which you totally disregard. You have failed to uphold a certain expectation lain down by default of background. Nobody is born free. The physical act of cutting away the umbilical chord at birth does not signify symbolic freedom of a new born child. Rather, it hints at the previous attachment to maternal ties being broken so that the fully developed baby can continue serving this attachment in better ways outside of the womb. Natura non facit saltus. It happens bit by bit, and you, like any other person, are merely a part of the whole process of Nature taking its course. Now, think again about what you have just said. It totally does not link with my point of how you tend to beautify ugly objects, yourself included. Were you trying desperately to sway from my point and change the topic? Or do you have selective thinking and hearing, only choosing to comment on non-related aspects of my point?

Boy: My father is my father. I am not a subset of him. If you choose to centre the story around him as the protagonist, then maybe I might seem like a minor character that belongs to his story. But think carefully…everyone has a story of life to tell from his perspective. There is no distinction between major and minor characters. It is more a matter of whose perspective you are seeing it from. I am made of flesh and blood too. I deserve to narrate my story from my own stream of consciousness. You fault me for not attaining rank, but which of these demands more strength of character? Getting those socially coveted ranks by doing things you do not like OR living the rest of your life braving harsh remarks, especially from those close to you, about not getting them? I think it is the latter. Okay…maybe I am not beautiful enough. But where you think I intentionally try to mask my flaws with outlandish dressing, you are rather mistaken. It is vanity on my part perhaps, but that is as far as I am willing to push my confessions. But really, any person with enough self love would take the effort to look presentable. I know I am rather lacking in the looks department, which is exactly why I work on it so that people will not see a hideous monster when they see me in the streets. I just happen to have fun while doing just that. Besides, I am male and straight. Nobody is going to ‘rape’ me no matter what I wear.

ROTW: So are you implying that girls who dress provocatively are just asking to get raped whereas guys who dress flamboyantly are merely well groomed? Wait a minute…does that mean also that you secretly harbour thoughts of raping girls who dress up? Ha, or are you already doing it on a more mental level, raping them in your imaginative mind as the clothes they wear excites your perversity?

Boy: I really wonder why I have to point out to you that there is a subtle difference between having fashion style and dressing up like a slut. Tell me, why is it that you ban magazines like Playboy and Penthouse but allow the circulation of GQ and Maxim? Now, that’s because you fully understand this subtle difference. Yet, it is quite difficult to pin down the factors that differentiate the two and it could be subjective. Think about it this way, everybody can tell you that Chopin’s Nocturne no.9 is art while what my less-than-musically inclined three year old cousin plays at random on the piano is trash. But not everybody can put into words ‘why’. In the same manner, I ‘appreciate’ girls who dress nicely and there is nothing perverse about it though I cannot tell you why. I just do not call it ‘rape’, mental or otherwise. On the other hand, if a girl wears a bra-top and miniskirt and parades around but fails to convince me it is stylish, I would actually find it quite a turn off.

ROTW: Hmmm….That kind of reminds me of the ‘virgin-whore’ hypothesis imbued in every man where girls are only divided into the two categories of virgins and whores. Every man, as if by pure instinct, can tell which category a girl belongs to with just one look at her. Hmmm…but I suppose you will gladly accept anyone from either category as long as they are nice since you like to ‘appreciate’ girls so much. That aside, you know and I know that every girl has a price tag. Some want material comforts and sleep around with whoever can give it to them, this is their price tag. Others want emotional comforts and seek a single man, choosing to call it love when it is really a price tag as well. A third…and lowest class of girls want both material and emotional comforts. Honestly speaking, you do not look like a guy who can pay for any of the above mentioned.

A Response

2006-01-17T01:28:00.000-08:00

A Response

“We are here to preserve democracy, not practice it”

"Crimson Tide", Gene Hackman (CO SSBN Alabama) to his XO, Denzel Washington

Amos bro posted a little quote from this week’s Monday mega movie. I’m not exactly sure of the context where and when this statement is actually used because I did not watch it, but there seems to be a subtle fault here.

Well, of course, to preserve something is one thing while practicing it is another. This much is pretty obvious when the words are used separately in different contexts.

However, I think the words ‘preserve’ and ‘practice’ have quite a special and complementary linkage when used in conjunction.

Technically, the word ‘preserve’ is a (simple) transitive verb. To ‘preserve’ something, whether it is an abstract political ideology such as Democracy or a tangible object such as a human foetus, implicitly implies that ‘something’ must be present to be ‘preserved’. Therefore, the almighty CO of SSBN Alabama’s preclusion is that there is Democracy to begin with.

But let’s face it. Democracy is not bestowed to us poor humans by heavens. It is a concept. It is a construct of the human mind. It is a political cause. It functions and serves as an end. It is an ideology which takes legislative regulations (paradoxical as it may sound), efforts of a nation’s individuals and maybe even wars to take shape.

Here is where the ‘practice’ part comes in. ‘Practice’ gives Democracy form. If to say a function (amongst many others) of Democracy is to give individuals the freedom and liberalism to choose their leaders by voting (as opposed to a dictatorial regime); then perhaps it is the holding of elections, it is the act of citizens going to the voting booths, it is the putting into power of the victorious leaders and the various other ‘practices’……that actually gives form to ‘Democracy’.

Now, this really sets me thinking. Can Democracy be preserved without practising it? In my humble opinion, no.

‘Democracy’ is an end, and there is no way to achieve it without means of practising it. Without practising it, ‘Democracy’ (as intangible as it already is), will no longer have form. Gene Hackman, in using the word ‘preserve’, claims that there is Democracy, but this very ‘Democracy’ he so refers to will cease to exist if it is not practised. I know the logic of this sounds rather circular (I was confused myself), but how can he preserve something that is not even there in the first place?!?

Let’s work it out.
1) Hackman is here to preserve Democracy.
2) Hackman implicitly claims there exists Democracy when he says he wants to preserve it
3) Hackman does not want to practice it.
4) Something must exist for it to be ‘preserved’
5) Democracy as an ideology is an end without form in itself.
6) ‘Practice’ is the means to Democracy as an end.
7) From (5) and (6), The existence of Democracy is through ‘practice’. I.e. Democracy does not exist unless put into ‘practice’.
8) From (3) and (7), Hackman preserves ‘nothing’
9) From (4) and (8), CONTRADICTION!
10) From (2) and (3), CONTRADICTION!

I must admit that Hackman (and a whole bunch of many manipulative people) has a very clever choice of words. (I’ve seen a girl who spoke in the same manner) Personally, I think his statement is erroneous even though I might not have convinced anyone else.

I’m just glad I’m not his XO…I’m sure he would have put a bullet into my head for mutiny and defiance.

I believe in miracles...

2006-01-09T10:20:00.000-08:00

“Something stirs from the barren wastelands of my heart. It must be a miracle because for miles, the wastelands stretch ahead. Further than the sands of deserts blow. Further than the waters of oceans flow. My heart simply reaches out to a vast emptiness, ad infinitum.

It must be a miracle. Finally, there is a sign of movement. A sign of life. Slowly, it clambers out of the ground from its long slumber, ready to face its desolate surroundings. Then, with an abrupt leap and wings well-spread, it soars to the skies. Like a butterfly fluttering in the air. Like a sparrow drifting in the winds. Like a gryphon riding in the clouds.

It is peace. It is freedOm. It is love.”

The boy carelessly flung his pen across the table and closed his diary. The gentle whisper of the raindrops beating softly against the windows was making him dreamy. For a minute, he had almost believed in miracles. Feeling rather disgusted that he had almost made a big mistake he had so often warned himself of, he was compelled to write something more attuned to his temperament. He opened his diary and continued with another entry.

“The heart is but a muscle which acts like a pump, dispersing and regulating blood to the rest of the body. The moment it starts beating, it is destined to stop. Nothing lasts forever, and November Rain by Guns n Roses is one hell of a bloody nice song although I never knew hearts could change. What? Did they turn into kidneys instead? And for goodness sake, the heart is but the size of a clenched fist…it can never accommodate endless deserts and oceans.

The butterfly is a flying insect not always as magnificently colourful as many people think it is. The sparrow is a diminutive bird that gets swept away by gales and strong winds. And gryphons only belong to mythologies and fantasy novels. I ought to leave them there, where they belong.

Peace, freedOm and love are merely abstract and intangible entities which humans give a name to.”

For a second time, the boy closed his diary. The rainy weather was making his bed seem cosier than ever. He wanted very much to go to sleep, because it brought hopes of dreams…where miracles do happen.

The boy truly believed in miracles. Truly, he did.

Bits and Pieces I

2006-01-09T02:44:00.000-08:00

Bits and Pieces I

Strike a Pose!

The boy rested his head heavily on the raised table, quite unable to move although his vision was spinning. It was the ‘favourite pose’ as the boy and his brother liked to call it. Favourite is more than apt because they have adopted this stance collectively more often then they had sex. Pose? The word only makes the whole issue sound more dignified.

He had a lot of feelings, but the only feeling he had right then was to puke. And puke he did. Twice, in fact. Too drunk to clamber to the washroom, he erupted in merlion fashion, vomiting as if he wanted to fill the whole bar with his partially digested dinner. He almost thought he saw a strand of noodles. He probably was as disgusted as you are now, because/and most of the time he made it home before puking. It was a very private matter, almost akin to having sex. The breathing gets difficult, the face turns flushed, the heart beats faster, saliva flows easily……and very very soon, the whole face contorts as ‘it’ comes with such an overwhelming outburst of passions, normally accompanied with groans and moans. Yes, vomiting is similar to the most sacred act of times---sex. Except nobody really is going to enjoy the former.

The moment you bend over, everybody’ll come and fuck you. The moment you put your head down, you’ll start to wanna puke. These were the only natural laws of the universe which the boy knew very well…as opposed to 道可道，非常道。名可名，非常名。無名，天地之始。有名，萬物之母。Huh?

Enneagram

I was reading about this Enneagram Type Indicator personality test last night. I was reading it from a book but I’m very sure the test itself is available online. At first it really resembled western Astrology combined with Chinese zodiac analysis. After all, the test aims to categorize people into different types, quite similar to how Astrology differentiates people by their planetary and stellar aspects (especially the sun sign) at birth.

The distinct difference with this Enneagram Indicator thingy is that it requires a person to fill up a questionnaire first and total up the results as a computation of the ‘type’. While I am not a very keen believer of these personality tests, I was quite impressed with the results. Spot on descriptions…but of course, I might just be trying to fit myself into the mould of these rather vague statements. Humans are, after all, too quick to classify.

Well, here are some excerpts. You’ll see if they are accurate. My comments in red.

Type: Type 4, The Individualist

General characteristics: Sensitive (only to touch), Withdrawn (more so when drunk), Expressive, Intuitive, Impressionable, Quiet (not always true), Introspective, Passionate (only sexually), Romantic (not really), Elegant, Witty, Imaginative (again, only sexually).

At their worst: Moody (yes), Emotionally Demanding, Self-absorbed (perhaps), Withholding, Temperamental, Dramatic, Pretentious (never), Self-indulgent.

At their best: Creative (haha..still remember what happened to those wedding bears?), Inspired, Honest, Emotionally Strong, Humane (I torture cockroaches), Self-aware, Discreet (not really), Self-renewing.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v730/dominic_994735/Image010.jpg

(The picture which captured my latest creative piece of work...oh those cute wedding bears!)

Details:
--- Type Fours exemplifies the desire to be ourselves, to know the depth of our own hearts.

--- preoccupied with emotional reactions (and physical reactions too), memories (hmmm…I was just blogging about it two posts ago) and fantasies (we all have wet dreams).

--- discovers deep truths about human nature. (Conrad’s Heart of Darkness ranks high on my list of favourite books)

--- profoundly honest with themselves and their own motives (especially evil ones).

--- put words to feelings that others may recognise but could not express as eloquently.

--- involved in artistic pursuits. (Music, poetry, penmanship, writing, cocktails, women)

--- want to distinguish themselves from others. (Yes…)

--- feels alone and misunderstood. (But I don’t really care anymore)

--- want their life to be a work of art despite feeling the loneliness, suffering and self-doubt.

--- engrossed in feelings of loss, sadness and melancholy. (Yes…but only when someone has the capacity for immense loss can he feel satisfaction with equal zest.)

--- create and surround themselves in beauty. (I’m more vain than you think I am)

--- do not want to follow impersonal rules and procedures.

--- acutely aware of what is incomplete and inadequate about the ego-self

Personal Relationships:
--- do not want to spend time with people they perceive as lacking taste or emotional depth. (Bro Kua was the first to say the ‘belittle my status’ shit thingy, not me.)

---enjoy any kind of authentic personal sharing. (Only if you are of the opposite sex)

--- become self-absorbed and uninterested in other’s feelings due to feeling overwhelmed by their own feelings.

--- idealizing potential partners…and feeling disappointed once they get to know them. (Almost every girl I’ve met is a slut)

--- withholding attention and affection to punish the other. (No…)

--- tremendous shifts of feeling from idolization to unbridled hatred. (XX)

Hmmm… really, it made quite a fair assessment. So, if you guys have an hour or so to spare, might wanna do they test and find out more about this Enneagram thingy for yourself. But then again, I know myself better than to have to read it off a book, so if you think along the same lines, then forget it.

Just some updates...

2006-01-05T08:00:00.000-08:00

Seeking for where true Love resides,
Some people went far and wide,
While others went where oceans divide,

Sometimes they find it… then it hides,
While other times they lose it… yet again it rides,
For Love knows no rules it abides.

But to whom I may confide:
Leave it for heavens to decide,
And take the answer in your strides!

dOm

Well……I think that’s the end of the neighbourhood love saga. She likes another guy now. Somehow I’m really quite happy for her. At least she now opens her heart towards such affairs of the heart with less reservation. That also means she has gotten over her ex boyfriend. She is young and tender, only 18 years of age. I see no reason why she should be embittered like the way I was (‘was’ is the keyword) with other girls.

Then am I sad? Not really. Yeah, there were good times, and those are more than enough for me. We were never an item in the first place so there really is nothing much for me to get sad about. And besides, it must be God’s will. (GLA style)

So I wish this very wonderful lady all the best.

Yes… so let’s get on with more important updates. Next semester’s modules:

1) Macroeconomic ANALysis II
2) International Economics
3) ASEAN Economics
4) Foundations of Econometrics
5) Great Ideas in Contemporary Physics

Check out (5). What the cock am I doing? Listen bros, one day I will invent the most satisfying ‘self-gratifying’ machine which defies what you think is your personal best climatic experience. All those great ideas I get from this module will come in handy. In the mean time, I’m afraid you guys will just have to have some fun with your girlfriends. But anyway, jokes aside, I’m taking it because it is a requirement and also because I see it as a personal challenge.

And I went to the library today. Here are the titles of some of the books I’ve borrowed.

1) The WisdOm of Lao Zi 道德經 (Translated to English with original Chinese text)
2) Thirty-six Stratagems (Comic Version)
3) Fan Li and Xi Shi (Comic Version)

Yes…I know at age twenty two and a half, I really shouldn’t be reading comics. But Xi Shi is one of the four ancient beauties of China alongside Wang Zhaojun, Diao Chan and Yang Guifei. Of course I wanna know her story and maybe see whom she gave head to first, but I can’t be bothered to read the long version of it. So I opted for the comic version. Maybe with a bit of guesswork I might find out soon enough who that lucky guy was…

As for the Thirty-six Stratagems, I borrowed it because I thought the illustrations were cute. Every guy has an incredible tummy in the comic. No wonder my dearest GuanG bro is so full of cunning!

The only rather serious book that I borrowed was this WisdOm of Lao Zi thingy. Heard so much about it, now its time to read it. But trust me, I doubt I’ll be learning anything about ethics from this book. (Just check out its Chinese title) The closest association I have with the sagely title of ‘Lao’ is when I add it before the expletive ‘CB’ or ‘Chee Ko Peh’.

Well, time to go read my stuff now…do update me too, bros.

Let there be love...

2006-01-05T03:43:00.000-08:00

sUmmer heAt

Let there be love.

There are some memories, not quite aplenty but still some, which return to a person at the most untimely of times and with the most painful hurt. These memories are little thorns embedded in the forgotten depths of the heart which surface from time to time, especially when a certain trigger is set off. Least when you expect them to.

These memories may have been cumulated from childhood events. Then, you were too young to understand the reasons for feeling the pain. But the pain was real…so real that somehow your subconscious did not forget it. Now, with the passing of the seasons, and (hopefully) with the mind better acquainted with how emotions work, these memories suddenly reappear.

You think about what happened for a second or two. Though it has been such a long way back, everything remains obscenely clear. Every single detail of events. Every single string of emotions. Every single word and sound. And everything fuses together and it becomes even more crystal clear. So clear that you wished you didn’t have to face the truth of what happened.

In a moment, in that moment of abject clarity… you see what has caused you the hurt. And because now you finally understand it, the pain escalates ten-folds, leaving you gasping for breadth as you succumb to the acute pain in the chest region. It seems as if a curse has been unleashed, and those rather harmless little thorns have undergone metamorphosis to become lethal daggers.

These daggers carve out their names in your heart. Disgust. Shame. Lies. Hatred. Hypocrisy. Injustice. Inequality. Condescendence. Unhappiness. Angst. Neglect. Abuse. Humiliation. All the horrors of the world now reside at the bottom of your heart. All of the horrors.

But…but may you also not forget the almost vanishing strand of self love which every human is imbued with. Let there be love.

I have the courage to face anything.
(except cockroaches)

Much ado about nothing...

2005-12-20T12:48:00.000-08:00

Much ado about nothing…and I really mean nothing.

I woke up today in a state of loss. Notice I have to use the word ‘today’? Because by the time I finally opened my eyes to this flowery world (which is a crappy adjective because my room is messy, dirty, cramped…anything but flowery), it was half past noon. I dislike waking up late. I feel short changed…it’s like my day seems already spent even before I’ve done anything fruitful. Hmmm…but then again, it really isn’t as if I’ve got anything earth-shatteringly purposeful to do.

Since my mom wasn’t at home, I promptly lit a cigarette right smack in the middle of my bed and rejoiced in my little perk from the nicotine. In case you were wondering, no, I haven’t brushed my teeth at that particular moment yet. Go on, call me a ‘swine’, a ‘dirty pig’, etc etc. One fag before brushing my teeth probably doesn’t make my teeth as yellow as your piss. And just in case you were not wondering, I brush my teeth religiously twice a day. Ah…it’s been a while since I’ve been so profane towards my tooth brushing duties.

I felt hungry so I went to grope around the kitchen for something to eat. My treasure hunt around the kitchen didn’t reap any exciting results. Cornflakes, instant noodles, bread, honey-baked ham, nutella, bits and pieces… nothing interesting. I was rather tempted to toast some bread with the honey-baked ham. But just for your information, especially those who just called me a ‘dirty pig’, I decided not to eat my own kind. Being dirty is one thing, being a cannibal is another thing altogether. Well, let’s just say I find bread-toasting a troublesome affair.

I took out a spoon and fed myself generous scoops of nutella. My mom totally objects to that, but if we keep our lips sealed, nobody will find out, right? I wallowed in self-pity as I sat before the television (which really wasn’t showing any nice programmes despite 60 channels…I ended up watching some gorillas having sex on a National Geographic documentary) as I ate my breakfast cum lunch and perhaps cum dinner. Oh what plight! Oh what hunger! Oh what sadness! Old McDonalds had a farm e ya e ya oh! Damn it, every household needs a woman around to whip up three square meals a day. Every decent bloke ought to get a girlfriend to cook him some favourite dishes when he is hungry. But wait, I’ve got no girlfriend in the first place. That must mean I’m indecent?!? Okay, in this era and at this time, it would be more politically correct to say that every household needs a maid. And every guy, decent or otherwise, still needs to eat. Don’t start calling me a male chauvinist ‘pig’… I hate that bloody pink animal anyway.

But hunger is not something so easily satisfied by the less than nutritious chocolate spread. A hungry man is an angry man. If you would just stop telling me how unmanly I may sound (it really is a matter of the writing style), then, I really was quite fed up at not having anything proper to eat. So I told myself: ‘dOminiC, you’ve gotta be strong now…just fucking crawl downstairs and buy yourself something to eat!’

Seriously, I believe actions speak louder than words. Er…actually in this context it’s not true since eating, for me, is more or less a quiet matter. But anyway, somehow I went downstairs (during which I fagged again) and went to the coffee shop to get myself the absolutely delicious, exhilaratingly gastronomic, sensually colourful, ridiculously tasty…………wanton noodles. Really, the name of the noodles says it all. I love it. I’m filled with a certain degree of wantonness now. Tough luck, I’m on a tight budget. In case you didn’t already know, one of the ingredients of wanton noodles is char siew. Talk about Cannibalism.

Anyway, the Auntie selling me the noodles (coincidentally, she is a woman) noticed my long locks are gone and asked: ‘Eh boy, 你剪头发 ar?’

BUT… being the vain and superficial person I am here is how I interpreted it: ‘Eh boy, why you go and cut this CB hair?’

Which reminds me…Well, you might really be curious why I am not using the persona of the boy or the third person narrative I’m usually so fond of using. Come on, he is burnt out from blogging rubbish, so cut him some slack. Who the fuck is the boy anyway? Why does he always seem to have some issues?

I ate my noodles, albeit silently, and fagged my third ‘after-meal’ cigarette. The world seemed at peace again. Oh gone is my plight! Oh gone is my hunger! Oh gone is my sadness! Oh Suzanna, oh don’t you cry for me!

Thereafter, I decided to go for a swim. Though that means being immersed in chlorinated water which is bad for the hair, swimming is the only exercise which doesn’t make me feel like I’m sweating. I waddled about in the not-so-deep end for a while and clambered out shivering with cold. Mr Sun was sleeping on his job. Is he burnt out too? I really ought to cut him some slack…he has been burning on for the past few million years already.

Anyway, I was smoking by the poolside, trying to absorb the comforts from what little warmth my cigarette could provide when a pompous looking management officer approached me with two security guards and told me this was a no-smoking area by law. Fine…so I walked five paces away to the edge of the boundary of the poolside, found a nice spot and continued smoking. I am truly, a law abiding citizen. Okay, maybe I jay walk sometimes but that’s not counted.

But some buggers just don’t give up. The arrogant bastard came over and harassed me with further questions in his self important tone. He asked if I was a resident staying here. That really was a dumb question. Why in the world would anyone not staying in the estate drone nothing but a bathrobe and come swimming in the pool? Then he asked for my resident pass. Didn’t bring it along, so I flashed him my door access card and told him to go up with me if he really wanted to see my resident pass that badly. What a fucking idiot…

Next, he tried to tell me in his inarticulate English that the no-smoking law applies to all swimming pools, blah blah blah. I grew quite impatient and angry. (Although I was no longer hungry by then) So I asked him if it was agreeable to smoke where I was, at the boundary of the poolside. He said it was okay, and hoped I would cooperate next time. So I questioned him the rationale behind the law. I mean…what fucking difference does it make to smoke where I originally was and here, at the boundary? It is fucking only 5 paces away you bloody obnoxious dumb-ass.

He gave me one hell of a cunt answer. He said people smoking inside the boundary might fall asleep and the cigarette might then melt the plastic tables and chairs within the boundary, causing the management to incur extra costs. Er…excuse me, what kind of brainless cock answer is that? I gave up trying to argumentative with him. He isn’t worth it. I really hate to discriminate, but I only speak with people who are intelligent enough to know that people who are smoking do not fall asleep simultaneously, especially not by the swimming pool and clad in their swimming attire.

So I told him I understood (I hate to lie too, but I didn’t feel like wasting any more time with him) and went to the toilet. When I returned, I overheard him commenting to the security guards, in a tone laced with triumphant ego: ‘This is professionalism, must tell him. If he don’t listen then scold him. If he still don’t listen then…’.

Then what? Then shut the fuck up. Look, the singular pronoun ‘he’ is followed by ‘doesn’t’, not ‘don’t’. Get that right. And what does he know about professionalism? Professionalism my ass. He knows nothing but tries to act as if he is some wise sage with boundless knowledge and superior authority to throw around. Little does he realise that doing so makes him more silly than he already is. Mind you, my dad, like all other residents, pays him to work for us. So loosely speaking, he is merely a hired employee so he really shouldn’t get too cocky. And I swore to myself that if he dares try to scold me, his life will be miserable. Very miserable. But then again, I decided that such people are not worth my time. Not to mention, I am an obedient and law abiding citizen.

Now now… let them live in their own disillusioned world. I can’t be bothered with them. Now now…I went back home and read my book till now. Now now…者么我一直狂打喷嚏，在凌晨三点二十六分，let me sing, let me sing a song 陪你如睡。Yawn…going to brush my teeth now. What a day with much ado about nothing!

Forgive me...

2005-12-15T08:38:00.000-08:00

Yeah, forgive me for being vain, but here I am after my new hair cut. At first, my hair was unkempt and in bad shape as shown below. Fucking looks like the maggi noodles I ate this afternoon because i was too broke. Er, so why am I broke? Oh well, thats another story altogether.

Well anyway, i went to the hair dresser two days ago, and here are the after pictures. My mom was disgusted because she wanted me to cut some mohawk hairdo. Damn it, I never spiked my hair ever since after army days. It is supposed to have ash highlights but somehow it does not look as ash as ash. My cigarette ash sure does not have the same shade of colour. Whatever.

Yup, so that is my hair dressing episode, least you people should ask me what happened to my hair when I see you guys at Sentosa on Sunday. No, I did not bloody eat my hair for lunch, I went to cut it all off.

A Conversation Part II

2005-12-11T10:48:00.000-08:00

A Conversation Part II

(Note: The following is an honest passage of self-evaluation and personal argument more than anything else you may allege it to be. While I do not shirk away from the responsibility of its contents, it really has no intention of causing upheaval, morally or otherwise. It pains me to have to design such a note, because it signals a lack of freedom of creative expression.)

ROTW: I do not have a fondness for theory, and I do not rob you of anything. You ought to get that straight. I am simply trying to show you logic, my logic. Some people call it common sense; others would prefer to think of it as pragmatism. Adam Smith calls it ‘animal spirits’, you should know better. Whatever its name, you are seriously lacking in it. The slightest of provocation makes you cringe in disgust and angst. Do you think you are stable enough to handle an automobile in tight situations? Your problem solving ability still leaves much to be desired because you think too often with your heart and too little with your mind. Your mental faculties, however brilliant they may be, are undermined by your impulsiveness and rashness… Some things can get hard to comprehend some times. Material comforts, sensual pleasures, power and status do not always move in tandem with ethics and morality. There probably isn’t any compromise you can cling on to, hard as you may try.

Boy: Why do you introduce such alien terms like ethics and morality? I never had them nor have I ever regarded them very highly. Just as material comforts and such have no value to me, then ethics and morality are just as inconsequential. Socrates argued about it with Meno and came to no conclusion. Mills tried to stipulate how and when the law can ensure purposeful ethics. Self-righteous persons from our age now talk about valour and morality with such gusto that it makes me cringe. People can, and will go on talking about virtues. Let them have it their way. The thing is: who defines these virtues anyway…if they can be defined in the first place? Perhaps what morality means to me is totally different from what it means to you. Virtues cannot be defined universally, so please spare me from your incessant ramblings about them. Perhaps, just perhaps, the progression of humanity may be accelerated if mankind stopped harping on excessive morals and ethics. And you like logic so much? Well let me ask you a question rooted in simple logic. Why in high heavens above did they issue a license to me? Because I’ve demonstrated the appropriate levels of competency. The reasoning is gleaming with clarity, but you fail to see it. In this sense, you also fail miserably in your attempts to convince me about logic…especially your logic.

ROTW: Well, I really do not understand your tenacity in some areas. Why do you shun ethics and morals? Why do you bear so much hatred from the most trivial events? Why do you insist on carrying the disgust from the last chapter of your life into the next? Why do you despise authority, especially when it does not belong to you? What? Are you a social deviant displaying every possible form of anti-social behaviour? Be a man, face your flaws.

Boy: Stop asking me questions designed towards getting confessions which feed your ego! I do not shun morals and ethics. I am just saying that I should not be obliged to live my life under another person’s code of moral and ethical conduct unless I think it makes sense. And yes, I am disgusted with certain aspects of my life. Remember Romance of the Three Kingdoms? It consists of one hundred and twenty sub-chapters, and who is to say that the swearing of brotherhood at Peach Blossom Gardens in chapter one has no implications on the course of events which unfolds in the remaining hundred and nineteen chapters? If life really is a book, then it seems only fair to read each and every page with reference to what has already happened in the previous. It does not make sense to forget what you do not like out of mere convenience. I do not despise authority…I just think that if it is not used in the best interest, it will weigh down upon its subjected victims and slowly suffocate the living daylights out of them. I have happened to be at the receiving end before and I know how it feels… that, I have no wish to elaborate. Neither did I ever thought of gaining authority because it is laced with responsibility… which again, is a heavy burden. I never cared about being a social deviant or not, and I think I accept my short-comings with grace. You challenge my manhood…so tell me what makes a man? Tell me what makes a man in your eyes, and I’ll tell you how rotten I see him to be.

ROTW: Don’t try to get smart with me! And don’t try to get too argumentative because by default, I win every time. You can change yourself, but you probably won’t be able to change the rest of the world. Unless…unless you can establish something influential like Marx’s ‘Das Kapital’, or your own global fast-food chain which culturally colonises me, or something along those lines. Which reminds me: you haven’t read Marx’s infamous ideology of equality and homogeneity through state ownership, have you? Ha, of course not, because the book is banned.

Boy: Ha ha! Please don’t make it sound as if I harbour ambitions for world conquest and domination. Ssssh…lower your volume now, discussion on politics borders on dangers. The world was once divided between two extremes of Communism and Democracy which resulted in the Cold War. They claimed the latter was better, but I can’t really tell. Not when I know nothing in-depth about the former except how it was corrupt to the core, as depicted briefly in the text books. Not that I know anything about liberal Democracy as well. But anyway, it is not as if I have a lot to say about either. I never knew politics and I will not pit my life trying to explore its subtleties. My personal new-age ideology is individualism… if every human action is complicit to events happening around him; then does it not seem correct that if each and every one of us tried our best to better ourselves in whatever small way we can, we are ultimately bettering the world? I know that is not individualism per se, and could sound too far-fetched such that you will think it is my idealistic bantering once again. Whatever the case, I think if I set myself out towards this cause, then I will not be too affected by all the gossip, lies, backstabbing, and lack of character…and style of others.

ROTW: I don’t really see the link here… was that meant to be a deliberate poke at someone of a bygone year? That would be passé. But wait a minute, is the accuser always holy? Ask yourself if your character, or rather your lack of it, seems to be the key towards your less than happy life now. The answer is obvious. You smoke, you drink, you make merry without disgrace and you expect your mind to respect you. Come on, your repressed subconscious loathes you! Look at your previous post…what kind of nonsense are you writing? You make sexual puns of the lowest class, you dish out your perversity and lewdness in your attempt to personify an inanimate object into a surreal woman and then try to pass it all off as clever, cheeky entertainment. How distasteful can you get? In the same way you cannot see the soundness of my logic, I cannot see how anything else you say can be credible after the aptly titled ‘Fingering’. Each semester, you learn about the conflicts of feminine and masculine traditions through literary works, but paradoxically you have yet to have learnt respect for the fairer sex, much less equality between the genders. You mind is still too deeply embedded in chauvinistic values. Shame on you!

Boy: The autumn winds blow mercilessly, and crimson leaves scatter across the ground. The swift rapids flow heartlessly, and emerald ripples break towards the horizon…Oh you were saying? Ar… women, and gender…The whole lot of it again. You insist on bilingual proficiency and campaign so vigorously about speaking good mandarin. Let me put it to good use…my Chinese teachers from C High School will be so proud of me. Okay, look at the Chinese character ‘好’. Breaking it down, the left side gives us ‘woman’ and the right side gives us ‘son’. Putting it together means that a woman is virtuous if and only if she can gives birth to sons. Similarly, think about the character ‘安’. The top section gives us the strokes for ‘rooftop’, symbolic of home; while the bottom again leaves us with ‘woman’. Assembling it derives the word ‘safe’, which effectively means that safety, security and comfort essentially requires women to remain indoors…where they are relegated to domestic chores. Hey, but before you start burning your brassieres in protest of me being a male chauvinist pig, I hope you understand I beg to differ from these conservative views. Who really cares about childbirth when man and women fall head over heels in love? Who really cares about staying at home or not when love lingers all around? As for equality…as for equality…Well, I cannot find a better word for it but ‘different’. Women are necessarily different, not better or worse, not stronger or weaker, not smarter or clumsier, but just…different. Equality is not an issue when comparing two rather different things, is it? Some women keep insisting on being treated with a certain fairness, but when it comes to sharing the spoken and unspoken burdens unique to men, I’ve seen them shy away too quickly and too often. Mind you, I’m not trying to emphasize any male bonding here, I’m trying to highlight that some irreconcilable and quintessential differences cannot be overcome by compulsively seeking equality. But no doubt about it: women should receive all the respect and love that men should unconditionally give. Unfortunately, the actions and mentality of many women I’ve met fail to convince me that they deserve it.

ROTW: That is such a lot you say! But really, all you are saying in your roundabout fashion is that you do not really believe in gender equality. In any case, that does not form any justification as to why you should ogle at beautiful girls as if they are mouth-watering delights. Nor does that constitute a reasonable defense as to why you can objectify them. At this juncture, I ought to tell you that I see you as downright promiscuous and frivolous. You do not seem to address your perverse fantasies very well and they manifests in reality as your attraction to women who are physically enticing, especially those who are scantily clad. Why do you allow your desires to go unchecked? Can you really do the deed without feelings?

Fingering...

2005-12-07T04:09:00.000-08:00

Disclaimer (if it really works): The following post may contain explicit materials unsuitable for viewers under 18 (in some countries it may be 21). If it is against your religion, national laws or personal interest to view tantalizing materials, please DO NOT proceed. You may want to visit this website instead. http://www.tenbros.blogspot.com/ The world wasn't ready for them, but they rode on...

But I digress. Anyway, you have been warned so don't come wailing about suing me for two million dollars. (who am I addressing here...I wonder) But then again, it really isn't so bad because I like to equivocate. Just change all the pronouns 'She' to 'It' and everything will be fine.

He hugged her...What a beauty she was! What pronounced features she had! She was lukewarm and quite possibly, highly charged. He tightened his embrace and ran his hands along her smooth edges. These were the edges of the world. Slowly, he placed her on his lap...he knew from her slim structure that she was fragile. Perhaps, just perhaps, only fit for the gentlest of men. He wasn't sure he qualified...yet.

She rested lightly on his lap, while he revelled in the tenderness of her closeness. He stripped off her covers in a slow, precise motion. He placed a finger on her and allowed his touch to linger for as long as it took to convey his desire. Once again, he had become a servant of Eros. She gave out a muffled tone; his reassurance that it was pleasurable. It was delightful music to his ears, and its resonance aroused his greatest passions.

He did not need more prompting to soothe another finger over her. It felt sharp sometimes, it felt flat sometimes, but he felt it all. His fingering was in a double beat cyclical movement. His technique, while not mastered to perfection, had incited her to move to his rhythm. Gradually, he increased his tempo and her tone changed from mild to wild, though still retaining its ever feminine quality. Pianissimo. Yes, he has pushed the right buttons and her excitement was ascending to an eventuality. How high can she get?

The impending point of no return was coming. He placed his other hand on where he knew would bring her increased sensations. He has got the whole world in his hands now. He unleashed his passion. He played with her. He injected his masculinity into her. He infused his soul into her. He did it fast and hard. She was overwhelmed. It reached the point beyond what earthly pleasures were supposed to bring.

'Forever love' it was called...he had just demonstrated it to her. The 'her' in question, is his new Casio keyboard.

Hey bros, this one is dedicated to you guys. Thanks for the keyboard...I really love 'her' a lot. And yes, I love you guys a lot too, albeit I won't express my love in the same manner.

A Conversation Part I

2005-11-26T05:28:00.000-08:00

A Conversation Part I

Boy: You curse my flowing lyric because is not of your envisaged sovereignty. But I am neither saint nor cleric, and my passions are not almighty. I know not what is the mastery of human genius in your sense, and I will never quantify nor qualify as your pride. But my life is not a struggle to conform to the standards you set. These expectations are too dense…too dense. I live each day truthfully integrating into this world as myself. But the stage of my life is set against the backdrop of what you think I am, not what I think I am. I am shrouded by an over-shadowing faux truth. Tell me then, how…how can I grow?

ROTW: You say there are passions which govern your interests and ideals. I know you have an intimate love with words, and for that matter, music. But they say nothing. They are hollow and empty, if not even ambivalent. You question the capacity of expansion under my standards. Fine…but I really would like to know also where and what you would be without them. The fact that you acknowledge the existence of an external world around you should drive home the point that you are but a seedling rooted in this time, in this space. For all that we can feel with intense passions, there is another more pragmatic and rational approach towards living. What is the identity you give yourself without my influence? What truth have you learned?

Boy: Not a word more… you have a circular and manipulating way of speaking. It makes me more confused. You gave me a name, and attached to it is a chain of commands which I more often than not have to obey. You gave me a life, and tagged to it is the bond of a dictatorial kinship. It is all a façade. It makes the road to finding a true identity for myself cloudy. I cannot see the future amidst the present so hazy with your stifling self-centeredness. I cannot learn truth.

ROTW: Ha! Not a word more? In perspective, the preclusion that you understand words does not necessarily give you the freedom to choose what words you receive. You have ears, but other people have mouths to articulate what they like. Like it or not, they have no obligations to say the things which will appease you. You are possibly the most discontented person. Without the education I gave to you, would words have any meaning to you now? Would you comprehend music the same way as you do now? Yet you argue about dictatorship. There is no truth. You contort it to your own advantage and convenience. Well, think again. Who is being manipulative now?

Boy: Look, I understand that there are individuals with innate jealousy, lies, narrow-mindedness, etc, etc. Let them say what they want. It is a negative human nature and I’ve learnt all about it the hard way. The pain from these experiences still linger somewhere in my heart and they remind me not to view this world with absolute perfection. To that, I must add that I’ve not been spared from performing these evils as well. I am, and can be more evil than you think. But I exercise restrain because frankly speaking, it hurts a conscience. But I’m only in my early-twenties; I cannot carry on the better part of my life being overly critical or cynical…This world has many dimensions. If you are at centre-stage, you’ll see the audience. If you are at the backstage, you’ll probably only see the stage. We may all be entrapped in the confines of the auditorium, but we see it in different light. I never meant to manipulate my words to suit my own purposes. I speak what I see, what I feel!

ROTW: Stop calling the world a stage. It isn’t. It is three parts land and seven parts water. To break it down into its simplest form, the world is really made up of different atoms. Oh…but that is Chemistry. Something I doubt you will understand…you never excelled at sciences. And guess what? The current state of the world functions on the various fields you do not excel in. Mathematics measures the world. Physics gives form to mechanical processes. Biology…oh but wait, what do you even know about life sciences? Our society is all geared up towards breakthroughs in these arenas. But you know nothing about engineering, bio-chemistry and so-forth. Ironically, perhaps the greatest insult you give yourself, is that your grades in the subjects you enjoy so much do not seem to match your established liking for them.

Boy: That is an insult you give to me, I never deemed it to be that way! You are getting personal. Your words become biting and venomous. Your words have now become weapons which degenerate the soul. And much as I feel inclined to return the assault, I see it serves no purpose really. Let’s face it. This is an elitist society. A grade, a certificate, a whole generation of the aimless paper chase. This is what the elitist society spells. I’ve made some mistakes…which explains the less than satisfactory grades. But if you can take a step back from the promise of increased material comforts and status from attaining academic achievements first, then perhaps you will not forget that education empowers by instilling knowledge; and the crux of education is learning. As such, I would have played my role as a student if I have learned though I fail every possible examination. My education is personal; it is not based on merits. In view of this, I have learned. You can, of course, question the depth of what I know, but you cannot challenge what it means to me. While the society can channel all their efforts towards greater visions, let us also move towards more mature education. Besides, I only have a limited time as an earthly existence, I cannot possibly learn everything.

ROTW: Arguably, you are very intelligent. But you seem to have used your intellectual prowess in the worst possible manner which makes you the dumbest person. Every time a setback occurs because of your incompetence or lack of effort, you fumble for a way to convince yourself that it was not your fault or you had not really wanted the lost success anyway. I hate to burst your bubble, but you ought to have realised that these are merely excuses to mask the shame you feel. Optimistically, you try to redirect your life after falling but the past haunts you every waking moment. It is blind optimism and it makes me wonder what kind of faith you follow. There is no room for mistakes and some bad moves you make will change your destiny forever. I should also point out that your fate as a low-down will be sealed if you continue to live your life on those warped principles you have.

Boy: You are the harbinger of evil. As much as I try to accept my failings and turn to more meaningful living, you creep upon me with your lustrous sword and stab me. You try to ruin me because my course of actions will bring you the greatest displeasure. Your life does not revolve around genuine concerns for me, but rather, your life revolves around the joys of my achievements and the utter shame of my defeats. But I am not a project you’ve worked on for twenty-two years. I am an individual and I am a thinking individual at that. Why need I conform to the guidelines you set? Why cannot I carve out my own sense of belonging to this world without the constant threat of your unhappiness? I am not trying to be a maverick; I am just trying to be myself.

ROTW: Now you start saying things which hurt too. You know that they hurt, more so when you try to package them with fanciful words and it all stems from your inherent need to shift the focus away from what is essentially important. Do you not crave to drive a posh car, reside in the grandest mansion, drink the finest whiskies and enjoy the company of the most beautiful but materialistic women? Shallow as these may sound, the pleasures of monetary privileges are immense. I have painstakingly tried to help you secure them, albeit by means of forcing you into certain things. But look at you now…you lack the drive and ambition to fulfil such physical comforts. You gave it up; you ruined yourself and now commit yourself to being mediocre. Your friends will mock their association with you if you remain detached about being substandard. If I can be allowed to be vulgar, I’ll say you’ve fucked it all up. What growth and expansion can you be possibly thinking of?

Boy: I have been searching for an inner strength away from external influences for a long time now. I do not compete against anyone except myself. I never gave up anything nor am I attempting to blend into the average. Two people can drive in the family, and between them there are two cars. Yet at any one moment in time, only one car is used by only the same person. Sounds like an Economics question? Let me satisfy your fondness for theory then. This is not Pareto optimal and there is wastage of resources in my opinion. But you do nothing to rectify it. How dare you talk about Mathematical intuitions and materialism when you are the one who rob me of both? It makes me fly into a rage just thinking about it. And my wrath burns all the way to hell, slowly consuming me in the process. I’ve learnt that there can be no utility to be gained from cars when they are surrounded by the sinister underlying notions of unfairness and mistrust. I can have all the riches in the world and beauties to deflower, but I will still be a pauper living in abject poverty if I lose myself trying to achieve them. Yes, I can forgo all these luxuries if that is the price to pay for self-discovery. Moreover, I do not measure the worthiness of my friends with respect to their wealth, and I can only hope they think likewise. Sadly, these are some things you can never come to terms with.

Swing

2005-10-29T06:43:00.000-07:00

The boy stared blankly at the swing. The playground was all but silence except for the incessant buzz of nocturnal insects. This very place was where some of the most important female figures in his life had accompanied him. Perhaps, just perhaps, also the very place where they left him.

Now the boy was quite uncertain. He was uncertain if he could pick up the loose ends where they left him at and start things anew. Almost immediately, he knew the answer. Life was a continuum rather than bits and pieces of unresolved issues. How could the present be detached from the reference of yesterday’s past? No doubt about it. The yester years of youth, innocence and dreams were long gone, never to return again. But he was once young. He was once innocent. He was once a dreamer. In so far as he once possessed them, in so far as he once knew what they were, perhaps these intangible assets were still rooted within him.

His drunkard soul spoke no words. Anger and grief had no language. Tears had no voice even if they really did sing a chorus of sadness. Because he was sad, angry, grievous, drunk and crying; he no longer expressed himself. No longer could he communicate with the external world… and the dis-communication was bilateral. His speech was condescendence, his language was detached, his words were misunderstood. But he could shoulder the blame. Its weight was no longer heavy. Quite naturally, he knew he was at fault. But the disappointment he was no longer bothered him.

The swing was lifeless. There was just no momentum. The notions of the lover, the friends, the family, however, were swinging wildly in his head. He knew they cared as much as he did. What he did not know, was how to tell them that his world was supported by an abject bitterness which had just came crumbling down. He could rationalise why he was embittered and why he was sad. But logic and theory had no place in the realms of emotions. They were meant to be felt, not meant to be spoken of, nor discussed for that matter. Feelings were fleeting, yet concrete. They were the pillars of vibrancy which he thought formed the foundations of his life.

Alas! He was not thinking. His bleeding mind was dysfunctional at best, and the wounds, both fresh and old, were corroding his soul. He was not thinking. He was arguing. Sadly, the things which he was arguing for were matters which had not even happened. His arguments stemmed from his immense desire not to be wronged by his world. Sadly, in thus doing so, he was doing himself the greatest injustice of trying to foresee and intervene in things which did not happen nor happened yet. Hallucination.

It was almost as if he saw the swing moving. Which of course, it did not. Good Lord, forgive him. He knows not what he is doing. But then again, if there was one thing in the world he needed now, it couldn’t be forgiveness. He could not give it, and therefore had surrendered every right to receive it. In retrospect, he never needed it before. So why was he so keen to acquire it now?

Casually, he walked over to the swing and plodded gently on it. He wanted it to move. And now, it really was moving.

General Stuff...

2005-10-19T00:16:00.000-07:00

General stuff…

The Price of Freedom and Value of Human Life.
It is in the papers today. So this man is convicted of culpable homicide and is sentenced to ten and a half years in jail (the half years for escaping while still under custody) and a generous few stokes of the cane.

Why was he guilty? Because he had stabbed a man a couple of times which resulted in the latter’s death from multiple injuries.

Why did he stab the man? Because he(the criminal) felt that he should not be paying eighty bucks for his massage which lasted less than the stipulated two hours. And he was then taunted for not having the money to pay up.

Sad.

Of course, the human interactions and dynamics going on under such a situation are far more complex, but consider the following two questions which are founded on the indirect implications of the case.

First, it makes me wonder about the monetary worth and value of a human life. In this case, it is a mere eighty dollars. This meagre sum of money is the invisible thin line that separates between life and death of this particular man. And that is probably not even a fraction of the allowance many of us get each week.

Next, what is the price of taking the life of another man? A fair proposition after looking at this case is it is a ten year jail term and some physical pain from caning. Human life becomes quite a cheap commodity because considering that the average age is 65; it is only an inhibition of freedom for one-fifth of the offender’s life.

Arguably, if we equated eighty dollars with ten years in jail as the implicit value and price of a human life, then for the accused, one year of his freedom is only worth eight dollars. Which means even the poorest of paupers like me have enough savings to buy a lifetime of freedom.

For a person who thinks that both human life and freedom are invaluable and priceless (albeit intangible), this is a rather sad revelation. Yes, I am genuinely sad.

Bad State…

Please forgive the pun, but this isn’t about anything negative in our country state nor is it about anti-nationalist sentiments. It is about the state of things in my life now.

For one, my health is gone. Failed the physical proficiency test recently, and that is evidence enough of my lack of fitness. Then the asthma attacks are becoming more and more frequent such that I more or less feel like a Ventolin addict. The solution is rather simple, kick the bloody smoke habit and things ought to improve. Yes…before any permanent long-term effects set in. But it is easier said than done.

Reason being, stress levels are rising. And I suppose I don’t have to on elaborate the directly proportionate relationship that stress and smoking levels have. Why are stress levels rising? Paradoxically, it is because I’m beginning to worry about my health and fitness levels. That’s how circular it is gets. That’s how bad it gets.

But that aside, everything seems to be rather smooth sailing including my relationship with my pseudo-sister. We have reached a compromise of sorts.

Studies wise, I’ve got two more major essays coming up before the exams proper but that shouldn’t be too difficult. Shucks…i sound like one confident bastard. Brothers, especially those from the other university, do start studying real hard. And please don’t go for massage.

Unofficial Matters

2005-10-09T10:30:00.000-07:00

The boy aimed his cigarette butt at the drain and flicked it precariously towards the narrow opening of the water way. But the trajectory motion of the cigarette remains simply fell short of the distance. It landed two inches from the drain and continued burning deeply into the filter. The boy, unable to suffer its agony stemming from his miscalculation, walked over hurriedly and snubbed it out with the sole of his shoes. Quite unnecessarily, he picked it up and tossed it right into the drain. This time, of course, it landed straight into the drain. He felt a relief of sorts.

How could two happiness-seeking souls be kissing so passionately in one moment and revert back to being ‘normal’ friends in the next? How could two strangers acquaint for slightly more than a month and progress to become a couple of togetherness? Why not? He really started wondering… How long did Adam and Eve meet before doing ‘you know what’? *_*

The exact words she said, still burning, flashes at the back of his rather perplexed mind.

‘I think it is happening too fast and I’m scared it will soon end.’
That took him quite a while to figure out a reply. He was at a momentary loss for words. And it takes a lot to rob him of his clever eloquence. He had wanted desperately to form an argument to counter her challenge that things which happened fast would end equally fast. An accident which happens in a split second may cause the victim grief and paralysis for the rest of his life. A poem which is written in a moment of haste may be savoured for a lifetime or more. The making of a baby takes, at best, half an hour, but requires twenty years to nurture. But these dumb arguments never did arrive. (Thankfully) Besides, this was not a political science essay. This was an emotion she was referring to. Tell me (alas, I betray his identity again), what good is an argument against a normative feeling?

Oh what a shame! Oh what a shame that Time should be a constraint on the speed at which feelings should develop. Time --- he cursed at it when it refused to prolong itself long enough for him to finish his exam paper; he laughed at it when he was in his teenage youth; he cried at its heartlessness when it took his grandmother; he squandered it when he had three months of holidays; he sees it each time he looks at his watch; he feels it each day when light submits to darkness. And now, with her, he didn’t really care about it.

The most obvious flaw that made Time so despicable and ugly now, was that it was too short.

The mild scent of her fragrance still lingered in his room though she had long gone. Paradoxically, the boy began to blame Time for being lengthy, but it was only a few minutes since she had left. Time is a slut. Thank goodness it was intangible and inanimate. Or he would really have wanted to sleep with it. Relativity is a slut too.

‘Damn it’ the boy exploded vulgarly. Damn it, he missed her.

Maths?!?

2005-09-30T08:07:00.000-07:00

Let’s talk about equations.

Yes, Mathematics has never been my forte nor is there any remote possibility that it will be in the near future. Problem is, I find it inappropriate to discuss anything in any other form. So I’ve reduced the problem to two variables with a generous four equations. (Hint: solve the problems simultaneously, I swear no calculus involved at all). Why did I choose equations? Because anything else would make the whole episode sound incestuous.

1) X = Male + Female
Subject to staying in the same room for more than 20minutes.

2) Y = Kissing
Subject to unrestrained tongue action.

3) X = Y

4) X + Y is an infinite arithmetic progression.

My Mathematics is rubbish. I’ve just proved it.

Test...

2005-09-19T11:37:00.000-07:00

Originally, i had wanted to write about a disturbingly subtle political event which happened of late which could threaten absolute freedom and truth in Democracy. But I am too wasted on Brandy. Still got the blues...Plus, i'm too afraid of political oppression to go in-depth about such stuff. Please, it could land me a maximum fine of 5000 bucks and three years in jail. Why risk it?

It was after seeing ZG bro's post on the sombre issue of Life and Death that really made me reconsider...Will be be really worth it to give up all that I have to write something against the conventional political idealogies of our era if sudden death chanced upon us the next minute? Neither Capitalism nor Communism would have much appeal to the dying man. Politics would be the last thing on my mind if I knew i was living on my last borrowed breathe.

I can't seem to pinpoint what is so pessimistic about it, but vaguely, I think the possibility of a sudden death is too painful a truth for anyone. So, we just turn our backs to it when deep down, we know it is reasonable prospect. Death is an upper limit of random chance, but hey, life is a source of infinite possibilities. I hate having to think of the gloomy side of Life...it is, after all, a creation resulting from an intensity of Love 20 odd years ago. If there is one thing it should not be, it should never be grim.

All said(perhaps not all) and done, we are complicit to the mishaps and bliss of our lifes in every small manner.......

So cheers, bottoms up. As far as I am concerned about Life, Death, Happiness, Sorrow and all other related matters, it is as far as my drunkedness goes. One life...live it.

Siblings, Sobbings.

2005-09-15T11:28:00.000-07:00

She has just officially requested that she be my mei mei. For all the wonders that words could do to reject this request, I could only manage a two syllable reply. ‘Okay’. What was I thinking? This family thingy sounds so passé that it almost seems to be a shadow of bygone secondary school days where we too, first became brothers. But it is quite different now. I’m 22. And I have a crush on her. It isn’t so cute anymore. And that seems to be the final nail to our coffin of romance. Bury it.

So I decided to write a dumb short skit/story of the fantasies and repressions which have been loitering in my mind for the past half hour. Because it is cheesy, so by default it has to have certain parts in Chinese with directions in English. No, not that I find my mother tongue lacking, nor am I saying it is dumb. Just that I’m too mother fucking influenced by the cheesy Chinese works I have read and drama series I’ve watched. The setting, as usual, is perhaps more retrospective than modern. I leave you guys to go figure who are the protagonists, but I sure think Guang and Huat bro combined makes a good 月老！Here goes…

Disclaimer: The following material is fictional. Really, it is.

百奥亭的夜色醉人。天上布满了一颗颗闪亮的星星。它们的闪耀仿佛是它们的微笑，它们的星光仿佛是它们的幸福。而那幸福的微笑，仿佛正笼罩在百奥亭下的夜空。之前的雨和云渐渐散开，沙下了一片温暖。

A saxophone solo plays an enchanting(Please, nothing sleazy about it) Careless Whisper in the background. Allegro and Grazioso. It fills the air. Almost intoxicating.

百奥亭中坐着一个芳龄十八的窈窕俏姑娘，和一个血气方刚的青年公子。他们很幸福，他们很温暖，他们也在微笑。She hands him a moon-cake she had made and asks:

姑娘：(mischievously) 六哥，你猜猜看，月饼是单黄还是双簧？

六哥：韵儿，如果是你做的话，那一定是双簧。你最喜欢成双成对带来的幸福了。

韵儿：真聪明！那你还不快偿偿我的手艺？

六哥：(frivolously) 哈哈，对，对，对。月饼吃进了肚子里，它们就可以大团圆了！那才是幸福呢。就好像你和我以后成了亲就可以。。。

韵儿：(hits him tenderly) 快别说了！你好讨厌！

He begins to eat the pastry.

六哥：哇！好吃！

She nibbles at her own fraction of moon-cake, steals a glance and smiles to herself seeing that he is so happily eating the moon-cake she had made specially for him. She blushes, but hurriedly says something else least he senses her girlish happiness.

韵儿：(pointing to the sky)六哥，你看今晚的月亮好美呀。

六哥：(cheekily) 月亮再美，也不可能比你美吧！

韵儿：(again, her face goes red) 肉麻… 油腔滑调的. 也不知道你是不是每次说这些话来哄骗女孩子.

六哥: 我没有!我是真心的…你实在是很美.

At this juncture, he leans across and is about to kiss her tenderly when suddenly, an immense eruption of smoke engulfs them. It is thick, and yes, intoxicating in the correct sense of the word. When the cloud of choking smoke finally clears, the couple find themselves in the company of a grossly chubby (albeit cute) and obnoxious figure, dressed like a deity (God mode!!!). He rudely intrudes…

???: (scratching his tummy)你们凡人中哪里有比我还美的? 是你吗? (points to 韵儿)

六哥, 韵儿: (together)你是谁!!!!???!!!

月老: 我就是传说中的月老, 但可别误会, 我并不那么老. 是不是比你们想象中还帅? 还美? (directing his question now to 六哥) 快说, 你是觉得她美些, 还是我美些?

六哥: 靠! 你这样的货色也敢和我的韵儿比? 要不要我撒泡尿让你照照?

月老: (deeply provoked) 我好生气! 我可是月亮里的第一美男子! 我看得到,我听得到, 你们的爱并不那么微妙. 那我就说给你们听…你们不可能在一起的! 你们根本就是同父异母的亲兄妹! (sinisterly)哈哈哈哈哈哈…

六哥: 你别胡说!

月老: 你们两个的右手都有一个半月形的胎记, 你们的老爸也有, 那就是证明你们有血缘关系的证据. 你们若不相信, 可以泜血认亲! 我没空纠缠在你们的情情爱爱中, 还是回月球做我的SK II面膜比较好. 它含有Pitera成分, 能让我的肌肤 QQ的. Bye bye.

Just as suddenly as the apparition had appeared, it vanished instantly. The dual had not really heard 月老’s professions on cosmetic tips. And there was no need for a DNA test. The look on their faces betrays the truth of their common birthmark. Goodness! They were siblings now. It is a bitterly cruel fate. Here, their destiny branches into two endings. If you think dOminic is a world class gentleman and like soapy endings, please read Ending A. If you think dOminic is a psychopath beyond redemption, please proceed directly to Ending B.

Ending A.

L. van Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata plays in the distant. Moderato. Not the most fitting piece, but perhaps the most fitting temperament in the manner it is play.

She is weeping now, the sorrow overcoming her. Her blissful love has, in a split second, transformed into an unethical affection. Perhaps the greatest sorrow is the revelation striking her deeply that she could not do anything to change matters.

六哥: 妹子, 你别哭了. 其实, 这也是没办法…

韵儿: (crying even harder) 我就是偏要哭…你不伤心, 就是你死没良心…

六哥: 妹妹, 你不要难过了. 我做你的哥哥, 也一样会疼你, 照顾你, 关心你. 让我为你准备一个家吧.

韵儿: 我就是偏要难过. 我不要做你的妹妹, 也不要你做我的哥哥. 我不要!我不要!

六哥: 妹妹, 你应该开心才是. 我们也总算有一个大团圆啊.

看着六哥眼神中流泻出的柔情似水, 韵儿更是难以自拔. She kisses him, but he pushes her aside gently. The physical rejection brings home his following statement.

六哥: (tenderly) 妹妹,不行啊…人生不如意的事,十之八九. 没办法改变的事实, 也就只好接受.

She realises for a second time that she was powerless against her fate. She resigns to her sorrow, but puts up a meek smile. Slowly, she mutters…

韵儿: 我明白了…

六哥: (genuinely cheerful and relieved) 你能明白就好了,我们回家吧.

Music fades away softly as the curtains fall. The night is one of unsurpassed conflict. She is reunited with him. She is him. Her heart is bleeding.

Ending B

Johann Strauss’ Radetsky March plays in the foreground. The tempo is overpoweringly lively.

He is weeping now, the sorrow overcoming him. His blissful love has, in a split second, transformed into an unethical affection. Perhaps the greatest sorrow is the revelation striking him deeply that he could not do anything to change matters.

韵儿: 哥, 你别哭了. 能做你的妹妹我已经很满足了. 只要你疼我, 照顾我,关心我,那我们做兄妹也是一样的.

六哥: (with deliberate slowness, a contrast to the music)不…一…样…的…我…不…满…足!

看着他那邪俊的脸孔, 韵儿的心跳快了两拍. 她朝思暮想的情郎一瞬间似乎充满了前所未有的可怜和可爱. He moves closer yet again. Suddenly, he is exhilarated by the insane prospects of being unethical. It would be a stairway to heaven. He kisses her. But the adhesion of their lips was a bonding of blood, not of Love.

韵儿: 啊! 不可以呀! 哥, 你想干嘛?!?

六哥: (lustfully)哈哈! 我想和你大团圆!

He unbuttons the first button on her collar. She resists and brilliantly executes a 猴子偷桃 , and squeezes until the juicy peach becomes rather deformed from any traces of masculinity. OUCH! She pushes him aside roughly.

At first, the pain is so intense that he is left rolling on the ground. But as he recovers slowly, he realises that人生不如意的事,十之八九. 没办法改变的事实, 也就只好接受. There must be another way to release his pent up frustrations. Then the idea came.

六哥: 月老啊月老! 快回来呀! 你才是最美最美的!

As if 月老 had been lurking around all the while, he suddenly reappears, (without the smoke this time) donning a facial mask.

月老: 真的吗? 也不知道你是不是每次说这些话来哄骗人家.

But he doesn’t really care what月老is saying. He kisses月老 in a wet, passionate manner.

月老: (shocked)你想干嘛??!??

六哥: (beyond all issues of morality)哈哈! 我想和你大团圆!

He proceeds to rape 月老, while his dearest 妹妹 watches the horrific deed in abject disgust.

Music is now a mess of double quick time staccato. Curtains fall. The night is one of unrivalled lust and psychotic evil.

Hmm… had quite a lot of fun doing this one. At least it took my mind off her for a while. I preferred Ending B personally because transposing Guang bro(no offence meant) as 月老, it becomes homoerotic and incestuous at the same time. It is so warped that it is doubly disgusting. Hahahaha. This is purely for entertainment purposes, so please don’t sue me for 2million bucks. I won’t have the money also.

Sigh…人生不如意的事,十之八九. 没办法改变的事实, 也就只好接受 .

贱男人

2005-09-14T20:44:00.000-07:00

Decided against writing an erotic post. That would just be pushing me further into the horrific reign of sex, music and booze.

Yeah…love lasts a lifetime. Making it only lasts for a few impassioned moments. Writing about the latter would make me seem so revoltingly uncommitted to the former cause.

Yeah…music soothes the soul. The melodies might play in the mind more often than I wish it would. But every song ends or fades away. Singing a song only releases the emotions I have for it at that particular moment. Nothing more.

Yeah…booze drowns the sorrows. The euphoric state of drunkenness takes away all thoughts of the consequences of actions. Yet how long can it last? Perhaps until the hangover comes the following day. And I can swear on Martell’s name that there is no sorrow worse that the headaches which accompanies excessive drinking. Besides, how much can a person drink? 6standard drinks is the usual Asian limit. I could possibly do double or more and get really wasted. But why waste my health on it?

Yeah…so no more talk of the above three vices for now. Makes me feel like engaging in them. But that would only be escaping. I think I was sad and disappointed. For like one minute. And I cried for two minutes. Then I became happy again by the third. But sadness should not be correlated to the transient comfort zones such vices provide. To be able to cry shows recovering grief. And only happiness is an eternal bliss.

This is not a post war tribunal. It does not require an investigation or a finger-pointing episode in search for a truth which was never there. Nothing was wrong. Feelings are no fault of anybody’s. Nobody has a right to claim ownership of something so magical. Come on, it was only a week. And she admitted she sort of liked you but think it is unfair because she just got out of a relationship. (Yes, I know it is an excuse but I choose to believe her okay?)So how much deeper can you probe into it? Why should you even bother? If it will not make a difference, don’t start something you cannot stop.

Fuck, I’m crying again. Except this time it could be tears of joy. I feel like I’ve matured 7 years in the space of a week. Great…now my emotional age is 7. 2 more times and I’ll be all ready for a real relationship.

Beware the long haired fellow. He preys on schoolgirls. Especially those in uniform, ankle socks, pony tails and smell like they’ve just come out from a bathtub of moon flowers and lavenders.

Then, she is calling me now.

(Time elapses to this morning when I’m in school after talking to her on the phone till 2am last night.)

It is the bloody same kind of conversation, filled with harmless flirting, blabberish about her exams, psycho-analysis tests, etc. Just as it was before her confession. Tell me, how are we going to become detached to a level of ‘just friends’ if this is to ensue? Do I have to actively repress my feelings for her? And I can’t really reject her calls on the grounds that I’m busy because I’m not and I do enjoy talking to her.

One week is really too fast, too furious. But Time is only a convenient unit of measurement. 同是天涯沦落人，相逢何必曾相识？If the feelings are correct, then it’ll be a shame to hide it away. Besides, how can feelings be wrong?

我是一个贱男人。

Not the end...

2005-09-14T00:51:00.000-07:00

伤更深，情越真。

Have I ever seen such an honest girl? Great, her honest confessions are admirable. Suddenly, just suddenly, out of nowhere comes a message from her telling me we’ll be better as friends.

That bursts the bubble of schoolgirl dreams.

She thinks it was impulsive thinking it was love. Goodness. So did I. Somehow I don’t feel hurt really. Maybe because it was only a week, and maybe we really should be friends instead. And I guess schoolgirls should be left as topics of my fantasies I always talk with MinG about. They are just not made for my infatuation.

dOminic, can you just pause to think? You have no youth, no looks, no talent, no money, no character, no IQ, no chemistry with any girl whatsoever. Why would an 18 year old schoolgirl fall hopelessly in love with you? And why would you think it really was true love? I think it is vanity at work!

And look at your previous blog posts of lovey dovey. Are you sure that is the material you think you can write about? Not really. You’ll be much better off penning erotic stuff and the likes of it. You could just draw on your memories of older, more lustful women like Dawn. That could easily make it a top best-seller in the adult section after karma sutra.

Fuck! I just have to let slip a vulgar word. Lets hope all the frustrations will end after I swear.

Okay, I promise to blog a super super super super erotic post when I get home from class later. That simply is more like me!

Infatuation...

2005-09-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

Yes, I had dinner with a school-girl just. And yes, she is of legal age. And no, there was no funny stuff nor anything else you filthy minded jerks.

When was the last time you saw a girl in uniform in such proximity? Your manlier than man female warrant officer hollering at you for not polishing your boots? Or that nurse with that distorted face giving you that once in a lifetime BCG injection which distorted your face for days after?

None of those. This is a pony tailed school girl, fresh faced from youthfulness yet weary with stress of prelim exams, complete with above the knee skirt and ankle socks. Plus she smells like she just came out from the bath-tub of lavenders and moon flowers.

Slurp. I choose to call it true love.

Boy meets Girl...

2005-09-11T04:39:00.000-07:00

The song goes on and on...

Got to meet this delightfully wonderful girl at the swimming pool the other day and I'm still puzzled what got into me such that I went to ask for her number. No, I don't do this often.

Sure, it could merely be an infatuation considering it is only a week since I've met her. But come on, passion is obsessive. It is a flame which grows stronger with each passing moment, each long phone conversation, each comfortable meeting, each....yeah...until it consumes each other in a devouring blaze. And yes, it is only a Platonic friendship. I'm still surprised it is actually possible.

I'm not ruling out that it could be a one-sided affection or just a matter of novelty. But the exhilaration is proving to be so overt that every waking moment seems to be filled with thoughts of her. If to say that I am only in love with the idea of falling in love, then insofar as she is the object of my love, doesn't it make sense that I love her?

Sssssh. Keep it as an emotion. Words never express emotions with equal clarity because it has to be put through a rationalising thought process first. And how can anyone describe that highly charged electric, almost magical feeling that flows and shudders through the whole body? An orgasm would seem over-rated when compared with it. Not even close.

Spin a little tighter...Sharing a tub of Ben and Jerry's at the playground at 4am in the morning. The sweetness of Cookies and Cream ice-cream simply resonating through the stillness of the night. Looking at the stars above and wondering if they too, were connected every night by a bit of sweetness. How their smiles illuminate the skies above. How the radiance of her smile light up every inch of my life! Good God! I thought I was supposed to be an unfeeling man!

The song goes on and on...let me pen the lyrics with Love!

Writing Discourse.

2005-09-06T04:16:00.000-07:00

I wonder if my rhetoric discourse is suitable for blogging. It is inappropriate because it is a tad too refined for the purpose of describing the trivial events which happen in my life. Should the insignificant events in the life of a struggling student be elevated with words? Professional as it may sounds, that is just not the way I speak and think in real life. Is it not?

I devote half my studying time to words and the other half to graphs and equations. I can’t blame myself for wanting to write similarly to the former and think similarly to the latter. But anyways, let me present, albeit in adopting, adapting and becoming adept at a feminine manner of writing, a very different side of me. Now I’ve transformed into an innocent girl…does it seem more appropriate?

Haha…todAy veRy hapPy, finally had lunCh with mOi JC classmate. *simlez* We ate iNdiAn food. wAh…beri nice lehz, but also beri beri bEri la4 lehz! HaD to drink tWo cAns of mOi faV PokkA gReen teA afteR that. Then got no more faGs left so had to walk all the way outside to the 7-11 to bUy. I was sweAting…yeeEEE I hatE the feelinG loR! Sianz.

LuckilY on ouR wAy outside saW one cat with her kiTTens. KaWaii ne!

AiyAr, nOw alsO beri siAnz, just waitinG for MinG to come mOi hse then we go sWimminG. Yeahhhh…I loVe sWimminG! K, mOi darLing bloG, I’m goinG to eaT my yuMMy yuMMy dinner already.

Enough! This is definitely not the style I should use. Okay, alternatively, maybe I should try my hands at something else. Let’s see if I like it better.

Wah today can go and buy 4D already, finally met my JC classmate for lunch. Cheebye everytime jio him also he say he not free. We eat this Indian food because he say I look ‘multi racial’. Fuck him lor. The food not bad. Seriously not bad but too hot already lor, had to drink 2 cans of green tea afterthat. Then after that realise got no more pOks already then lan lan, got to go out and buy. The weather hot like fucking hell, in the end by the time we reach the 7-11 we were sweating like mmm jia lan.

Then on our way there saw this cat and the kitten. Haha so funny, got one kitten trying to suck on the mama cat’s titties then she just bo-chup, went to sleep.

Damn bored now man, waiting for MinG bro to come. Also don’t know what time he is coming. I jio him to go swimming instead. If not everytime he come my house we just sit there and smoke. Sian ½, my mother nagging at me to have dinner liao…Later then see if I got mood to blog somemore or not lar. Fuck lar, her cooking damn lost form one leh, only know how to cook canned food.

Actually, it seems like a better representation, but I don’t particularly like it either. And I think it would be quite hard to develop ideas if I attempt to write in either style. The first is irritating to the maximum and the other is vulgarly distasteful. So hey, I’m not being pretentious when I blog the way I do…I just don’t think in that manner nor construct sentences in that way.

Summer dreams and Summer Days

2005-09-05T02:38:00.000-07:00

My Liquidity Preference Ratios.

Can I buy you breakfast?

Can I have your number?

Can I get you a drink?

Can I ask you out to the movies?

Can I ask you over to my place for a cup of coffee?

Can I smell your hair?

Can I then proceed to gently stroke it? And perhaps kiss you tenderly near your ear lobes where ‘Her World’ claims to be one of the most sensitive part of a female’s anatomy. (apart from the back of the knee cap)Yes, I will whisper my professions of love. One thing leads to another, until the final deed is completed, surely. Easy Peasy, even more so if you are Japanesey.

Your heart will beat double rapidly, your breathing will quicken, your face will be flushed with the rush of hormone bringing blood. Then the clothes which you painstakingly chose to flaunt your merits and hide your flaws will all fall apart before I even finish proclaiming the depth of my love for you. This is what every man wants, the naked truth. It is laden with imperfections, but it is what makes it more seductive than when clothes reveal only a fabricated you. I want to consume every inch, every austere inch of you, I want to adopt your virtues and change your vices when you become me. You too, will strip me of my mask of outer ego.

There will a frenzied movement of limbs, which will ensue in intertwining entanglement. There will be a still locking of lips, bonded by the explorations of the tongue. Submission and dOmination would become totally insignificant when our minds focus on no more issues but that of pleasure. Yes, such a time will come when such a sublime state of abject intensity ragingly arrives.

The eruption of Vesuvius will fill you with the pollen of my love. Pompeii will be flooded henceforth with nutrient rich lava and life giving emissions. But for now, it will remain as dead as Death itself as you stare with blank intent, while I lie, spent, in your youthful breasts. But I will repeat my undying love for you. Perhaps this cycle might repeat too if, after a few moments, you still wish to languish in my masculinity, while I, in your effeminate womanhood. Any more utterance of Gender is a wasted cause. You are the woman in me, while I am the man in you.

You are not in a dream. You are in my dream. I am in a dream…a very wet one, at that. Unfortunately, you only belong there, fortunately out of where my reality reaches. I seek you. Like Romeo to Juliet, like Cow herding boy to Cloth weaving girl, like me to you!

Waking up

Wake up! Yawn. Oh fuck! Not again…
Snap back to reality…you still have an essay draft due this week.
I was cruelly late out of bed this morning, so I brushed my teeth, brushed my long hair back, washed my face and went to read the papers over breakfast. Well, I wasn’t particularly tempted to blog about the above…hmmm, lets just call it ‘summer dream’. (No, it has nothing to do with Economics despite the heading), but it is at times like these…when ‘Copulation Theory’ falls into rightful place that one simply has to find an outlet to release pent up frustrations.

You can’t fault me. I wasn’t writing about sex, the word isn’t even mentioned. I was just writing about my lofty dreams that I, recently, quite often have. But…enough of all this nonsense.

Anyway, I was quite disgusted when I flipped open the entertainment section of the papers today to find a whole page devoted to an advertisement which features a gross number of chubby women claiming they lost a grand total of X number of inches and Y number of kilos. It came to my unimaginable horror, that on almost every alternate page of the papers, there had to at least one such advertisement of similar likes. Beauty spas, weight loss programmes, sliming tablets, breasts enhancements…you name it.

I can’t decide what has made me disgusted. Is it that fat women are shamelessly on the papers exposing more of their bodies than is tolerable for the eyes? Is it that the media marginalises these women by portraying them as less than perfect specimens and the epitome of low-self esteem because they are fat? Or is it that such companies have the audacity to portray fat as mutilation and ugliness so they can make a quick buck out of it, all under the hypocritical name of consumerism and beauty? I think it is a combination of all three factors. Cha cha cha!

Look, being natural is being beautiful. Come on, why can’t everyone just be themselves? Beauty is not an accessory or modification which can be bought or fitted. Neither is it a commodity where a price can be attached to it.

Think, would Karen Mok still be hot if every girl on the street has her legs? Would Jerry Yen still be good looking if every guy in the world has similarly chiselled features? The bottom-line is, if someone is natural and has an inner beauty of good character, that would make him/her stand out. That is a realm where Consumerism cannot enter without preaching the dogmas of a Church. That is something acquired, not bought, which makes it more precious than physical beauty.

But now, I sound like I am preaching about vanity so inherently found in me.

Ahem…but I mean, all I want is the naked truth. It doesn’t matter if a girl is in a school-uniform or plainly clad, it doesn’t matter if the girl is 100 pounds or 140 pounds, it doesn’t matter if the girl has shapely legs or thunder thighs…all that matters is her personality. That is enough of the naked truth that I want.

‘Oh man, dOminic, I know what is disgusting.’ The boy says… and continues after a pause.

‘You are so desperate, you are disgusting. Thank goodness you don’t try to make your dreams a reality’.

Walk

2005-09-02T09:06:00.000-07:00

The Absurd in construction...

If the boy had closed his eyes, even for a mere second, he would have fallen asleep and perhaps also, flat on the unforgiving stone pavement as well. The bruises, the pain, the blood of the hypothesized fall would perhaps serve better memory of the current day. He was walking alone.一人で歩けない。Despite the lack of companions or the faithful mongrel which should have been there like in the movies, he was still walking. He was not an actor, and neither was she a bitch. Walk.

Rashness of angry thoughts was lost and tactlessness of sinful decisions was suppressed. The boy was left in a hallucinating daze as vehicles flashed past. Just blurry images of the movement of automobiles. His judgement of speed was stationary. Just a few more steps home now. A horn blared in total disgust at his mazy jay walking. He did not pause to re-access the imminent road hazards there were and those which he might be causing. Home had appeared just before the horizons of his vanishing point. He simply continued walking.

The prospect of a mellow glass of Johnnie Walker on the rocks was an incentive to every step he now took. Keep walking. If he could keep his mind on one thing now, it was home. Home was the promise of Black Label. Whiskey was a promise in itself. A melody hummed in his mind subconsciously, and his heart filled in the lyrics. How many roads must a man walk down, before they called him a man? So he trudged on, now on the opposite side of the road, safe from harm from the dangers of the Tigress’ mouth. 马路如虎口. He was a man.

Funny how things which appear so near can be so far actually, he wondered. His footsteps had been incessant, but the distance to home still seemed to be unwavering. Probably his conceptions of Space and Time were equally warped as his judgement of speed. How long had he been walking now? How long more would he have to walk?

His vision was further impaired when the first drops of drizzle softly landed on his lashes. Why, and for whom was heavens weeping for this time? Whose sorrowful plight has made her cry? His tears were intermingled with hers, but he was walking, not crying. He desired the strength of Hercules and Samson combined, but did not wish to give it away to women. He coveted Ahasuerus’ wealth, but did not wish to promise Esther half his kingdOm. Un vrai menteur. A real liar. The echoes of his footsteps reminded him that he was still walking.

The rain fell with greater intensity now, and where he formerly thought was home had been reduced to but a hazy building against the raindrops pelting upon his cheeks. He felt somewhat cold although the walking had started to become quite an exhausting affair. But heat travels from one body to another. In this case, it was from him to his general surroundings. He was cold and shrouded by coldness. He was cold because coldness shrouded him. He had to get home before the coldness got him ill. So he hastened his steps, almost to the extent of running. The boy would have fancied running to escape the rain and cold, but he was already feeling short of breadth.

Home was the final destination of his walking, where he could get the malted Scotch he couldn’t get out of his mind since he started walking. If an emotional heaven could cry, perhaps an infernal hell could get drunk. It meant comfort of sorts to him, much more in this seemingly endless rain. Her tears would not seem to run dry, at least not until he could reach home. His walking had become a process of motion not governed by any other notion but his aging will to arrive home. It shouldn’t be long now. Walked.

終わりましょ。 Lets finish with this, the boy resolved as he fumbled in his trousers’ pockets for his keys to the gate where two ornamental clay cherubs smiled teasingly at him. They almost looked devilish to him. Home was just a few yards ahead. But alas! They were nowhere to be found. He then checked his left breast pocket, where he suspected it laid hidden deeply, but his hand came out empty. He must have dropped it in his frenzied haste home. A home. A home. A home sweet home.

But he was just not destined to enter it yet. The innermost depths of his heart told him he did not wish to die. Although the whiskey was really very alluring…

So he took one last look at the unrelenting gate, cursed himself for misplacing his keys, bade a sad farewell to the unseen bottle of Johnnie Walker and left. As suddenly as the passing shower had come, it had now stopped. She was happy again, and he had sacrificed neither his strength nor wealth to her, the boy noted to himself. Perhaps, he did not really care how she felt anymore. The rain has ceased, and visibility resumed.

はじめましょ。Lets begin. Begin walking anew and again. The boy pondered for a second and headed straight for the traffic lights with confident strides. Yes, he understood. Life is precious.

The amber lights appear briefly before changing to red. He waits patiently for the green man to appear and observes that all the cars have completely halted before he moves on. Happily, he walks. Walks.

Expose...

2005-09-01T12:48:00.000-07:00

Expose

Mount the gibbet like a saint,
With sins of Lucifer’s acquaint.
A rosy picture you paint,
With touches of a hidden complaint.
The bliss when the light goes faint,
With an unseen face will there be no restraint.

The wasted youth that you squander,
The cheap women that gave you gender,
The misguided imagination that you plunder,
The manipulating lies that make you tender,
But the greatest of mistakes where you blunder,
Is the hypocrisy that makes you meander.

Remove the veil you put for parades,
And bury it with the blackened spades.
Stop the game of your solitary Charades,
For guessing yourself is no honest trade.
Expose the hypocrisy of your masquerades,
Before the stench of it burns to Hades.

dOm

Couldn't get to sleep so I wrote myself a poem. (actually I was broaching the subject matter of the poem with another person in mind but I decided to judge myself first) Oh well, I guess I am becoming too harsh on over critical on myself. At least I think I remain only as a hypocrite to myself. Yawn. Who cares about anything else other than sleep now?

Doubles.

2005-08-31T09:51:00.000-07:00

Doubles
The boy placed both thumbs on the middle C and allowed a lingering moment before the other fingers of his hands started moving in succession in opposite directions as he played the chromatic scales. No flats, no sharps. It was smooth, flowing and natural, but somehow it seemed to lack vibrancy. Oh well, music, and specifically the Piano was analogous to Life, but isn’t exactly larger than it.

He felt more contentment reading his book. The Remains of the Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was probably as dense as Life itself, but again, it wasn’t all encompassing. Funny, he wondered, Literature by itself did not appear to have much importance(subjective) when compared with life-saving Medicine or justice-upholding Law or money-generating Business. But…every tradition and culture, has embraced it. From the pre-historic inscriptions on cave walls by ancient civilisations to the modern day cyberspace media of blogging, Literature has been ever present.

But he has drifted. For once, and for many more occasions to come, he was jubilant because even when he found himself to be living in the heart of darkness(Joseph Conrad) or when things fall apart(Chinua Achebe), at least he was still himself. At least he still had absolute knowledge that he was in the power to correct if not his surroundings, then perhaps himself. The boy was still very much focused on Literature as expression and self-discovery.

There were no negative external influences on him now. He had quit smoking for the past two hours (although not particularly inclined to prolong it) and kept aside the devilish looking bottle of brandy. He was lying stark naked on the floor and reading, with his room door locked and curtains down of course. Hey, he felt it was refreshing though I think it was sheer madness.

Who am I? Oh…Sorry if my abrupt infringement into the narration has caused some confusion.

The boy started getting confused as well, not quite sure if his elation was due to a fleeting moment of idealism or perhaps something which would go on. And on. Like the 45 page long reading on cyborgs and cyberspace politics he had to read last semester. He wasn’t sure if he was happy or not by being happy. Actually, he was left puzzled by his own layered interrogation with regards to a simple emotion of happiness.

Why was he happy? He didn’t know.
How did he become happy? He couldn’t figure it out.
What was he happy about? Probably over nothing.
When did he become happy? He didn’t notice.

He was quite afraid his probe into happiness would stop the emotion altogether. So he decided to register it at the repressed department of his brain for later investigation. It was then that the horror surfaced. What if the investigations at a later time give rise to negative results. Would that mean he would have to bid an eternal farewell to happiness?

He clapped his hands. When you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. They didn’t teach the song just for the sake of developing a child’s gross motor skills. The music and synchronised actions takes your mind off the evaluation of happiness, just in case…just in case happiness was not to be what it really was supposed to be.

Was it all pretence then? No.

Why was he happy? He had finished two tutorials and his book.
How did he become happy? Gradually…it did not overpower him. The intensity built up slowly, without any hints of reaching a climax nor regressing into negativity. Hmm…and there was nothing sexual about his happiness.
What was he happy about? The book had a pleasant revelation in its concluding pages.
When did he become happy? Specifically, it was the moment when he first pressed the middle C with both his thumbs.

The boy was happy.

Forgive my intrusion again…I think he is mad. Who am I? I am him.

Moment...

2005-08-26T09:38:00.000-07:00

The boy was startled by the on-goings of his world. He had thought he would fall asleep after his fall on the drinking. ARE YOU TOO AFRAID OF LOSING YOURSElF? (consider 'too' in any sense you wish to)

The world was silent except for the curtains moving to the mechanical blow of his air-con. And perhaps, the throbbing of his thoughts. But that was enough to wake him from his semi-drunkenness into the reality he lived in. All he thought about, was an escape, an escape which would exclude him from his vanity and perhaps the rest of the world.

The rest of the world? He thought silently. It was but a mello-dramatic impulse on his living senses. Whatever else that prevented him from his writings were the rest of the world. For that moment in time. For that moment in drunkenness. Where he could speak, not as a species of a homo-erectant, not as an averagely shaped homo erectant, not as a floating signifier of virtues and expectations of a university going homo erectant with an economics degree to pursue, but as a homo-erectant. The regression into our barbaric self. Was he merely a double.

It is at moments like this when he wanted the tenderness of his classmate, J. She was deliciously seductive, playing on her dressing and make up as an over-tone of what she really was. The boy had become dubious. Was he even making sense? Was he even speaking in grammatical construct so highly stressed upon by the academics? Drunkenness and Literature were truly perfect complements. Why….why did he have to even introduce an Economics term? The very jargon of materialism and consumerism he had so violently objected to?

Both conflicts were tearing at him. If not for the word processor, his ramblings would be but unstructured, un-liberated and un related pieces of writing he could never find solace in, given his nature of perfection. But from a philosophical point of view, perfection, is in itself a certain climax of imperfection.

Deliciously, he thought about the girl. She was his feast of optical pleasure. Just a simple ‘hi’ at the bus-stop would make him re-chart his original pleasure. Yes, she was beautiful. She possessed a beauty which needed to be share by her male counterparts in different measure. Goodness, the boy thought. It was more than a game of lust. Yet he refused to be specific on the topic of Love.

She was much like a sizzling pan-cake just out from the oven. Sizzling hot, a bit crisp on the sides, but none the less, a good candidate for his gourmet. He was cheap. But not in the monetary sense. He required a certain degree of cheapness to feed his own appetite for beauty. She was not beautiful.

And so, after a three digit drinking bill, he told himself, he would lie to cartograph his way into her pants. Like he would do with any edible girl on the street. He was overcome by his raw, almost primal instincts of reproduction.

But there she stood, oblivious or unappreciative of the attention she is getting. She was not just a genderless name or a passing shadow. She was like that undeniable midnight supper one just had to eat---which had just sold out.

The boy gasped at his own writing and thoughts. Surely, this was unbecoming of his social morality which he had been shouldering and anticipating. But there was no Perato optimal point in the conflicts between lust and love. It was a fluctuation of which he felt most at each time. For now, it equilibrated at Love.

But Love was exactly the last strand he was holding on to. If you knew that you were holding on to the last strand of hopeful straw before your trust-worthy camel finally gave way, would you give it up?

He was thinking in a staccato fashion where his thoughts were religiously broken into the breaks between paragraphs. Although the ‘highness’ of alcohol abuse had left him in a moment of clarity, he still felt he wasn’t making absolute sense. But why make sense when the challenge upon him was making love to the girl he awfully adored? The girl whom would be more gratifying than the lotus roots of a hence-named soup?

Cling on to the moment, before the dehydrating effects of the over-consumption of alcohol hits you…before you start to 寝ます. Oh…if he could forget the burden of the knowledge he had so acquired.

His head is spinning now, and his words appear to him no more clearly than the preceding vehicle on a road during a hazy morning. The emotions of the moment simply could not be captured in a printed media. The obsession of a breakfast before the glutton could not be made more comprehensible with words. It was a personal achievement of sorts, but a failure in part of the education.

The boy drifted off to sleep, seeing the stars of brandy and beer hybridizing before his very own eyes.

A moment. A moment of supreme confusion and yet clarity.

Likes and Dislikes

2005-08-25T07:32:00.000-07:00

嫌いです!
A list of my dislikes:
1) Consumerism/ Materialism
2) Post-modern texts i.e. The English Patient
3) Hypocrisy/ Lies
4) Elitist notions
5) Mathematics i.e. Calculus, Logarithms and Indices, Trigonometry, etc
6) Sluts i.e. Paris Hilton, XX, etc
7) Noise i.e. Barking dogs, 155mm Howitzers firing, mischievous children, etc
8) Coercion i.e. Army/Reservist/IPPT, so claimed ‘social etiquette’ and ‘ethics’
9) Callousness
10) Pompousness i.e. think ‘belittle my status’
11) Sweating especially after showering
12) Beggars/ Hookers i.e. most of them are of the same social class unworthy of compassion
13) Confusion i.e. moral, mental, etc
14) Stinginess
15) Conservative Mentality i.e. my father
16) Over-Prudence
17) Cowardice
18) Rigid Teaching Methods
19) Complicity
20) Over-zealous religious faiths
21) Gendered visions
22) False Accusations
23) Corruption/ Double Standards
24) Aggression
25) Manipulation
26) Over-Reachers
27) Complicity
28) Rationalising emotions
29) Cruelty/ Humiliation
30) False sense of Eurocentric/Racial supremacy
31) Unnaturalness i.e. fake accents, wannabes, pornography, etc
32) Things left hanging i.e. MediaCorp drama series, this list

…Somehow I can’t seem to finish compiling the list. There are just too many things I dislike in my world to completely list down in one sitting. Well, and since it seems like I can’t really alter the majority of things in the list, I should just stop whining about how bad this bloody messed up world is. It is bad enough as it is, without having me to specify to myself what really irks me.

I suppose my lists of ‘likes’ would be far simpler to state. Fast cars, faster girls. Sex, power, money and love. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Hmmm…actually, that isn’t really the case although I admit I might have acquired some quite weird tastes….

好きです！
A list of my likes:
1) Passion i.e. what Amos would term ‘feeling’
2) Sweating girls
3) Piano Ballads i.e. Moonlight Sonata, 梁祝 (with violin accompaniment), Memory
4) Sonnets
5) Gothic and Erotic Texts i.e. Dracula, Jane Eyre
6) Oriental stuff i.e. BoA
7) Demure women i.e. Jap teacher
8) Language and Linguistics i.e. writing, grammar, oration, etc
9) Graphs and Charts
10) Exploration/ Adventure
11) Extravagance
12) Grandiose
13) Beauty/ Harmony i.e. surroundings, faces, etc
14) FreedOm
15) Risk taking
16) Open-mindedness
17) Mental Stimulation i.e. challenges, fantasizing, etc
18) Detachment
19) Genderless perspectives i.e. Masculine = human, Feminine also = human
20) Truth/ Straight forwardness
21) Empathy in Justice (one big oxymoron)
22) Devotion to inner strength as faith i.e. Convent girls
23) Optimism
24) Romanticism
25) Responsibility and Discipline
26) Love i.e. as in making it and as in its abstract form
27) Drink and the state of euphoria it brings not amounting to drunkenness i.e. Brandy, Whiskey, Burbon, Rum (any dark coloured liquors)
28) Travelling i.e. to foreign countries or just a bus ride to nowhere
29) Honesty
30) Penmanship
31) Courage i.e. moral, in picking up girls, etc
32) Expansion i.e. my assets, mental faculties, this list.

Apparently, the second list ends on the same note as the first. That is, there is still room for more items. Am I here to conclude prematurely that the world is not as bad as I’ve thought it to be now? Given such distinct likes and dislikes, it only seems appropriate that I avoid my dislikes and pursue my likes. Perhaps then, I’ll have a better critique of the world in general and happiness would become a more integral part of me. Problem is…how often do I have the opportunity to chase my dreams? Sweating girls, demure women and Love…they happen to be part of my ‘likes’ but remain as entities in reality.

Brothers, do we share similar interests and disinterest?

Lunch...

2005-08-23T23:47:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the library and trying to bloG after a recess period because the other alternative of studying would yield less returns to scale considering I had a heavy lunch. And I mean 'heavy'.

It started this morning when I realised I didn't have a lunch partner yet. So I picked through my contact list on my phone and started searching for one.

J--- went SMU for exchange programme.
Amos--- told me another day.
Army buddy--- told me he had lab lesson which had 10percent weightage on his overall grade.
JC classmate--- eating with girlfriend, and sounded like he minded if I joined.
Sec school classmate--- had lessons.

So by the time my lecture ended at two, I was still quite without someone to dine with. Next best alternative? Eating in solitude at the cafe while endless streams of people scrambled by as they wonder why I was such a loner eating alone.

I decided to splurge on the meal because this week, my budget constrain (forgive the Economic references) was less tight. So I ordered a Roast Chicken Pasta with Mushroom sauce, a platter of Italian sausages with Salad in Thousand Island dressing and topped it all off with an extra sized Coke. By my standards, it was a gastronomical feast. But nobody eats alone...especially not in one quiet corner of the cafe, trying not to attract too much company with people who shared the same view about eating alone. Say, I'm studying in the biggest faculty in the whole Uni and can't even find a lunch-partner. Introvert? Anti-social? Attitude? Geek? Or a combination of them. (with doubts about the last one of course)

Actually, nobody cares. They might pass comments about my hair, my clothes, my looks, my eating alone. But these are detached comments as much as the receiver of them is indifferent to them. If I couldn't really care less about it, why should they?

So, this is the complete schooling experience there is so much emphasis about. Because the next time someone comments about eating alone, I would be the first to say it is no big deal. I've been there and done that. Hopefully, not too often.

Childish. Vain. Go think about how it fits in.

Meditation

2005-08-22T07:07:00.000-07:00

Meditation
So today was a day of physical activity. Did a bit of swimming in the morning followed by tennis in the afternoon with CW bro. In between our quest and training to play at Wimbledon, we had numerous water-breaks. Call it lousy stamina or exhaustion from immense exertion. Anyway, between one of those breaks where I sat there smoking, we had a little conversation about everything. When Taurus boy meets his Sagittarian counterpart, the conversation can only revolve around two things; the first being money making scheme (Taurus pragmatism combined with Jupiter’s good fortune and idealism) and the second being words of mutual help. (We take different stands on sex, love and women)

It seems the focus of our conversation was on the latter, but it turned out to be degenerative.

dOm: You know, you know (emphasis on ‘you know’ for rhetoric effect, typically Sagittarian)…
CW: (the Bull is still patiently smiling)…yar…
dOm: Sometimes I wonder about the meaning of our existence. (Pauses for dramatic effect such that the next orgasmic statement would ensure greater impact)…It is like, we are born to die. The moment a baby is born, he/she is actually awaiting death. He will die some day.
CW: (Still absorbing the intensity of pessimism in the above remark)…aiyoh! Why you so pessimistic?

After tennis:
CW: (Looking at a young but skilful and pretty lass playing tennis) Wah, she is damn good.
dOm: It doesn’t matter how good you are at tennis because one day, you will still die. (As-a-matter-of-factly) It doesn’t matter how much wealth you have accumulated because in the end you will still die. (Repeating the crux of his previous conversation) We are born to die.
CW: Huh? Then you might as well die now? It is exactly because one day we will die that’s why we should give it our best.
dOm: Haha…

It isn’t so often that I am bogged down by such negativity. But perhaps when the dog barks and wakes me from a night of precious sleep when my mind should be put to better use producing alpha-beta frequencies, I start thinking. I think about the meaningless paper chase (referring here to both degrees and monetary assets), I think about the truth behind the words we say, I think about the value of our life. I think about the way I think. Perhaps, that is the beginning of misery.

It would be an ironic over-statement to say that I have become a Nihilist, completely not believing in anything anymore. In so far as having thoughts about Birth as a beginning to the long wait for Death, it should be fair to say that I do believe in this process of Life itself. Not to mention, believing that nothing is worth believing is in itself a belief.

I am still haunted about the truth in saying that everybody was born to die. Perhaps Florence Nightingale was born to improve the appalling state of military hospitals. Perhaps Hitler was born to instil fear and cause a massive war. Perhaps Sir Stanford Raffles was born to develop a series of port colonies for Britain. Perhaps I was born to receive an education in Economics, then get married, then have kids, then lead a routine but happy life thereafter. But the ultimatum here is that nobody can escape the clutches of Death which inevitably transforms our earthly existence back into ashes and dust.

If, for a few moments, I can cast aside the beginnings of Birth and ends of Death, and start to examine the process of Life as a means instead, would that diminish the pessimism? Would that reaffirm my personal doctrine of striving for what I ever wanted?

No doubt, I give my best shot within my own expectations with everything I do. Death haunts not because I fear it. Yet it troubles because it throws every single moment of living off balance. It perpetuates in questions aimed towards finding a meaning for my existence as myself. My strive for an excellence and the things I wanted would cease to hold any purpose, wouldn’t it?

But I am, after all, an Economics student. The fundamentals of utility and satisfaction still grants great importance, which hence explains why I should not and cannot stop going after my current ambitions. Yet it so happens that I chanced upon Philosophy and had exposure to intriguing Literary works of Self-Discovery. I cannot deny nor defy the truth of an empty world as the essence of my existence.

Hmmm…the multi-facets of this dilemma begin to surface when all I’ve tried to do is probe into it with single-mindedness of thought. I try to take myself out of the box and think…I am not a person who lives my Life by a single maxim. It would be too stifling and boring. But the truth which I thought would provide an absolute freedom has actually robbed me of the freedom itself. And the internal struggle continues…

No. No. No. Enough is enough. It would be better to stop thinking and start living. Who cares about the end when I am not even in the middle. Who cares about meaning when there was none to speak of in the first place? Who cares about the beginning when I did not have the authority to choose it? Who cares about questions when there is no necessity for answers? Who cares about Economics, Philosophy or Literature when our Earth teaches us everything we wished to learn? Who cares about Astrology when it cannot explain fully the dynamics of inter-personal relationships?

Perhaps the dog was born to wake me up with it incessant barking. But it will die too, when I find my infamous Bowie knife. And perhaps, the conversation with CW bro was not all that degenerative. At least, now I’m back at doing my tutorial, thinking about my routine but happy life thereafter.

2005-08-21T07:01:00.000-07:00

This was my angry expression when I was rudely awakened by the dog at 7 plus yesterday, after the ktv session followed by supper on Friday night which ended at 4am. Now, does that explain why I am so often in a state of the biG D???

Abashed

2005-08-17T00:34:00.000-07:00

Paid 20bucks and got into Club Momo for the faculty bash last night, without any bikini girls of course. Went with my friend and his OG but hell, they were late! And given my uninteractive personality, I left them to their own desired small talk and dancing Don't really enjoy dancing so I just found myself a quiet corner, regretably near the sound system but fortunately near the bar counter. Took a couple of drinks and I thought I was going deaf when this middle-age Chinese man, who belonged to the public crowd rather than from school came over and talked to me. The following conversation ensued...

Guy: Are you bored? I'm friendly.

dOm (managing a meek smile): Hi.

So he chatted a bit with the usual conversation starters like where you're from and what are you doing stuff. Then he pressed his hands on my leg and pressed his face against mine:

Guy: Are you going anywhere after this? I can accomodate you...

dOm: (moving away and freeing his hands from my inner thigh) Huh?

Guy: Maybe you wanna go outside and talk where it is more convenient?

dOm: Fuck off.

Guy: Hey, I was being straight-forward. I thought you were...

dOm:(disgustedly) Fuck you! Guy: Oh okay, maybe I'm just not your type?

With that, my friend and his OG came back and the guy left with a less than gay smile. I was left so terribly traumatised that I decided to leave soon after that. My ending thoughts? Why of all things be a homosexual? Look at the girls in the club: tight asses, great boobs, ample cleavage, silky long hair, all complemented by short skirts, tight tops and expert make-up. I don't see any reason to leave the tenderness of a woman's embrace in exchange for something up my ass. Just don't see any reason for this perversion. I don't particularly have anything against gays, but I think they should not disturb me with their disequilibrium in sexuality issues.

Emotionally, I feel quite bashed up and thinking back about the incident just makes those butterflies churn in my stomach. Sick.

Whine, Wine.

2005-08-15T07:00:00.000-07:00

The boy looked at the label again. Cabernet Sauvignon, Vin De Pays D’OC, Barton and Guestier, 2000. It wasn’t exactly a fine wine, it wasn’t even chilled…he had found it in his father’s cabinet of wine and liqueur. But that bears no significance for it’s drinker who only wished to abuse it for its alcoholic content. They say a man who abuses his drinks more than savours it is more lustful than loving. How he wished he could tell everyone in the whole wide world that they did not fully understand Depression like how he did not understand the pleasures of wine drinking.

He didn’t particularly like the word Depression. It was too sombre a word to use for his condition. He could still drag his weary body to school, he could still attend lectures, he could still swim as much as he wished with precision of his strokes, he could still live everyday as it was meant to be. But he did not know what it was meant to be. And thus, when this feeling of hopelessness and disparity strikes, he knows that it is a passing bout of what people term as Depression. It was like an asthmatic patient who knew of his condition yet being unable to foresee when the chronic illness would attack at his lungs. By the way, the boy was asthmatic just as well.

Everything was much as it was yesterday. The stillness of the pool combined seamlessly with the rustling of the palm trees, and its overall effect was one of tranquillity and serenity. What is inherently different, is the boy’s emotions. He had brought with him the negativity of yesterday into today. He utterly regretted it, but his greater remorse lies in not being able to put a halt to it. It was like seeing an ominous premonition and yet being unable to delay or prevent its manifestation.

The pizza delivery arrived. His hunger ceased. The dose of Ventolin arrived. His breathlessness ceased. His friend arrived with a bag of smiles and cheerful optimism. His sluggish emotions ceased. But when he heard the melody of ‘Electric Dreams’ on his iPod shuffle, his tears flowed again. This time, it flowed uncontrollably, as if the invisible dam of pride had been broken. Yes, a man cries when he is feeling low. Much less to say, a boy. But again, he couldn’t figure out what he was crying for or why in Jesus’ sacred name was he crying in the first place.

He had learnt that in business cycles, a peak residing at the highest point would eventually deteriorate to the lowest trough. The journey of his own roller-coaster of emotions could be plotted with such a sine graph. His emotions were not wine. Bad, repressed memories would not ferment like a vintage wine. It would slowly rot and decline, feeding on the storage of happier moments until the decay final consumed every inch of obscure incident of bliss. The happiness that he sought now, would only pay the interest for the debts of his previous mis-endeavours. The chart spiralled endlessly downwards…

Yet he refused to bow down to the trivialities which annoyed him. Why should one cheap slut determine the way he should live his life? Why should an inanimate piece of machinery preclude his levels of happiness? Why should a barbaric beast which seems to bark at goodness knows what disturb his quest for the truth in life? He was so close now, what could possibly stop him except himself. The boy calmly repeated to himself that he was stronger than that. Stronger than that. Much stronger than that.

So he watched a music video of a sassy Korean singer. Her more perfect than life mien and groovy dance moves cheered him up instantly. It made him realise that when the prospects of a heavy, hollow future seem too much to endure, perhaps it is time to resume the simple pleasures of the present which he had taken for granted. It was escapism. It was living in renewed hope.

The red wine lost its sourness and acidity. It was light, spicy, with raspberry and red currant aromas and an elegant finish; and probably the best which could go with his Hawaiian Supreme pizza. With his hunger and asthma gone, now all he needed to battle with was his childish insecurities which had made him weep.

But as the boy emptied the remains of the bottle of wine, his depression was already gone. Why should he be in low spirits when every day was practically a day in his eternal summer vacation? The sun was up, the girls were there, the boozing was great, Electric Dreams was playing…it was time for a swim.

Sometimes I just feel like...

2005-08-14T09:27:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I just feel like…

Sometimes I just feel like shouting at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I just feel like eating my favourite beef noodles. Sometimes I just feel like smoking in a bath-tub. Sometimes I just feel like delivering a big kiss to Cyndi when I see her on TV. Sometimes I just feel like scribbling and doodling rubbish. Sometimes I just feel like writing senseless poems. Sometimes I just feel like reading an erotic sword fighting novel. Sometimes I just feel like swimming lap after lap. Sometimes I just feel like tanning forever in the sun. Sometimes I just feel like listening to the oldies. Sometimes I just feel like sipping on a White Russian. Sometimes I just feel like going back to the best days of my life. Sometimes I just feel like hugging my bolster and sleep. Sometimes I just feel like having a warm glass of milk. Sometimes I just feel like tapping gently on the keyboard. Sometimes I just feel like pissing in the pool. Sometimes I just feel like not breaking my text into paragraphs. Sometimes I just feel like letting out the excess. Sometimes I just feel like smelling my own armpits. Sometimes I just feel like combing my hair. Sometimes I just feel like blogging about silly things. Sometimes I just feel like stripping an AR15. Sometimes I just feel like sleeping naked with the door unlocked. Sometimes I just feel like studying an unimportant subject. Sometimes I just feel like taking photos of myself on my camera phone. Sometimes I just feel like calling an old acquaintance for fun. Sometimes I just feel like killing a helpless stream of ants. Sometimes I just feel like barking back at the neighbour’s dog. Sometimes I just feel like playing tennis with my brothers. Sometimes I just feel like removing all my wisdom teeth at once. Sometimes I just feel like needing the adrenaline rush of an injection. Sometimes I just feel like vomiting at the mushy stuff people in love say. Sometimes I just feel like saying the four letter word out of the blue. Sometimes I just feel like dreaming about world conquest. Sometimes I just feel like pushing the limits of everyone’s patience. Sometimes I just feel like snapping under the strain of others’ hypocrisy. Sometimes I just feel like tossing an orange without ever eating it. Sometimes I just feel like wearing the same pair of jeans for a week. Sometimes I just feel like farting silently in a crowded lift. Sometimes I just feel like asking some girls if they are still virgins. Sometimes I just feel like licking the fillings of an egg tart. Sometimes I just feel like reciting a psalm from the Bible. Sometimes I just feel like refusing to move to the centre of the train. Sometimes I just feel like being rude to people who think they have it all. Sometimes I just feel like whispering gibberish to someone and see their response. Sometimes I just feel like crying over not being able to cry freely. Sometimes I just feel like picking a leaf and putting it under a load of text books for years. Sometimes I just feel like wondering about the girl I’ll marry. Sometimes I just feel like I’ve exhausted myself before I could have exhausted my supply of Verbs.

Monster!

2005-08-13T10:35:00.000-07:00

‘The more I write, the less substance I see in my work. The scales are falling off my eyes. It is tolerably awful. And I face it, I face it but the fright is growing on me. My fortitude is shaken by the view of the monster. It does not move; its eyes are baleful; it is as stale as death itself--- and it will devour me. Its stare has already eaten into my soul deep, deep. I am alone with it in a chasm with perpendicular sides of black basalt. Never were sides so perpendicular and smooth, and high…’
Collected Letters Volume 2, Joseph Conrad.

How correct is Joseph Conrad! The more I try to write, the less quality I feel it has. Perhaps the ‘monster’ he so mentions refers to his writer’s block he experienced when he was in his bout of depression, but the ‘monster’ that I now feel is entirely different, though I thought it seems to fit his description.

The contents and stylistics of my writing is not so much affected by an in-competency in expression, but rather by the whole dynamics which goes on behind the writing process. Sometimes putting 300words to form a composition can take me hours not because I fumble with language, but because I stumble upon this ‘monster’. With entries that I post on the blog, I am forced to rationalise my thoughts, my words and my actions. And in doing so, my posts are effectively cold, and my words are desperately emotionless. Good god, it is as stale as death itself…

The whole process of writing throws my world into turmoil. No doubt, I have a passion for writing; never mind if I alone consist of their sole readership. But what have I got to write?

The accusation of me being argumentative is the partial truth. I have written against my friend’s ideology, against consumerism, against policies, against the people around me, against rigid teaching methods, ad infinitum. They are often a mixture of nominative facts and personal opinions and prejudices. Whether they are constructive or otherwise remains unresolved.

Ironically, the fact that I am arguing (albeit with myself) about why I am argumentative is only a partial truth actually already exposes my argumentative nature.

However, there is clarity of purpose here. To hold an argument stems from having objections to the proposed topic or suggestion. My arguments give voice to why I disagree. Disagreeing is often taken negatively, but to me, it is simply another mode of communication.

Yet it seems to me that being argumentative in a tactless fashion can be dangerous for reasons two-folds. Firstly, despite freedom of expression being highly emphasized in this era of democracy and human rights, there still is oppression such that legal action can be taken against the things we say about institutions of the higher order. The hypocrisy is ‘tolerably awful’.

Secondly, being argumentative is viewed as a character flaw. It is a compromise on a person’s character because it makes him appear to come on too strongly. It gives the impression that the person is too self-opinionated to accept other’s views or has a pressing issue in trying to win.

But why should I live in a world where I cannot even say what I wish to say or convey how I feel? But why should I live in a world where I have to passively submit to disorientated or incorrect ideologies? But why should I live in a world where I have to give in to another person’s views when it is in total conflict with my own?

The first danger of being argumentative requires a certain degree of self-control to keep in check. I am not afraid to speak my thoughts on controversial political figures or government policies or related topics. But to face the ensuing apprehension would risk the last straw of freedom which I cling onto now---that is, at least I am not in jail. It is an unworthy cause and I would choose avoidance.

It is the second danger which is upsetting. Consider, what do I stand to gain from winning an argument, if it could ever be won in the first place? It does not feed my ego to make someone speechless in the face of an argument. Neither does it make me feel superior for defeating someone in a duel with words. As a matter of fact, I have much more to lose. I might lose my temper, I might lose a friend and worst of all, I might lose myself as such when ‘my fortitude is shaken by the view of the monster’.

The ‘monster’ in question here, is my conflict of having an individualised need to be argumentative as a medium of disagreeing versus societal negativity and the back-lash of being argumentative.

All I ever wanted, was to tell them what my mind was thinking, how my heart was feeling and what my soul wanted to communicate. Now, the entrapment is eating at the very substance of my writing because I cannot write very freely.

I am alone with it in a chasm…

Semi-Soliloquy

2005-08-10T02:12:00.000-07:00

Semi Soliloquy

Now as I sit by the pool, searching for the right mood to blog, I inevitably begin thinking. If only it was that easy. Give me another beer and it’ll all be smooth as can be. I mean, how difficult can it be to just ask the two girls out to the party at DXO this weekend? All it took was a simple introduction and an even simpler question.

‘Hello ladies, I was just wondering if you’ll be interested in going to a party this sat at DXO, where Embassy used to be. Oh yar, what’s your names? My name is dOminic.’

If they were Japanese, I could do it the text-book style by being polite in asking for their names first. That has already been taught.

‘Shitsurei desu ga, O namae wa?’ Watashi wa dOminiku desu. Dozo yoroshikku.’

If they happened to be some Chinese girls it would be even simpler.

‘嗨！我叫dOminic。不知道小姐们有没有兴趣参加一个Party?’

But the words just won’t come out. Technically, I believe I have lost all confidence to speak to women, let alone pick up two hot bikini clad girls to go for some party. Okay, maybe I just need another beer. But drinking isn’t going to help regain that confidence…it just ruins it by giving me a false sense of courage. That is about the last thing I need.

Let’s just take today’s sectional lecture for example. A decent looking girl (over the top makeup marred her above average features) sitting next to me asked me if I wanted to share her lecture notes since I haven’t printed mine. I was just as shocked as her when I said an indifferent ‘no’.

I asked myself for a justification to why I said ‘no’ after class. Probing a bit into the past, this scenario was way too familiar and I just had to pull the brakes to prevent myself from falling into the pitfall again.

‘You want to share with me not?’ a girl from last semester’s class asked me and it was the beginning of a nightmare. A nightmare that made me really angry.

But dOminic, every girl is unique and you are not exactly giving yourself a fair opportunity in the game of love and with the opposite sex if you confine yourself to those sub-standard ones you used to know. What pitfall can there be in the act of sharing lecture notes with a stranger?

Besides, I didn’t know a single person in that darn Labour Economics class. It wouldn’t hurt to get to know a few more friends and it would definitely be refreshing to find a few classmates to do the term project with. Yeah, I was given the chance today. But I just fucked it up big time. Goodness. I am appalled by how ghastly it’s been.

Okay dOminic, all you need to do is open yourself up and be more receptive of people around you. Smile, it isn’t as hard as you think it is.

Hmmm…but I’m so sick of my own past myself that I don’t even think about it anymore, why would anyone wish to know? Why should anyone wish to know? And it isn’t such a great deal anyway, opening up only means reliving the hideous memories which I’ve confronted long ago.

Smile? Why should I smile when there isn’t anything worth smiling about all the time? Why should I wear a smile to portray a friendlier image which is hardly me? Come on, I’m introvert personified, and I think there is no point being a hypocrite who smiles just for the sake of nothing.

The girls, thick makeup or bikini clad, are gone now. Heck, the former I’ll see in class again next week and the latter will probably be back when the sun shines with unrivalled radiance like today. And next time, I’ll be the one offering to share my notes with her. And next time, I’ll be asking them out for the faculty bash. If my intentions remain sincere, I probably wouldn’t need to be wearing a smile for fear of their rejection!

Or maybe I might just fare a little better with those young darlings from some all girls’ school.

Gibberish!

2005-08-07T08:13:00.000-07:00

Gibberish!

Disclaimer: The following conversation is imaginary and any resemblance to characters living or dead in reality is coincidental. Nothing said, done or suggest has happened in real life. If it is against your religion to indulge in promiscuity, vanity and decadence, please do not read on. Although it is against my high moral standards to engage in such; lets face it, we all have fantasies.

The boy was at the poolside with his brother, affectionately known as CBmenG, just lazing around like there was no tomorrow, with a bottle of their favourite cognac and their beloved brand of fags.

dOm: Hey, have you been working out at the gym lately?

menG: Haha...no, but my classmate commented that my shoulders have gotten broader. (And gives his smug little dimpled smile)

dOm: Hmm actually I was about to tell you that you should start an exercise regime and try to tone up.

CBmenG: Ha...

A bit of drinking makes them a little tipsy and they soon start divulging their dirtiest, deepest secrets to each other...

dOm: Eh, so what do you usually fantasize about?

CBmenG: Girls la, then?

dOm: Of course it is about girls la, we dont fantasize about guys right?

CBmenG: Ya...

dOm: (giving away his confession first) Eh seriously right, I think schoolgirls not bad leh. Sometimes I will think about it...and I think it is quite high!

CBmeng: Yar yar, I also think so leh, especially from those all girls school one.

dOm: Anata wa sai tei desu! あなたは　最低　です(You are of the lowest class)

CBmeng: Haha, as if you are not, bitch. Well, but how are we going to pick them up? We are not that young anymore leh.

dOm: Hmmm...I think can just go down KAP one day and get to know some of them first, then can offer to fetch them after school. At their age I think they will be very impressed with guys who will drive them around. (squints his eyes and gives a sinister, scheming expression)

CBmeng: Yup, I think so too. Then maybe can just drive them back home on the pretext of helping them with their homework when parents are not around. Secondary school Elementary Maths should be a piece of cake and we can always throw in a sensual and romantic line or two from some Italian sonnet for their Lit assignment.

dOm: Yeah...actually on the way home can pluck a few flowers for her also. You know girls always like such stuff so can score a few points first. Haha and the irony of it is that they are soon to be deflowered.

CBmeng: Haha how thoughtful and sweet, you big hypocrite! (both start laughing hysterically)

dOm: Hmm I think when we get home right, then should immediately light up a fag cos I think girls when they are 14-16 will be going through a passing phase where they like the bad boy type. (Pictures himself doing it in his mind...)

CBmeng: Yeah yeah...then to get things going maybe can play her a love ballad on the piano and teach her by gently holding her hands and putting her fingers on the right notes. I think Vic Zhou's song is damn ideal man, since they are practically obsessed with that dumb F4 thingy.

CBmeng: (continues) Haha sounds gay but I think that's the kinda thing they like. Well, then after a while when we get tired then can suggest that she rest on the bed, still in her pinafore and uniform.

dOm: And that is the time to move in for the kill by joining her and lying on the bed. At this point in time I think should ruffle my hair back with a quick gesture and look deeply into her eyes for exactly 3.439 seconds. Exactly 3.439 seconds.(Again picturing it in his mind)

CBmeng: Haha, precisely what I thought. 3.439 seconds, no more, no less. Then when she gets the idea then can tell her that the air-con is down and complain that it is too hot, so must take off the shirt.

dOm: ....and then the rest will be history...

(their perverse laughter resonates the entire pool area...)

Hey brothers, school is starting tomorrow and I'm getting a bit cranky so wrote this rubbish. Why would I prey on those young school girls when there are the better dressed and better developed counterparts back in Uni? Ha! Tennis at my place at two tomorrow.

Smoke...

2005-08-04T09:15:00.000-07:00

The stream of smoke drifted from the lit cigarette in an almost perfect line before breaking off into a random irregularity of diffusion. The boy took another puff of the bitter sweet toxic and began to wonder how long a person could pursue a dream before losing his focus. Perhaps it might not even outlast a cigarette’s short-lived existence.

And in exactly the same fashion as a cigarette spreads its fumes, he started wondering if there was anything wrong with divergence from a perspective dream if it meant a greater basket of choices for happiness. He had got a dream, but he had yet to have acquired the drive to make it a reality. Not just yet…

He had been sitting on the fence for too long, now it had just gotten narrower and almost uncomfortable. A part of him was the optimist. He believed in a romanticized fairytale love story where the ugly peasant living in abject poverty would one day come to marry the king’s daughter. He would still find purity and truth in love despite his humble and unbalanced past.

Yet his past was perhaps the greatest obstacle standing in his way of attaining the hands of any girl, princess or otherwise. Life has not defeated him in any sense, but it just proved with every experience that fairytales belong to fragments of imagination. As he snubbed out the cigarette, the boy paused to recollect his thoughts…This part of him, was the pessimist.

No doubt there is a sweet future awaiting him if he only started trying. He should turn his back on the bitter past and begin a life where only the brightest stars shine in the skies above and only the greenest meadows lie in the valleys below. He should start pushing all his negative experiences into the repressive part of his mind and rediscover the brilliance and picturesque greenery that the future holds in store for him.

But alas! He was still sitting on the ledge and disregarding the discomfort. Because the unfamiliar future was something he had to carve out all over again, while the past; albeit bitter, was already there for him. An Optimist? Or a Pessimist? He still could not make up his mind. He lit another cigarette, and the influx of mind altering chemicals prolonged his agony.

Stuck in the middle was the appropriate phrase. It was the same with everything else. Clownish jokes versus philosophical utterances. Devilish character versus inner-most innocence. Lavish lifestyle versus simplicity. Confidence versus insecurities. Everything versus Nothing. Charismatic debater of eloquence versus scheming manipulator…

Either way, how could he not understand the impact of words? He could convince people on the most hard-pressed issues with a blend of words and wit. But he lacked the conviction to convince himself on even the most simple issues for the sole reason that he had not even decided between which of life’s most simple binary opposites to choose. He secretly wished that the whole world was mute…perhaps then only actions could speak what the mind really wished to say.

The boy flicked away the ash and took a long drag before tossing the cigarette butt carelessly into the grass. He finally came to a decision that he would remain where he was. (Paradoxical as it may sound) Life is not over until the very end, so why coerce himself into taking sides so soon? And perhaps, sitting on the fence was not such a bad idea considering that from his vantage point, he had a more complete vision of the bigger picture.

After all, he was an Optimist.

What i really need...

2005-08-02T04:42:00.000-07:00

I need…

I need a horticulturist,
Who plants orchids that will forever bloom.
I need a guitarist,
Who strums the chords which fills my empty room.
I need a psychotherapist,
Who counsels me from the gloom.
I need an evangelist,
Who will save me from an eternal doom.

I need a hedonist,
Who will share my simple pleasures.
I need a narcissist,
Who regards admiration as treasures.
I need a Marxist,
Who devotes equality in household measures.
I need a nihilist,
Who thinks that having nothing is a leisure.

But I need you above all,
Because you are my menthol lights Pall Mall!

-dOm

Hmmm…enough of silly rhymes. Really couldn’t string together a better ending for such a cheesy poem so decided to make it dumb. (I’m smoking and writing at the same time which explains why) But then again, it really isn’t all that dumb. I thought poetry was supposed to be putting together unfamiliar words patterns in a harmonic fashion. CW bro was asking me what I really needed. My less than nonchalant answer was ‘Sex’. Good sex. Lots of sex. Lots of good sex. Share my simple pleasures. But since that doesn’t come often and aplenty, my next best choice would be tobacco. So it isn’t all that dumb a poem since there is a sense of truth in it.

But joke aside, what do I really need? It sounds too materialistic to say I need a better car than my sisters’. (Honda Integra R would do fine). It sounds too musical to say I need a keyboard. It sounds too mechanical to say I need food, water and air. It sounds too male-chauvinistic to say I need a girlfriend. dOminiC, what exactly do you really need then?

I need unconditional freedOm. And I think that is what everyone needs. The whole wide world would do a lot better with just a little more of it. FreedOm is truly my simple pleasure. Brothers, come share it with me.

Black Black Heart

2005-07-30T13:21:00.000-07:00

Black Black Heart
The blackening wig of the candle burned defiantly as the wax slowly melted away. Its flame was alive and licking randomly at the stillness of the room as oxygen, its sustaining agent, diminished with each passing second. It was a struggle to illuminate and each flicker of light was radiating rays which would provide brightness and comfort…because it knew that that was the sole purpose it was designed for.

The boy’s gaze was fixed on the flame, breathing in its aromatic fumes and tasting its determination. His passion too, was much alive. But how long it would last was an independent factor based upon his external environment. Sure, everyone with rational animal spirits would fight for their own happiness. Yet he had come to realise that the happiness he was fighting for could never be accommodated into her ideals of happiness. How could light coming from two different sources ever merge as one? How could love coming from two different hearts ever beat as one?

The candle burns out as its final moments of combustion exhausts the last of the remaining oxygen. It had not emerged victorious despite its valiant will to carry on. The room was now in pitch black darkness.

And black was the colour of his heart.

His love was drained but he knew that within his means, it had been channelled into purposeful use. His heart was black because the absence of light blinded his eyes to its original tone of passionate red. He waited for a while for his eyes to get accustomed to the darkness before tugging at the latch and opening the window. The suffocation was unbearable. No doubt, the candle’s demise is irreversible; but perhaps when dawn finally arrives, brightness and comfort would resume in its former glory.

In the meantime, he decided to go to sleep because all manners of binary opposition between darkness and light, passion and rejection, him and her, could be put to a transient rest.

A new lease...

2005-07-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

A new semester in less than two weeks time...Great. Back to the crazy lifestyle of a competitve bidding system, early morning lectures, projects, assignments, the list goes on...

Oh yes, I'll pretty like to welcome myself to a new semester of pretty girls as well. But women in general have never really been an important aspect of my good living. A naggy mother, a fortnight girlfriend, a bitchy sister, an impossible to bed japanese teacher, the list goes on again, and it is not that I'm trying to attribute my negative attitude towards women to the women around me, but come on, I am a social construct by and large; and i'm greatly influenced by my surroundings because it shapes my thought.

But my negativity shall end as soon as I get to know some nice and sweet 18 year old from school in about 14 days time. No, not CW bros' idea of the social club of sluts, where sluts are of a lower class than bitches type, but the really nice and sweet type.

Which leads me to wonder if those 18year old girls, freshly out from JC are anticipating the arrival of their new educational route. Well, they had better be. It is a brave new world in Uni, and they will just have to be a little more sassy when facing it. I will be waiting...

Back on the subject of education, I think it is a good idea to be back in school and learning. 幼不学，老何为？Not that I'm expecting to live to a ripe old age with all the smoking, drinking and late nights, but really, studying opens a person's horizons. Well, sounds cliche but thats how I think it is. Life does not revolve around women, isn't it?

Home sweet home...

2005-07-05T08:23:00.000-07:00

Ah yes...the summer(?!?) vacation is ending.

By and large, it had been a pleasantly good two months apart from the nasty results which resulted from a lack of effort in academic pursuits last semester. But the boy knew everyone made mistakes sometimes. And he is the type who seldom repeats his mistakes. This, he had learnt the hard way because, as a matter of fact, this was his second chance at life in general.

He was keen on taking a more active role in re-shaping his life of decandance and the first step he took, was to tidy up his god-forsaken room this afternoon. He started with the book rack, and ended with the finer details of filing last semester's lectures and tutorials. By the time he finished, he was marvelling at how perfect his room actually was.

In fact, he had even managed to fix up a Dvd player and hooked it to a small, but none the less workable TV he had in his room. So he could enjoy his good 'ld 'Mirai' VCDs and other productions of similar genre in the privacy of his own room. But that is if he could get the damn disc back in the first place.

This room-packing episode broke the stifling routine in his life. And it was the little perk he needed to feel a bit more like himself again. For once he thought his Dad was correct when he (Dad) said: 'If you can't even handle the small matters, how are you going to achieve something grand'?

Oh wait...suddenly he didn't feel like agreeing. But you can't blame him...I mean, a man who does wonders has no time for trival stuff, isn't it? Oh heck, he couldn't agree with either maxims actually. He just wanted to rebel against an authority brought upon him not by choice, but by destiny. You can't choose your parents... but whether your wish to listen to them all the time or not, remains your choice.

And so, after grasping the right mood of the joy of staying alive again, the boy decided to extend his sense of tidiness to the rest of the house and hence walked around, wondering if there was any cleaning up required. For the first time, he noticed that the rag on the washing machine had a cutesy blue dolphin imprint. And that the storeroom had an uncountable number of shoe boxes which he believed was the combined collection of his Mum and Sis. And that there was actually a box of old books stacked under a pile of clothes in the guest's room. Ah...what a day of discovery.

It made him realise that a big, but untidy house would never match the comfort of a small studio apartment which is maintained spick and span. Hence, he made up his mind, he would strive to get himself a neat little place of his own when his parents decided they have had enough of him. It didn't have to be big, but it had to be cozy and inviting. And being the nice chap he was, he would invite his friends, his parents and many a tipsy girl over to the place. Yeah, he was geared up for all that.

But for now, he remained contented with his room, its walls no longer a dimension of confinement, but a positive store of dreams. He figured, for the second time, that his Dad was probably right. Because if he could one day keep his own little apartment the way he deemed fit, then it might just prove to be the humble beginnings of a grandiose villa with the same management of cleanliness and coziness. Every complex ambition begins with simplicity of thought.

Who needs to be a rebel when you can be a dreamer?

Dreams, Sins and Beauty

2005-06-29T05:03:00.000-07:00

Chronicles of a Dreamscape Reality…

So last night I had a little dream. Not a liquid one, not a sleazy one, not a very clear one, but an impressionable one at the very least.

The setting is in a lift. It wasn’t the average four by four lift, but more like some kind of cargo lift with wider dimensions. I have no inkling as to where this lift belongs to, but it was airy and spacious, without the claustrophobic connotations of the day to day lift we take home or at some shopping centre. I did not have any feeling of being caved in which most lifts would most probably give. There is freedom, even if it was just a lift. Even if it was just a dream.

So I entered the lift. From where and where to, I have no idea. It was more like an immediate response. The lift comes, you go in. Not an activity which requires any extra thought. A similar analogy would be like going to a toilet urinal and unzipping. Just pull out your precious and start peeing. Natural response.

In the lift was a girl. She was wearing a black tube or spaghetti top, I really can’t recall because my attention was not focused on what she was wearing. The bottom match was a normal pair of denim jeans. Low waist of otherwise, I can’t recall either. What was striking however, was her glowing tan. And I mean glowing. It was a radiance of sunshine and tanning oil, perhaps the result of spending hours under the sun. It was similar to mine, except it seemed more perfect on her. Very much more perfect…and this compliment comes from a person who usually offers more criticism than praise for the fairer sex.

My gaze lingered at her body for less than a fraction of a second. Reason being, her face was by far more attractive. It was a curious mix of thick Japanese make up on a Chinese face. Beautiful, 美, kirei desu. But words, no matter from which language, goes only so far as thus. It is not a typically pretty face, it had within, imperfections where features are shaped and misgivings where complexion is concerned. But it was the most beautiful face to me because I know that face. Jia Hui.

It is the face of love and beauty which could only belong to a personal Venus. She looked back at me too, and for a brief second, the chemistry of love drifted in the space not confined to the lift, but to our hearts. All the emotions of that puppy love, that first love, that brave love, that wondrous love came back to me. She said something, but I couldn’t make out what her sweet whiney voice wanted to say. At least, now when I’m awake, I can’t remember what it really was. But I guess it does not matter because the expression on her face spoke in a salient voice more meaningful than what words can ever say with equal impact.

And then the lift stopped and she started walking out. Oh those refined and poised steps she took! Then she turned back and out stretched her hand for a handshake (read carefully, handshake not handjob). Oh that smooth skin on her demure hand and girly spoon shaped nails! Then she left. Oh she must have left with my heart. And she left me with a pain so acute, it shattered the dream and I woke up.

If it really was just a dream, why does the pain feel so real? If it really was just a dream, why could I see her, smell her, touch her and taste her as if she was right in front of me? Puzzling as it may be, the stark reality is that I do not even consciously remember how her face looks like anymore since it has been a decade since I’ve seen her. And in my failing memory, she had always been fair. Besides, where was she going? To meet another guy? Her boyfriend? Was she still a virgin as I have left her? Was the person she was meeting the person who took away what I was supposed to have?

Endless possibilities. Endless negative possibilities. Once again, I’m conforming to the set of seven sins known to be deadly. Anger, because she is with another. Lust, because I yearn for more than a handshake. Sloth, because a dream is the result of sleep, which in turn is a result of laziness. Greed, because I’m hoping to acquire something which does not belong to me. Pride, because the vanity of my ego wishes to be loved by this girl. Envy, because my mind has already wandered off to a hypothetical boyfriend. Gluttony, because I ate breakfast immediately after the dream. But heck, man is full of sins…so who cares anyway?

I think the dream was signifying something. At fist I couldn’t pinpoint what my repressed subconscious was manifesting in the form of dreams. Then I decided to pry into my hidden wishes by means of using a logical approach.

The lift journey===A life journey
JiaHui=== A symbolic representation of purity and innocence in love.
Handshake===A sign of goodwill, friendship and perhaps empathy.

Put them all together now. She is a girl who provided me with a short lived love enough to last a lifetime. The journey of a lift, like that of life, makes frequent stops at different levels. People who share the lift journey with me might not always get off at the same place as me. It could be a brief, transient period of togetherness. Therefore, all the more we should cherish those happy loving moments. The handshake was warm and inviting, and perhaps serves as a reminder not to forget about this particular lady and I know I will never.

If a parallel could be drawn between the lift in the dream as life in reality, I think it lies in the fact that I am still alone in the lift, like how I remain in single-hood in reality. But I’ve already pushed the buttons to where I would like to go, anyone who enters the lift now is just a waste of my time.

Unless of course, if that person is beautiful, 美, kirei desu. Unless of course, if that person is Jia Hui. Unless of course, if that person could provide more than a handshake.

A Lonely Night.

2005-06-13T11:08:00.000-07:00

Say, I have prohibited the idea of having a girlfriend. It is a breech of my freedOm. All in the good name of fun, here I have with me a couple of scenarios which I’ve seen with good faith and my possible responses. You tell me, if I am worthy of a girlfriend at all.

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who is sweet and demure…
dOm: Let’s get married.
Girl A: But you don’t have a house.
dOm: Its okay. We can get married then you stay with your parents while I stay with mine. If you really love me, you won’t need a house as a substantial reason to get married with me…

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who fails her module…these will be my consoling words..
dOm: Hmmm fail never mind…just take it as a chance to get to know new friends.
Girl B: But then I don’t want to get to know new friends.
dOm: Er…then I think we should stop seeing each other because then it will not affect your studies. And also, I think you are dumb, and I don’t go out with girls who are intellectually challenged. Plus you were lesbian last time…

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who is darn possessive and clingy.
Girl C: Dear, I want to do everything with you.
dOm: Ahhh… Great!!!! Now we can have some threesome fun… I never thought you would have agreed to it!

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who will coerce me into not joining some Latin dance class.
Girl D: Hey, I don’t like the idea of you going to Latin dance because you will be groping other girls.
dOm: Okay…let’s break then. Then chu nite, I can arse chu gals chu dance with me to my hearts content. I know this might sound Unbeliftable (Unbelievable), but there is actually a gal who wanted to keep me in her breast pocket. Talk about the groping.

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who likes public display of affection.
Girl E: Let’s make out in your brothers nice little car…
dOm: Oh yeah…sure. Let me think of a nice plot in the mean time. (think bangbus)

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who is going to Yellow Stone National Park for 3 months.
Girl F: Hey, I’ll be going to the States for three months to see some hot springs. Be good.
dOm: Hey, that’s swell. I’ll be checking out every good looking girl and making sure they squirt like the Old Geyser.

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who bears an uncanny resemblance to Cyndi.
Girl G: Hmm, my friends think I look like Cyndi.
(dOm puts fingers into his mouth and gives a perverted look) ‘Nuff said.

Let’s say I’ve a girlfriend who doesn’t know that you need to have sex before you can get pregnant.
Girl H: I didn’t know you need to have sex to get pregnant.
dOm: (wondering to himself) Don’t you people attend Civics and Moral Education Classes?
dOm: (aloud) Yar…That’s exactly why I never believed in chastity. That’s why we should have sex like 7 times a week or more. Don’t worry, that is just an old wives tale.

Okay…end of the scenarios. I think personal freedOm is more crucial than having someone to have lunch with between lessons. And besides, with my attitude and mentality, I think I better spare the girls. It is at times like this when I’m a little high on my brandy drinks that I start thinking about the need for a better half. My conclusion is, it is not worth trying too hard to look for a girl who probably will not accept my flawed lifestyle, mannerisms and attitude. But then again, with warped poetry and flowing words, do I really need a girlfriend?

So this is a poem I’ve put together after a couple of drinks for the good time’s sake. If I had to choose between FreedOm and ‘girlfriend’, I’ll gladly choose the former. At least that leaves me the possibility of drinking another few glasses of whatever I like.

dOm: Brandy Water please. No ice.

A Lonely Night

Beneath the valleys lie the meadows,
A plentiful sight of God’s endows.
Inside the view rests the windows,
Within it hides a man in the shadows,
Where he remains as Love’s only widow.

Now friends have left for greener pastures,
And his fragile heart is left to rapture.
The crimson setting sun leaves much to capture,
Before the leaves succumb to their nightly torture.

The full moo is but a monthly rarity,
Between the days mark a gradual disparity…
But through the years the woman shows no Charity.

Let the stallions gallop forever more in the fields.
Their FreedOm is my only shield…

Against a lonely night as such.

I don't find this yucky...

2005-06-08T07:27:00.000-07:00

The sound of metal hooves against the mud tracked dirt roads startled the girl from her reading under the light coming from the elaborately crafted candleholder. She swiftly rose to her feet and pushed aside the floral curtains and looked out of her arch framed window. Having been locked in this remote but impregnable tower since she was fifteen, any chance to view any form of activity from the outside world was a chance not to be missed.

She had seen knights passing along the desolate path beneath, moving from the highlands to the plains where the battle had been raging for years now. She had seen wandering men of fortune, dressed in their shabby cloaks and rugged tunics hustle from the muddy roads below. She had seen streams of refuges and their packed wagons escaping from the war torn county in the plains. She had tried to seek their rescue from her eternal entrapment. But she was mute, and her screams were voiceless.

Within the view of the tapestry high above came a lone sword wielding horseman. The stallion was a fine breed of highland horse, chestnut in colour with a black unkempt mane. It was a fine steed, at least it looked like one to the girl. For amongst the many horses that she had seen the knights riding on before, none had that look of aggression which this particular horse possessed. But now it refused to move forward and was bellowing with an extended neigh while kicking up a dirt storm as it kicked violently. The cause of its tantrums, apparently, was a fallen tree from the previous night’s storm, whose thick trunk had dislodged from its roots and had landed across the road. With dense forestation on either side of the road, there was just no way to bypass the fallen tree. The only way on, was the way over.

The man who rode the stranded beast bore an equally wild appeal. His shoulder length locks fell loosely upon his face. And boy was that the most handsome face she had seen in her entire life. Though at a distance from her, the girl almost thought she saw a sparkle in those deep set eyes which were now fixed upon the obstacle on the road. Those bushy brows were well spaced and it enhanced the intense eyes the man had. The nose bridge ran down to a suitably shaped nose, and the lips seemed to radiate passion. Wild passion.

What caught the girl’s attention next was the gleaming, unsheathed sword which was slung upon the man’s broad shoulders. The blade had jagged edges and narrowed into a sharp tip. Even at this distance, she could see the red ruby encrusted at the tip of the sword. She realised immediately, that this was the legendary Sword of Blood she had read about in her wide collection of books. It was a long, thick and strong sword, and one thrust from it would break any shield and pierce any armour. But what was extraordinary about the sword lay in its ruby. It was rumored to feast upon the enemy’s blood and with each life it took, it would absorb the defeated man’s aura and spirit. It would become more crimson with each slain man’s blood hence the name of this infamous sword. Judging from the bright vermillion shade refracting from the ruby, this man must have just killed another not too long ago.

Now the man pulled the reins of the horse firmly and subdued it. Reluctantly, the animal submitted to the man’s dominance and stopped trampling. The man gave his horse a reassuring pat, then withdrew the animal to a distance further back. He took one quick look at the hindrance again, and without a second thought, galloped his horse and charged forward. The stallion picked up speed as it raced towards the trunk, and at the last moment, tucked in its forelegs and made a fanatic leap over the wooden log. It was over.

The horse had brilliantly executed what its muscular body seemed capable and was expected of. But the man rode the horse.

He tugged at the reins for the second time now, and again, the horse came to an abrupt halt from its vertically conquering velocity just a moment ago. The man looked at the stone walled tower with a deliberate effort, as if contemplating a way to break into this tall, erect fortress’ interior.

Their eyes met and he smiled. He knew he had found his bride. She grasped the pen she was twirling in her fingers and smiled back. She knew that if anyone was to save her from her perils, it was this beautifully wild man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Footnotes and Self Practical Criticism.

This is my crude, virgin attempt at erotic literature. The fantasy genre was inspired by my dear brother although I must admit that I’m not a great fan of fantasy novels. Well, someone thought erotic literature was ‘yucks’, but hey, I kinda think it is actually fun.

As a continuation of my previous post, I think this is the kind of stuff that I enjoy reading…which explains why I chose to write something like this in the first place. Sex, Power, Love, are still represented, but it requires reading between the lines because nothing is explicitly stated. I wrote this with ‘lust’ as a taboo four letter word in mind, but the above is erotic at its roots, concealed with all the devices words could provide.

There is no conclusion or beginning for this story since it starts somewhere from the middle and remains hanging loose till the end. Reason being, I never really wanted to write anything about fantasy heroes and damsels in distress. I merely wanted to write in a hypocritical fashion were you know I’m writing about sex yet I remain non-committed to it.

To begin with, this is a feminist piece of writing. Not because I’m an MCP but for the sake of dealing with the issue of Power. I must state here that this is written partly for fun and partly to illustrate the kind of text I prefer to read. Neither the man nor girl is named because it on a macro level, it is not so much about individuals but rather, about gender.

The man is laced with masculine potency. There is added emphasis on his uncouth beauty such as his wildly passionate lips while there is no mention at all about the girl’s appearance. The intention is to portray the fairer sex not worthy of humanly admiration and appreciation but as objects which remains as entities. ‘But the man rode the horse’ shows his dominance while the girl watches on voyeuristically from her tower of death trap. The horse submits to the man’s firm grip on its reins. If a rough parallel is drawn, would the girl also be subjected to the man’s oppression and control? And, would she be submissive? That, like almost everything else, I shall leave untold.

The feminist aspects are more prominent when the girl is put into scrutiny. Say, this girl is entrapped, she is voiceless, and she is powerless. She can only look out to the world from her own little world of the tower. I have condemned her to become the marginalised ‘Other’.

Perhaps what also were deliberate are the countless phallic motifs. Sexual connotations are rampant and blatantly scattered in the short narrative and these would include the tower, the candlestick holder, the trunk of the fallen tree, the window (as a feminine opening) and the sword. There is a comparatively lengthy description about the sword, and its name and use to ‘break shields’ and ‘pierce armours’ are symbolic representations of sexually suggestive notions. Again, I shall not spell out the places my imagination is running to least everyone should think I am a pervert.

So dear brother Guang, with all said and done, this is the kind of erotic fantasy I was actually hoping for and not the sleazy trash we normally find at some websites. Thanks, but I’m not interested in those. But still, with or without it, I am really looking forward to your stories, because your introduction had been enticing enough.

And oh well, who said erotic fantasy is yucks? I love it.

The Better Life...

2005-06-06T22:53:00.000-07:00

I am leading the better life now...don't lose your way.

Much aDo aboUt nothinG...

2005-06-06T11:36:00.000-07:00

Aristotle names 3 elements of narration of plot. In Greek, they are hamartia, anagnorisis and peripeteia. Roughly, they translate as ‘tragic flaw’, ‘realisation’ and ‘reversal of fortune’ respectively.

Then along came Valdimir Propp, who studied a hundred Russian fables and fairy tales to compile his own list of the constituents of a narrative plot. The list numbered 31, and as common sensical as they are, they bear significance.

In my one and a half decades of literacy, I think I have probably read a few hundred books and probably studied a small fraction of them in detail. An absolutely average figure, I must say. But based on my limited range and scope, it seems to me that the plot of most of the books I’ve read revolves around only a few common grounds. Apart from educational books, religious books and informative books (such as recipe books or National Geographic or the Analects), books from most genres (be it Gothic, Romance, Tragedy, Horror, Thriller, Fantasy, etc) all appear to be based on Sex, Love, Power, Money or a combination of them.

These are very broad categories and I fear I might be trying too hard to make them all encompassing. It is hard to tie each of the four into any definition. Love, could be brotherly love or puppy love or even love for puppies. Sex could range from faint physical intimacy to the final deed. Power could refer to the power to control a whole nation, another person or just a remote control. And Money perhaps just means anything material.

Let me attempt to crudely truncate the history of English text with the following examples to justify my earlier claim.

1) In Chaucer’s acclaimed Canterbury Tales (Middle English?), there are countless examples of the four elements I’ve named. For example, The Nun’s Priest Tale, the vain cockerel forgets about the impending danger of the sly fox when he copulates with his hens. However subtly it was written, I think there is a hint of how lust can ruin a cockerel……and hence a man likewise.
2) In Shakespeare’s play, Merchant of Venice,(1500-1600s) the plot and theme centralises on how Shylock’s craftiness coupled with his cruel love for money almost causes the life of a fellow man.
3) In Charlotte Bronte’s autobiography, Jane Eyre(Gothic era), the female protagonist falls in love with Mr Rochester and with the element of Love aside, I think there is also a struggle of Power because it is a typically feminist text depicting a battle where each gender tries to dominate the other.
4) In Dicken’s Great Expectations(1800s?), the plot dwells on the life of the main character, Pip, and how he falls in love with Estella and his rise in the social ladder after receiving a sponsored education from a jail inmate.
5) In Ondaatje’s The English Patient(1990s), the plot progresses with narration of two love stories, one in flashback and the other in the present. It is about the past affair of the charred patient and his pitiful bride and the ongoing romance of Kip and a Canadian nurse.
6) In Virginia Andrew’s semi-erotic, semi-cliché novel, Dawn(how appropriately titled), there are vivid scenes of incest, rape and sex. You name it and you have it. If anyone really was reading for the plot, it is actually about two young men fighting for an inheritance…and an even hotter girl to bed.

Somehow I think this could be a universal phenomenon. Let me try to extend the claim to Chinese novels. I believe these elements appear most obviously in Louis Chia’s sword fighting novels. Characters yearn to acquire some deadly martial arts to become the all powerful pugilistic leader.(欧阳峰) Others prefer to go through thick and thin for the sake of love.(黄容and 郭靖) And of course, there are those who scheme and plot for the sake of treasure and wealth.(飞狐外传).

Perhaps an equally fitting example would be the classics such as Romance of the Three Kingdoms where there is a perpetual clash of interest in power hungry warlords. Romance of the Red Chambers would suffice to fulfil the requirements of a book about Love and Sex. And in Water Margins, many a good lad was forced into poverty because others robbed them of their family estate. （九纹龙）

Moving on to the more contemporary Chinese works, there are still instances where the four elements are present. 聊斋志异comes to mind because in its collection of more than a hundred tales of the uncanny, many have plots laid down in Power, Money, Love and especially Sex. Take the story of 小倩for instance. A young scholar meets a mesmerising female ghost and saves her from the crutches of a tree demon. He marries her, she bears two children for him(yes, they had sex) and they lived happily ever after.

I think a more familiar, albeit a more trashy, recent Chinese text would be 突破, a Chinese reading material back at high school. The Power and Money part lies in the characters trying to build up an enterprise and an empire in the business sector. I think I can give the Sex part a quick introduction by just saying someone got gang raped. ‘Nuff said.

And then I realise my post is becoming more and more dry. And more and more like some Lit assignment more than anything else. Initially, I wanted to write about the type of books I enjoy ….Urrrgh. Oh! I get it…doesn’t it make sense that if I claim that books are all about Love, Sex, Power and Money, then the type of books that I enjoy would be about Love, Sex, Power and Money?

Actually that isn’t the case, but I think I’m overdosed on blogging for the night. KIV until next time. Tired.

My Brother, The King.

2005-06-05T03:05:00.000-07:00

My Learned Brother.

Through a conversation at lunch the other day, I had an interesting talk with my learned Brother. And boy, did I really learn a lot from this respectable and intelligent person. It did make me realise how ignorant and insolent I’ve been all these while, and pondering on his words has given me new insights.

Brother: Knowledge is not Power. Imagination is. With Imagination, you can change (did he mean ‘take over’?) the world.

Yup…Imagination is the key in this fast paced, globally linked world. Imagination brings about innovation, creativity and invention. Together, these three components would result in change. This may sound a little idealistic and over optimistic, but wouldn’t it be great if we could shape this world into a better place with the changes brought about by our imagination? It suddenly seems like we finally have the power to control the destiny of the world we live in.

And guess what? Imagination is boundless, there is no upper limit as to how far we can stretch our mind to it. The word I had in mind was ‘infinite’. For a start, just some wild ideas here:

1) Having a greenhouse on the roof level of every high rise flat. Or a water collection tank. Then we will have our own veggies and water. It would be a great move to increase our self sufficiency.
2) Developing a machine that would recycle used cigarette butts into something useful. Say, sponge for floral arrangements or for cleaning.
3) A pill that could insolate the liver from the effects of excessive drinking without taking away the high of alcohol consumption.

We need to open the door to Imagination and tap into its limitless resources. First step to world dOmination.

But as seen from my wild little ideas, Imagination is a double edged sword that goes both ways. (1) has social benefits. (2) is a little shady because there is an element of smoking and its negative externalities although it creates a useful good. (3) totally violates moral principles because it is a drug which will mess up the minds of the population. My point is, Imagination may be harmful if not directed in right use.

As a side note, I think Knowledge is still essential. I mean, how do you expect to change the existing world if you do not even know what it is? All the above mentioned ideas, beneficial or otherwise, will remain as ideas, if we do not acquire the technical ‘know-hows’ to drive them into a reality. It remains as a base for Imagination to work upon as a super-structure. Taking us back to (3), if we did not have the medical knowledge that excessive drinking will cause liver problems, I doubt we would push for a new frontier by creating such a pill.

But I digress.

Brother, I think what is most important is neither Knowledge nor Imagination. Nor Power for that matter. What I feel is necessary for change is actually wisdOm. WisdOm is the tool which would empower us with the correct balance of Knowledge and Imagination such that they would be channelled towards positive usage. A person equipped with wisdOm would be able to foresee the social problems that (3) would cause and the following destruction which would ensue. Hence, he pulls the brake when his Imagination starts running wildly in that direction. Jerry Yen calls it ‘sense’ in Meteor Gardens. Whatever it is, I think it is the extra something which would put the world into our hands and allow us to make it a better place. For you and for me. Like the way I thought Jackson was singing about until I figured he was into sweet young boys.

Of course, everyone has a different idea of how the ideal world should be like. Would WisdOm be enough? That is why my dreams of world dOmination remains but a dream. And Brother, that is why your Imagination alone would hardly suffice for any similar dreams.

An Unaccomplished Day...

2005-06-01T08:50:00.000-07:00

Sadly, sadly, the sun rose; it rose upon no sadder sight than the man of good abilities and good emotions, incapable of their direct exercise, incapable of his own help and own happiness, sensible of the blight on him, and resigning himself to let it eat him away.
Extract from 'A Tale of Two Cities' Charles Dickens.

I woke up this morning from a weird dream. Actually, I woke up this afternoon at about one thirty. The drinking from the previous night has done crazy things to my mind and body. For the first few times in my life, I felt weak, as if every ounce of strength was slipping from my body. It took me a few minutes before I could muster the energy to crawl out of bed. I think it was the dream that made me weak, but I’ll rather prefer to blame it on the boozing. Here is one of the fragments I recall:

It is one of those dreams which drone a hazy background. I couldn’t make anything of the distant horizon. Er…perhaps the primary focus was in the foreground. And there was a girl. From a first person’s perspective, she is in front of me, at a distance of less than 3 feet. However, her face remains a blurry fuzz, although it is tan and covered with wavy locks to her shoulders. Her figure is decent enough, complete with sizable tits and averagely curved hips. She was wearing a tight black halter top and low waist jeans. She bears no resemblance to anyone I know.

‘You are tempting me’ she says.
And then I draw closer to her, as if going to kiss her. Her face remains undistinguishable all this time. Then I push her away at the very last second before the kiss is delivered. Now I see her eyes…soft Asian eyes now wide open with shock and screaming of betrayal. I gave her a disgusting reply.

‘Yes, I am tempting you.’
With that, I burst out laughing and started kissing her fervently. That second of fear of being toyed with seemed to have heightened her passion. The only question I had for myself right then was: ‘Are you? Or are you not?’
And the dream moved on to another fragment which I cannot remember with as much detail. I find it noteworthy to mention, it wasn’t a liquid dream or even close to it.

I haven’t at this point of time quite thought of how to link the dream with the Dicken’s extract. In fact, I didn’t exactly plan to. I just thought it made quite a fitting description of someone like me. But dream or no dream, tale or no tale, the vacation goes on…even after this semester’s results come out tomorrow.

An Unaccomplished Day...

2005-06-01T08:46:00.000-07:00

cOcKtail niTe...

2005-05-31T09:14:00.000-07:00

Have you ever been to a bar and ordered a Baileys on the rocks only to be served Baccardi on the rocks? I have. And given my attitude, bad or otherwise, I refused to drink any of it. I headed out of the bar into their neighbouring rival. It is almost akin to finding a pretty, slim and delicious one nite stand only to get a big TRAnnieS surprise. Correction, surprise is too mild a word. Shock sounds better.

I don't blame the bar maid. First, she is in a foreign land trying to make a living. Second, she can only understand scraps of what the customer says. Poor girl. And she looks pleasing to the eyes...but that's not my point.

Point is, I offered to write down my orders for her so she can hand it to the bartender who presumably reads English. Hmm....for that matter, I can write it in Chinese too...and maybe after another eight weeks, in Japanese. I think, the problem is communication.

There is no point if all of us are bilingual or trilingual when the general population struggles with language. Monolingual people are not disadvantaged, but they need to pick up the new language if they wanted a smoother transition in a new land. Okay...everyone can pinpoint where the problem lies...

So here is my two cents worth of solutions. Make me the Minister of Education and I promise, everyone coming into our island country will be subjected to a crash course in Singlish, the various dialects and great sex. Haha...I hope I will never rise to such an appointment. But seriously, I believe the problem of language has to be readdressed. It is not just our local population which requires education in conversational English and Chinese/Mother tongue, immigrations should be granted equal attention.

I know this sounds far fetched...but think for a second, what if this was some important business deal at a MNC? Things may go haywire. I know too, that they would probably get a translator. But hey, wouldn't it be more efficient and effective and cost saving and blah blah blah if everyone just spoke a common language?

I'm not saying it has to be English. It is merely a language of Eurocentric supremacy. It just happened to be English. Next time I back to that pub (and that is still pretty doubtful) I hope I can just tell the waitress: '我要一杯百立，在石头上面。’ Talk about miscommunication and miseducation.

Forever is gonna Start tOnight...

2005-05-29T04:21:00.000-07:00

Somehow I can't find anymore inspiration to bloG. Is it passe? Am I daunted by the fear of making verbal mistakes which unintentionally insult others or reveal a more sinister side of myself?

Somehow I can't find anymore inspiration to think about sex. It is one big paradox. For simplicity sake, lets just classify all the women in this world under two general classes. Virgins and Whores. I'm no MCP, this is just a hypothesis.

So i see a scantily clad girl who behaves like a tart. So she belongs to the 'Whore' group. Physically, she would be attractive, maybe she might look good to bed. No, not cuddle her to bed type, but the jump in and waste no time type. Thats the problem...this group of girls would be too low class to bed, hence my lack of interest.

So there is a demure girl who is caring and considerate. So she belongs to the 'Virgins' group. She might be pleasant looking, maybe in the sweet way. She might be a motherly figure and probably might be submissive in bed. That's the problem...with this group of girls, sex would be the last thing on my mind. I might end up telling them bedtime stories and how wishing under the stars would make them come true.

I know...a girl does not lie on the extremes of the spectrums I've laid out. By limiting to two classes, I'm effectively forcing myself into a stalemate and confining myself. Sadly, I've not met a girl who is the right balance between the two ends yet. And really, if such a girl really comes along, a whole new dimension of problems will arise.

But that is just being pessimistic. How difficult can it be to put your pen back into the pen cap?Sex is difficult only because the mind is reluctant.

Somehow I can't find anymore inspiration to bloG. Because it is all but crap. Creativity died the day my mind started to think creatively. It died because of the backstabbers, moneygrabbers, users, abusers, haters, instigators, non-believers, etc. It died because there is no longer any purpose for it.

Long LonG tiMe aGo...

2005-05-20T12:55:00.000-07:00

Well, I guess it has been a long time since I've posted anything. Ironically, it is the holidays now. It could only mean one thing, I guess. My life is one hell of exciting and enriching and fulfilling and {adjective}...How I wished!

Yet it is at times when life reaches a certain monotomy that we start to desire thrills. Like fantasizing about the Japanese Language teacher's bra. Nylon or Lace or Cotton? Like blogging at 4am in the morning. Like singing 'American Pie' softly to myself and thinking of creampies. But it isn't all about sex and the likes of it. Anything that doesn't stimulate my mind doesn't stimulate my physical body. Therefore, pornography and lewd books are out. They no longer provide the much needed dose of high to sustain my lust for something beyond sex.

Dear brothers, I think I am the anti-thesis of the copulation theory. I'm not denying that I love sex. But it is not my only drive (I should put a stop to cheesy puns) in life man. Currently, the only thing that I am driving is myself--- up the wall, with layer after layer of merry-go-round ideology and thought. Oh yeah, life how I drove my Dad's car up the wall. Literally. I'm beginning to like the word. No, not sex. DRIVE.

But anyway, why are there people who are so darn bored that they have to resort to pointless ramblings just to hoax their active minds to a tired sleep? BoredOm. It is all in the name. But alas, it remains nothing more than a name. If I were to be French, maybe I'll be Jacques. If I were to be Korean, maybe I'll be Lee Bo Yuan. If I were to be Russian, maybe I'll be Nichola Valdomiv. If I were to be Thai, maybe I'll be Surajachai Kutalipong. Take my name away now. Take it away and tell me, what remains? Nothing. Nothing my dear brothers. Not all the women, not all the riches, not all the talents, not all the achievements remains if life is reduced to a name. Which explains why I am so darn bored. Oh? It doesn't explain anything.

Sorry, I refuse to spend my life trying to explain to others what I mean. If I said something, it was meant the way I meant it to be. It was meant for you to interpret. So I am crafty.... because with a certain degree of gilbness, I can manipulate my own words. I could make them melodramatic. I could make them rationalized. I could make them spin on a ferris wheel. Which is why I've decided to stop explaining altogether. Because nothing is wrong with any interpretation in the first place. It is just a matter of making sense of it.

Who the girl is doesn't matter. They may all be different and unique. But the need to love someone stems from an innate need to be loved. For the moment, I do not need either. Correction. For a lifetime to come, I may not need either. But what cannot be disproved does not necessarily make it correct. (Exactly what I was trying to tell my old friend who sent me weird messages) I have not gone out on a date with any lady for almost a month. I've never felt this freedOm. The tranquility of solitary life is amazing. Who the girl is doesn't matter. The girl doesn't matter. I have written a 10000 word thesis on the sacred subject of Love. It is published in every girl I've loved. If I could put all of them together and remove all their vices, then that will be the true love I seek. Hence, I believe nobody will disturb my peace for a long time to come.

Still waters run deep. The angst only lies submerged beneath a superficial calmness. It will explode one day, like a torpedo finally reaching a hull. Then everything above the surface will sink. All the hopes. All the dreams. All the wishes. They will all be disrupted by ripples from the explosion. They will all sink with the angst. Great! Then there will be a desperate struggle to stay afloat, to breadthe, to survive. That, is the thrill and stimulation I had always wanted. It is orgasmic. (Puts fingers into mouth) That, is the ultimate state of bliss, because finally, there can be a resolution between angst and dreams. There will be blending, and hence, there will be balance.

Time for digression into a history lesson. D-Day, June 6, 1944. 2500 Allied men died. 15000 Allied troops landed by the end of that day. Almost two thirds of a century later, we have the luxury of reviewing the splendor of a conflict between angst and freedOm.

And then....and then I realise every part of life was meant to be an ardent, but stimulating journey. Even more stimulating than black laced bras or double creampies.

An Old Friend...

2005-05-12T22:05:00.000-07:00

Some time ago i received an sms from an old friend, the topic was about how taiwanese pop groups were used as political tools. Yesterday, the same old friend messaged me again. Again, i wasn't convinced. So here is the email I sent to him, telling him why i thought otherwise. I think, it is not so much about winning the verbal/electronic arguement that is important. What pains me is that I think this old friend of mine is a little jaded, a little suspicious and probably in need of a lot of help. I know...in my bloG, he is voiceless and hence marginalised. Therefore it would seem very unkind for me to say any more about him. But being unkind is the last thing on my mind.

Dear WS(names modified to protect privacy),

First things first. I am not about to be treat your theory with regards to 'politics and pop groups' with disdain. I have, based on your recommended websites and sources of my own, investigated your claims. I do not mean to bring down your allegations, but I think there are certain aspects worth exploring which would prove otherwise.

Now, if to say Taiwanese Pop Groups are but tools of political parties, then perhaps it would only be reasonable to ask: 'Which political party has control of these Pop acts?' The current administration under President Chen? Or do 5566, S.H.E. and Mayday (amongst those you have mentioned) work for the opposition?

Accepting your hypothesis that these Pop acts are really tools for the Taiwanese government, we should be investigating into their government's top secret files, to which we would have no access to. However, the coincidences that you have pointed out on the websites and in the names, do not serve as evidence strong enough to substantiate such a national issue. This, I would explain later.

Next, another imperative concern would be, if they really were political tools rather than just budding stars of the music industry, under what kind of agenda do they work for? What possible motives can you postulate the Taiwanese government uses them for? As from what you have mentioned, there is a struggle for 'power and wealth'. Undoubtedly, this is an on-going aspect of politics which had been going on since the rise of political ideals. But the co-relatiion between politics and music is subtle, if not lacking.

Please allow me to abruptly name an example. The boy band 5566 came to Singapore recently for the NKF charity show, and through their performance, helped our local kidney foundation raise a sizeable sum of funds. In that, I do not see how a boyband with dual identities of boy band and political tool can come to terms in helping an 'aggressive' nation raise funds. If what they did brought aid and relief to even a segment of our population, I see no reason to be suspicious of their intentions.

I believe your counter statement would be as follows : If the co-relation is obvious, then it no longer would be effective in a power-struggle. Yet if this really was the case, I think there is no more room for our discussion because everything would be on a level too high for us to make any wild guesses.

With that, I come to the most worrying aspect of your self-professed theory. I think, in my humble opinion, that you could be compulsively looking for trivial matters to fit the accusations of what you think is the case.

Let me put it this way... There is a band in English music known as 'Five for Fighting'. Then there is another known as 'Six Pence none the richer'. Do we also say that they are the Eurocentric tools to manipulate the rest of the world or their adversaries?

Or how about why Singapore's international calling code begins with 65? Is it a memorial marker of our year of independence? Or is it merely just a number?

Or how about my IcQ(last time) taking on numbers like ..47...? It would be interesting, but wrong to think that I have anything against America's Independence Day, 4th of July.

Think for a minute, I doubt those three bimbos in S.H.E know anything about historical events half a decade ago, much less to say anything about politically intense moments. This, of course, is my personal view. What is more quaint essential is that there is a realisation of how easily we can actually sway our own minds sometimes.

What I am trying to say, is that...is that, could this perhaps just be a personal prejudice? I respect your views about it, but it may become dangerous to obsessively try to find premises to link to an unfounded conclusion. Let me illustrate:

Suppose we begin with a conclusion first:
--- A dog is a mammal with four legs.
Then we see an animal we do cannot identify (for example, a pig). So we form premises:
1) It has four legs.
2) It is a mammal.
My question: Are we going to assume that the pig equals to a dog?
It is obvious what is wrong here: A weak conclusion that is vague, perhaps with even weaker if not no premises to back it up in the first place.

My purpose of this mail is no to dissuade you from your opinion. I think everyone is entitled his freedom of thought. But these are my own doubts as to why I find your arguments and evidence unconvincing.

Yours,
dOminiC

Taking the firSt step forward...

2005-05-11T06:07:00.000-07:00

The Great Leap Forward

The boy looked around. His room was in a mess. Dirty clothes were strewn carelessly around, socks and briefs amongst them. Then there were the heaps and piles of last semester’s books, notes, tutorials, files and study materials. His desk was total wreckage and scattered on it was a messy assortment of stationery and miscellaneous bits and pieces. He could hardly make out his bed, and in corners which he did not usually reach when he slept, dirt had begun to settle. A collection of CDs laid in an unorganised fashion near the dusty stereo set. The labels on his liquor bottles had already turned yellow from age and neglect.

He started to wonder how anyone could survive in such a decayed and mentally hostile environment. And to a lesser extent, what kind of goodness could filter from a person who lived in such a sty. Nothing will come of nothing. Filthy room breeds filthy thoughts. No wonder he couldn’t stop pondering about the ‘Copulation Theory’. No wonder he had been harbouring lustful intentions about deriving greater pleasures from increasingly perverse sex acts.

But he had had enough. All he wanted was a simple life. Away from the users, the abusers, the money-grabbers, the backstabbers, the misconceivers, the non-believers, the haters and the instigators. The cruel thing is they all wear smiling faces.

He would have to search for his innocence now, or it will forever be lost. The first damn thing that he decided he could do, was to pack up his battered room. Tsunami relief to clear up the aftermath was on its way.

A RandOm collaGe of Loosely sTrinGed thouGhts.

2005-05-10T02:19:00.000-07:00

D-day, H-hour.
Normandy wouldn't have been any worse. Err wait, I don't wanna do an amphibious landing or paradrop from a C130. I have morbid fear of great heights and i think sea water is dirty. Until i overcome my phobia of sand, Sentosa (and for that matter, Ubin, Tioman, etc) is out.

But hey, I have a kingdOm of LoVe. Oh wait, I am King dOm of LoVe. Whichever way it was supposed to be, I'm supposed to be a cruel dictator and tyrant. My governing maxim is imperialism coupled with facism. In short, this nation follows an expansionistic policy.

Come on! Come on! Follow me!
One more time you throw that 'smoke' i'm gonna make sure you quit, you ass!

主公，臣有一计，能使反贼大败！
We shall just have to start small then aim big, such that should our big invasion fail, we can always fall back on the previous success on smaller plans.

No wait! This is the Cobb-Douglas Production function:
Y = AK*N^ where
Y= output
A= technology variable
K=capital input
N=labour input
*=exponential variable
^=exponential variable
There can never be any returns without a certain degree of effort. The effort element, however small, could yield favourable returns. I must go where the brave man dies YA!

So much for the island being just a few degrees off the equator. So much for forever clear skies and warm sun rays. It rained on Sunday. All day. There are tropical monsoons. But Summer Heat is only an ideal world so if the wise King stays faithful to his beliefs, those dreams will come true.

Quick. Tell me more... Oh yes, any two objects in this world can be linked together in just 3links. Don't believe?
Book and Laptop ==> Entertainment
Okay, something more difficult...
Book and Artic ==> A book on the Artic.
But this damn thing itself reminds me of another game early psychologists used to play. They will say a word, then wait for their patient to give an instant response with another word. A delayed response could signal to an underlying problem perhaps? This goes on for perhaps 20-30 cycles until...i guess until someone got sick and tired of it. You ready? Go!
One. Phone. You. Love. Truth. Sex. Demand. Dictionary. Ego. Object. Subject. Great. Denial.
The following are my instant responses:
Two. Call. Me. Myself. (delayed)Grey. Love. Supply. (delayed)dick. Super. Subject. Econs. Me. NO.

The boy pushed aside all his books and brushed aside all his thoughts. History of Modern Europe, Geography, Carl Jung and Psychology, MacroEconomics, Romance of the Three KingdOms, etc. Time to sleep. Tomorrow will be another one of those great days at the pool. Sunny day or otherwise, everyday is an awakening to the best of Summer Heat!

sUmmer heAt!

2005-05-07T05:16:00.000-07:00

Ar...yes, the vacations at last. The guy was overjoyed. 3 full months of nothing but the invigorating summer heat. Some thought he was an escapist, moving here from where he previously was located. But his version of truth remains in his heart, and requires no more justification. As long as he knew what that truth meant to him...

Hmmm but considering that this really was an equatorial island, every single day was a summer day, with nothing less than the scorching sun and blazing heat. Whatever...nothing beats lazing by the pool, ice cold beer in one hand and good book in the other. Especially more so with his great friends.

Legend has it that if anyone was brave enough to shoot at the sky with an arrow laced with lofty dreams, the arrow would return as a reality filled with happiness. This bloG, this life, this story, these words, wields this dream.

Doyouyasumi--- sUmmer Vacation.