sitting in a taxi

You

2007-10-07T15:24:00.001+08:00

It's love and romance and a thousand sunsets with clasped hands and playful, innocent smiles. He wants to be part of two people who drown in their own little world of safety and certainty; against the loud lights of the city, against the sounds of the buses and the cars and the crowds. For the one moment when the kiss of wine-wild abandonment touches two lonely souls - he'd imagine it as a sudden hush. The roads are empty, the streets are deserted, and all you hear is the ocean breathing with the sand.

- 1/7/07

all is fair in love & war

2007-09-08T21:27:00.000+08:00

knowing full well
that victory was certain
the corps pose

click.

best of the best
chests out
eyes shining
and exceedingly proud
of their newest advancement

the polished cylinder
dispensing death
at 58 rounds a minute

click.

from across the lines
best of the best
chests out
eyes shining

knowing full well
that victory was inevitable
at 59 rounds a minute

for in the absence of romance
equality is bitter-sweet

Portrait

2007-07-08T23:11:00.000+08:00

In his subsequent sojourns abroad, he came across a great many things that teased his unobstrusive taste for unobstrusive passions: the colourful umbrellas that ubiquitously dotted the streets of Calcutta; the deep blue Mediteranean sky on wanton afternoons in Rome; the grungy shophouses that festooned the loud nights of Bangkok. These passions of his often mystified his friends - "Why travel to busy places? Don't you tire of them?" Love lives only in people, he replied.

He'd take photographs of children with carefully-arranged heaps of vegetables on varying corners of their dinner plates. Maybe write about little old ladies who haggle (with a vengeance) about the price of chicken, and then about the equally vengeful butchers who slam down their cleavers really hard, secretly hoping that their chickens were little old ladies. He'd sit at the beach, and marvel not at the sunset, but at the dozens of other people who do - young couples, old couples; families, friends, lone persons. Every individual sat upon a world of unimaginable wonder, he said to me one morning, as we were rowing out to sea. Love speaks of fraility in the face of courage, and courage in the eye of fraility. The soft sunlight danced upon the sea in the exuberance he beseeched; and then I understood.

"Beauty spurns life, for life is never short enough," read his obitutary, a few weeks later. "But beauty will never live, for life can never end."

***

I've started an online word bank! And this is one of its by-products ^_^

please park bus!

2007-05-11T22:11:00.000+08:00

the little box says
for your own safety please
do not cross the park ding dong
vrhhhhhmmmmm whiiiiish another one bites the dust

the noisy buses in a merry-go-round
round and round the park that's
never crossed for your own safety ding dong
vrrrrrrrrrhhhhhmm whuuuushhhh

ouch ouch but
for your own safety ding dong
please do not cross
the bus [park] will this one stop?
vrrrrrrhhhhhmmmmmm whooooshhh another one bites the dust but please
for your safety do not cross the bus park

please ding dong
please park bus

// really blessed to be in CAP this year - i'll get to see why bing and royCE had so much fun!

RJC Applicants for CAP 2007!!1@!

2007-03-31T21:24:00.000+08:00

Hi peeps,

Some of us did a bit of poking around on the website for the Creative Arts Programme and found out that to apply, we not only need to send in our hard-copies with a Letter of Undertaking (via Ms Alethea Lim) but also submit an online application form. Contacted Ms Lim about it - she's not too sure but says we should sign up first anyways.

Submission of online applications is 2 April 2007.

The Online form can be found here: http://www.gebsp.moe.gov.sg/CAP/Forms/RegistrationForm.aspx?type=jc

The CAP Website:
http://www.gebsp.moe.gov.sg/CAP/index.htm

happy registering,
<3 pos3rs

yayness

2007-03-27T21:05:00.000+08:00

there is a tree that stands big and tall and deep in the city
far from the rest of the living
and when the wind blows
its little leaves come raining down
like little tear drops
and the others everyday cry out
saying won't you come back
when will it be

But the little green leaf on the branch is fading
and one day she too will fall
brown and plummeting and splashing
upon the earth

Yet for now she clings
knowing it matters not
how fast she falls
but how long she lasts
in the city
upon the branches
there will be five leaves
then four
then three
then two
then one
then

// finally a piece written this year. about the big tree outside rj D: oh but welcome back bing!!

2007-03-26T01:41:00.000+08:00

Only a bowl of fruits on the glass table top. Strange, I don't remember those we drew for art in primary school as being cut into neat geometric shapes. Still life always contained within it the shady hints of motion. A dry silence, although noise is just a click away. I am trying desperately to feel, but I doubt anything here can teach me how to. What would I find if I were to trace the history of this living room? I imagine myself to be inside a portrait on the wall, watching everything that has taken place in this inhabited space. What joy was born within these walls, what lively conversations made, what memories left behind? Or did the only human touch here belong to a man watching his TV with a bag of peanuts, or to a dinner for a family who watched the food more than each other? The fruits, again. I am about to take one more piece when an itch begins to form above my left brow; I scratch it furiously.

In a long time

2007-03-26T01:28:00.000+08:00

Then there are the simpler questions, such as, what do I live for? And I could offer plenty of answers, but each would prompt me to search for another one. So I avoid the question, all the while wondering if it's even worth asking. Ideals? They are as firm as water. Hopes die young; new ones are awoken as quickly as night touches day. Dreams are better hidden away, savoured alone. It's not that I like being caught up in such generalizations and empty philosophies, it's just that sometimes in, in desperation, I have to reach for the simplest explanations I can find. I don't have the courage to admit to myself that I look for reasons to live mainly for comfort, to quell the rowdy regrets in my chest; maybe all we need to do is stay beautifully alive, or maybe it's not a question of what, but who.

--

Seems I died and came back. Giving up the poetry - all style and no feeling. Time to focus on what I really need to say. Regards, B.

angel

2007-02-17T10:15:00.000+08:00

sometimes the world gets too heavy
and grey and he'll just live in
his garden of willow trees and off-
white primroses, where the birds
never sing, and the grass never grows.

he would lick the dewdrops that dawn
deserted last night, swallowing each mouthful
carefully; then nuzzling into his own breast he would
anxiously kiss himself,
kiss himself so tenderly.

the sun could only smile slightly, as people
outside they murmured: what of love and passion?
what of death and loss? for no garden bloomed
for them; no garden would

kiss themselves so tenderly.

hoho

2007-02-09T22:03:00.000+08:00

the quest for beauty
leads many on wayward paths
stumbling down rocky trails
that wind everywhere but to
coveted desires

and
many are snatched away
to be made by sharp teeth
and sweet smelling mist,
left to stumble onwards
with taunt skin

the truly beautiful
are those who glide with ease
backwards
forwards
sidewards
often stopping to wander away
caring not for sacred paths
to walk on soft grasses
and smell beautiful
flowers

/ arrrr if ya don't practice anything, you lose what you once had - goes for sports, poetry and things the world over and over and over :(

see the stars

2007-01-28T23:18:00.000+08:00

as the sun began to set
the light filtered through
and it was pale and yellow and everybody
everybody
looked like movie stars
but as something dark crept up
the light began to die
and it was black and thick and everywhere
everywhere
it smelt like fate
and the stars -
you couldn't see the stars

/hee from last year. long ago last year. i wanna go for CAP this year, but i haven't been doing poems lately :( nor writing :((

Bidadari in Ashes

2006-12-31T20:15:00.000+08:00

I wish I'd seen my grandpa's tomb,
for now his grave has been exhumed

The flat land rolls on and on,
deathly silent and forlorn,

An eerie light creeps through the leaves
and tugs, and tugs at drooping trees

They burnt the peace to gain the space,
now only stubborn souls still haunt th' place

/can't remember if i posted this one already, but heck, it's the last post of the year! :)

ge

2006-10-25T21:53:00.000+08:00

A whole five years since the last –
I do not recall such frenzy.
I have no memory of time gone past
nor any meaning there for me

Quiet for years and shrill for a week
People & posters, Paper & plastic
Is this what we all truly seek?

Le plus ca changer, a voice will say
But not out loud, not every day

/ bleh cannot be bothered to come up with anything new. here's a lil seed of a work from a month or two back + edit

twelve fifty-one

2006-10-16T00:51:00.000+08:00

three twenty: you said hello
(the clock smiled)
six thirty-nine: you said goodbye
(the clock said twelve fifty-one)

nine fifteen: you said hello
(the clock smiled)
ten forty-two: you said goodbye
(the clock said twelve fifty-one)

twelve forty-nine: you said hello
(the clock smiled)
twelve fifty: you said goodbye

(the clock said twelve fifty-one)

but you didn't.

exaltation of life

2006-10-11T22:22:00.000+08:00

be friendly! be happy! be funny!
be straight! be independent! be handsome!
be normal be loud be young be invigorated!

unfortunately, life can be such a burden.

somewhere out there

2006-10-10T22:34:00.000+08:00

I recently poisoned my world; tainted it red. and half the time its a psychedelic whirl of colours that don't stop spinning. there's voices which tell me things: whispering into my ear the spray of the ocean and the wind of the desert. but it is the full paranoma of the clear night sky which is painted the most realistically. where we all sit on our little grassy knolls, waiting for that shooting star that never comes.

what is the colour of your rainbow?

and so

2006-10-09T02:20:00.000+08:00

he painfully poured his heart into a glass
bottle, carefully corking the top (so that
not a drop would spill out).
swirling it round and round, watching the
churning contents weep tears of
mass destruction.

with one quick motion, he hurled the
package of doom out into the
big beyond. a great wave snatched the poison
out of the air, smothering it down as the

tide receded. but he
didn't see that, didn't see that.

he was running away,

running away from his world
which was
to turn a darker shade of blue.

Sometimes

2006-09-29T21:49:00.000+08:00

sometimes
itfeelslikeimstanding
there
wonderingiftherewasomeway
thaticouldhelp

buticantstepast
thecage
thatsurroundstheworld
madeofchoices
thatwemakeourselves

andicanonlywatch
asthethickbarsresound
with sickening thuds
thecold
hardmetal
bleedingbutsaying
thisisfun
andiknowitis

a choice

:(

/and i respect it.

he's wrong

2006-09-26T20:13:00.000+08:00

he's wrong

like
the mistake on a
math paper
the wilted rose in a
wedding bouquet

like
locking the door
on a concrete shack
in the middle of nowhere,
he makes
no liquid paper
no plastic flowers -

he'd
rather be happy than right,
wrong than right.

she said

2006-09-24T11:07:00.000+08:00

she said
eatyourgreens and sleepearly
she said
doyourhomework and don'tdillydally
she said
gowashthedishes and gobuydinner
she said
makesureyougethomebefore11
she said
youmakemesad whyareyoulikethat

i say
thank you, mom.

don't look

2006-09-22T20:24:00.000+08:00

don't look at me
he said

and he turned his eyes to
the floor, studying the intricate patterns on
ceramic tiles clinging tightly to his feet

the door closed gently.
he waited a while

before the tears came

Bidadari in Ashes

2006-09-08T23:33:00.000+08:00

I wish I'd seen the old lad's tomb,
for now his grave has been exhumed

The naked land rolls on and on,
deathly silent and forlorn,

An eerie light creeps through the leaves
and tugs, and tugs at drooping trees

They burnt the peace to gain the space,
now only stubborn souls still haunt th' place

/yay a post. my great grandfather was buried at bidadari/bididari cemetery near potong pasir. one of singapore's last beautiful cemeteries. now it's just empty and boarded up, awaiting the new MRT line.

girl by the sea

2006-08-22T03:54:00.000+08:00

she sits on the sand
watching the wide-eyed sunset
wade into the distance.
one must not look for stars
that aren't there,
she says, pulling the clouds
about her shoulders, catching the wind
in her hair.

of the general's satires

2006-08-13T22:53:00.000+08:00

3DS: ppt!
PPT: 3ds!

3: what a pleasure. how nice of you to drop by, ppt!
p: of course of course. i have some pressing problems she - i mean we need to take care of...
3: you don't mean?
p: yes of course...
3: so its that case?
p: yes of course...
3: wait.. whats the case?
p: uh i don't know. i thought you knew.
3: um it must be about that- boy - what's his name- the pianist he calls himself
p: ah yes of course... the pianist.. she - i mean we are very concerned about the views has been expressing...
3: i entirely agree... not liking satires and intellectualised art? how preposterous!
p: yes of course... so she - i mean we- want to make sure nothing more of the sort is continued on his - his what do you call it - clog. yes of course.. clog. she - i mean we want to ensure he likes satires etc
3: yes yes, she- i mean we can't have him thinking that satires and intellectualised art is bad can we?
p: so now she- i mean we would like to make it clear to him the facts
3: so just a friendly phonecall and a friendly shutdown of his clog?
p: yes, of course
3: alright pps. its a good move by her - i mean us to promote satires and intellectualised art. it makes them feel smart and that there is freedom of expression.
p: yes of course. but as she- i mean we understand, the only reason why we allow it is that this freedom doesn't really result in anything at all... it only gives the impression of intelligence
3: haha genetics... haha... yes yes many generations
p: what was that 3ds?
2: oh nothing.
p: alright don't forget the friendly phonecall and the friendly warning reminder on the clog!
2: yes sir. ppt!
p: 3ds!

of satires in general

2006-08-08T23:17:00.002+08:00

since we all are as dry as deepfried watermelons, lets talk about current affairs. ie gulliver's travels and lit class. yeah this is gonna be about my viewpoint on satires.

i think satires are a rather crude form of art. that's why im not particularly enjoying my gulliver's travels lessons currently. its a form of art that does not deal very much with feelings, with real emotion. instead, it is an almost wholly intellectual past time. the whole thing about specific references to parallel situations, and how the writer wants to make fun of this group of people, that group of people. its all so very technical and intellectual.

its like the use of symbolism in art. how thewhiteclock-represents-the-passing-of-purity and the-red-cloth-signifies-the-repression-faced-by-the-bride. this is what satires are doing. being so very specific that emotions becomes intellectualized. using the same art anology, instead of putting just symbols, one should manipulate the emotions DIRECTLY ie overall shading of the painting, general feeling that one gets upon looking at the work.

linking this back to satires - art should never be just about the intellect. then the artists get reduced to a bunch of people trying to prove how smart and witty they are by being able to draw a parallel situation yada yada. its a game of wits and reason and intellect. is that what art should be?

and again. the purpose of satire is to educate and inform the masses about some kind of stance the writer is taking towards a certain issue. wouldnt it be much better if you just do so directly, instead of under the cover of art? if you want to push for something, writing satires arent exactly the way to go about it. especially in the more-open-and-liberal world today. there ARE other ways to go around things. if not u just end up with a bunch of discontent people laughing and poking fun at things around them. thats cynicism.

in the societal context, satires are only gonna make the gap between the governing body and the people wider. people are going to enjoy laughing with the satires (ie talking cock) written about the government. and that makes the government seem more detached from the society. there isn't much of a real purpose to satire - to me it just seems like the satirist is petty about issues in society, and wants to communicate ideas about them in a seemingly profound way which the masses enjoy because they can relate to it, and share his viewpoint. period.

its the whole thing about ART. most people see art as something they cant really relate to, so when the opportunity jumps up at them, they're all big-eyed and hungopen-mouthed at all this 'art' that they take everything in without much thinking (its like music composition creative projects in school lol - ure sure to get high marks for it because everyone thinks its so difficult to write good music).

if you want something to be changed, id rather you be direct about it. all that highbrow maneuvering is not going to work when practical things are at stake. dont write a story, write an essay to persuade. post it up on the internet, print it out and mail it to letterboxes. and of course, do take a certain degree of self-protection. be neutral in your argument as much as possible, adjust the tone of the writing. etc. and remain anonymous, if circumstances really are that restrictive.

haha okay fine maybe its just me. because it seems the rest of the world do buy into the whole satire business. yawn. i'd better go finish my chinese hw. and i would appreciate some dialogue about this subject? haha.

sand

2006-06-26T21:07:00.000+08:00

picking up a handful of sand, watching the
grains slipping through your fingers
painfully. just as the days spill out of grasp
and the weeks whisked away by the sea breeze

i've gotta blog here before june flies by.

what the hokkien mee said to the prata

2006-05-15T23:21:00.000+08:00

thus said the hokkien mee to my prata:
hello hello do you want my kopi- o
one for two, two dollars, three for four, ten or more
so i say i dont want to eat pizza quatro

lelonglelong see my nice nice vegetables
fry in onion fry in less oil ask for more salt
metal pan, wooden span, hit the plastic chopping board.
bang oops my finger drop into the malt.

more sugar more finger see the kopi turn
stir and stir, swish and gurgle, thats not blood lah just some spaddle-
EEEK goes the lady buying hokkien mee,
so my prata pizza kopi-o got no more fiddle.

lotsa thanks to bingwen who provided the title for this poem-song thingy. yeah try reading it out loud its FUN!

love

2006-05-12T22:51:00.000+08:00

everyword you say, i keep telling myself - you're saying it to me, gazing deep into my eyes.

id hate to tell me this, but i have little fairies dancing in front of me. They're adorned with sparkling jewels, blinding me with their splendour, dazing me with their song. that music i hear in your voice, that sparkle i see in your eye; it's nothing, really - stupid fairies.

but it's the fairies that put a smile on my face; it's the fairies that add that jive to my step. it's the fairies that keep me alive; it's the fairies that keep me dreaming. tango with them fairies, and the world seems alot easier to swallow. my heart tells me that i can't bring myself to run away from them.

so i've decided, i won't chase them fairies away, not anytime soon. and maybe i'll keep dreaming and dreaming and dreaming.

abandon

2006-05-09T01:31:00.000+08:00

drunk with ecstasy
singing with liquor-breath
bold, wild, daring.

swaying, fraying
killing sober,
drowning sense

happy. free.
reeking of false
moments,

just for a moment.

- 22nd October 2004

dream

2006-05-09T01:21:00.000+08:00

flitting across nets
weaving through chains
fettered to the soil
earthed by ropes
and wires bound
the horizon blue

with the free sky
the cheap clouds
and bargaining birds.

- 21st October 2004

his eyes

2006-04-26T21:59:00.000+08:00

my eyes,
he said,
i like to make them sparkle

...............for they are a window
...............a window to my soul

my eyes,
he said,
do all the smiling

...............though he looks at me
...............and does not smile

his eyes,
i know,
they are merely wild
and do not sparkle

...............do not sparkle like a year old child

his eyes,
i know,
they never smile

...............never smile and never laugh
...............like the days of youth

his eyes,

...............aye,

.......they are a window
..............................a window to his soul

but it is old

...............and sad

.......................and blind

chromatic

2006-03-31T01:21:00.000+08:00

colourpencils have always been the
love of my life. when you pick one up with
your left hand, it does not matter how many
flowers or trees you sketch

shading in the monotones punctuating every
sentence, you grasp the colourpencil, tears
and smiles swirling around in coloured carbon
grains of graphite paint a portrait

of yellow sunflowers and orange trees. the grass
is always greener in your hand. that colour that slips
out of your reach teases you just abit
before it runs away to hide behind that piece
of paper.

so nice

2006-03-26T09:32:00.000+08:00

try jazzing and spice. jamming up the dance floor,
buttering it down - just groove to the claves
sketching out sunny beach, sparkling sea.
seagulls crooning latin like the singer swaying and
sashaying her way around with the microphone.
lazy seabreeze and sundried beach towels flip flops
stretch out to yawn.

computer speakers sing and spit bossa nova,
sunny music beach and marimbas categorised under
My Music. painted this wonderland for you, walk through it
putting a smile on your face and a spring in your step.
cha cha to the beat of the wristwatch, counting down the
seconds to midnight. and archive this picture
of pleasure into one of those shelves on the wall.

pen and paper sit on the desktop in
pensive silence. clock ticks,
clock tocks. and the bossa nova plays on.

lost in transition

2006-02-25T03:56:00.000+08:00

Sometimes bus stops mean so much – respite, isolation,
the prime urban motif, a snapshot of society lost in transition.
The business of waiting is lottery. Traffic is a series of long sighs –
this is what time looks like.

You forget how silent everybody really is. Their eyes jaywalking.
Here is an inbox of messages waiting to be deleted. Here,
the city’s irregular pulse. Here there is so much privacy.
Someone you know alights and passes without speaking.

That night you go home, sit with Coltrane and a hot brew.
Find it impossible to sleep. Wonder if you should log on

men, we're here on a mission

2006-02-03T03:17:00.000+08:00

happy new year!
long time no see ah!
how's your son this year?
gongxifacai, wanshiluyi, xueyejinbu, shentijiankang
here's your ang bao.
xinniankuaile!
see you next year!

one banana milkshake

2006-01-31T15:55:00.000+08:00

The rain pours down with greater purpose
as if the earth has been starvéd of its goodness.
And indeed it has for this score of days,
for it needs to gain a drownéd daze

The math bores minds with far less purpose
as if the earth has been starvéd of its goodness.
And indeed it lies for these scores of days,
for it seeks to feign a fruitful glaze.

But to both I am oblivious.
As I sip my sweet cup of grace,
I contemplate crimes much more grevious.

/ i believe soon this blog shall be mine own. and i will rule it with the pen (for it is mightier than the sword) and the keyboard (for it is mightier than the pen).

thesebigwords

2006-01-11T22:24:00.000+08:00

sometimesthesebigwordscomemerrilybytocall
takingtheirtimetodriftslowlythroughmysub-concious
andhesitatantlygreetmypresentthoughts
formingthemselvesintolegiblematter
oftenatthemostinconvenientoftimes
wheninolongerneedtheiraidand
----that's...
---------- that's....
delib...
------------------------deliberating
-------i tell you

so --------
- very

------- deliberating.

/first post for 2006!

2005

2006-01-10T22:48:00.000+08:00

hello

2005-12-26T11:35:00.000+08:00

when the phone rang
i picked it up and said
hello.

is your mom in?
the voice on the other
end of the line
asked in chinese

no they've gone to malaysia,
i said, talking to the phone.

fiddling with the coiled
wire connection, i wondered
to whom that voice belonged.
a salesperson maybe.
or my mom's colleague. or one of
those distant relatives i meet
once a year.

is this royce?
it asked. yes, i replied
less at ease now
that she knew who i was
but i didn't she.

they'll be back tomorrow night.
i said.
oh okay. i'll call back
tomorrow then. thank you.

and i heard a click
on the other end of the line
and the regular monotone
that said good bye.

the man with the bomb

2005-11-30T23:08:00.000+08:00

the man with bomb
does not scream
nononono
like those who died would
if they knew

the man with the bomb
whispers
great is my god

Anomaly

2005-11-30T03:01:00.000+08:00

as I gazed out through the open balcony doors, i was
amazed at how still the view was, i saw
the sky so beautiful, so striking
with intense grey-streaked clouds, sleeping
behind the UC building in a green suit, not a crane
or worker dared move - and everything,
everything was so quiet - not quite serene
but unmoving (save the whispering breeze)
like a painting

but then the ignorant trucks roar past
and the fan whirs impatiently, challenging the crows
that nag at the frozen scene

and suddenly, all too soon
it is like life, once more

/hm royce. i see

keeping a safe distance

2005-11-29T00:59:00.000+08:00

is when i draw a straight line
that marks what is good to say
and what might offend you

for your own safety,
please do not cross the yellow line

polite smalltalk
congenial headnodding
and smiling -

seldom it is that the train comes
where i can cross that yellow line
safely.

but of course there's always the bus.

A Late Afternoon

2005-11-27T02:38:00.000+08:00

I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips
It throbs oh-so-slowly -
in tempo with the lazy midday
If feels mellowed, like rays from the sordid sun -
Weakened, weary;

Thump

-------Thump

---------------Thump

Like rays from the sordid sun

when eyes meet

2005-11-26T23:26:00.000+08:00

when our eyes meet, it's as if
i avoid looking.

you see, once that smile lights up
your face, i can't help but
fall inside.

colours & memories

2005-11-11T22:45:00.000+08:00

After all, what were memories? These mere intricate entities that result entirely from man’s senses; memories so detailed they require such specifically similar circumstances to allow for total recall – a mere hint of a memory would scarcely conjure the faintest déjà vu.

But colours. Ah, yes, colours. Were they not the very visual essence of memories? Even the memories lacking in sound are alive in colour; even the dreariest, most monochrome images are, in themselves, black and white. Colours, he mused, were by no means carceral – they imprison nothing, hold no-one in bondage – instead they fill the world in which he lived, the memories that he made of it.

//had some musings for commonwealth essay :) couldn't be bothered to put it up on my blog. but thou shalt not steal. though, of course, you wouldn't get anywhere with text like that. writing has since moved on to more modern, xue-yang-amanda-chong style. not that i care, cos i'll prob use this lil excerpt here anyway.

One Of My Loveliest Moments Of Solitude

2005-11-05T00:54:00.000+08:00

I remember
One of the loveliest moments of solitude I had:
at the Yoshinoya outlet near my school where, I,
having ordered a Beef Bowl (Student’s Meal, please…
Upsize??? Uh, yes) sat at the end of an empty row and
thought it weird for two girls (next to me, my age or so)
to be giggling so unabashedly as though
they owned the restaurant - but that was their solitude;
mine was less unrestrained: I told myself, first,
get the veggies out of the way. My teeth went to work
kneading carrot, cauliflower, broccoli, …
(don’t touch the onions because the beef tastes horrid without it)
so did my mind, digesting my book – “Art Now”- apt title
solitude so boundless yet personal it must have
been art. That was the lovely moment, actually,
after which a glare nailed into me by one of three students
(one female two male) sitting opposite curtailed my freedom.
Then, they laughed, almost selfishly, among themselves,
at me, I would presume? Surely solitude
wasn’t this – an uneasy, paranoid experience?
Not being caught up in a conversation of one’s own left one vulnerable.
The situation felt as sticky as the rice. I shortly got up to leave,
though a second glare caught up with my footsteps. Solitude
leaves the job of conversation to the eyes.

Haiku?

2005-10-21T22:52:00.000+08:00

From the bus window
The grey world sways to and fro -
Oh! How nauseous!

/i really don't know... my second haiku ever anyway... don't think i'll submit for the haiku comp in the first place... oh dear... is 'nauseous' 2 or 3 syllables? how foolish i am...

(3rd edit: man how many times have i edited this post. Just confirmed that 'nauseous' can be both 2 and 3 syllables, i take it to be 3. Also read that there must be two largely speparated parts in a haiku, so i added the originally intended dash. Apparently the japs also believe there must always be a 'season' word - a word in the haiku that indicates a season (e.g. cherry blossom, green frog, etc). I mean, like what in the world? We only have hot-summer and wet-summer here. So the word "grey" can be the latter. Or to make the 'summer' season more obvious, how about "hot" or "dry" instead? They both sound good - what do you two think?)

It would be

2005-10-21T22:36:00.000+08:00

Wouldn't it be nice
To notice the things that others don't
To love the people that others won't?

To know they will remember you
Fondly, the observant life you led
(always kind and dear, no doubt)
Without an Afterwards to remind them?

i swear he said

2005-10-19T19:42:00.000+08:00

harhar
he said
jolly good
--------sport

i shall
he said
put them up
----------on my wall

what a wonderful gift
he said
did you get them
he said
from the Congo?

--------------such pretty skulls

P-38 Lightning

2005-10-12T22:12:00.000+08:00

the engine rattles
the cockpit is smeared and grimy;
like the fuselage, streaked with old glue -
and its decorations faint [/dead] and dusty

the grey guns and gears are useless,
and the undercarriage has since detached itself
from the rest, now a solitary machine
without wings with which to fly
and skewed landing gear
Yet such an invention would be worth so much -
if only it was real

sketch

2005-10-09T09:46:00.000+08:00

He dives into the water, and the world disappears above him. Whispering sweet little nothings into his ear, she leads him forward with that elusive smile of hers. Soft fronds of long hair tease and tickle his bare skin as he watches her weave her way about through the water. He reaches out to take her hand; and with a playful twinkle in her eye, she draws him into her dance of fluid joy.

Afternoon sunlight, blue sky and ripples cascade over the tiles on the floor, singing quietly about solitude. The dancers spin and twirl to the music, playing a game of their own. Embracing her gently, he basks in the feel of her fingers running lightly across his chest. “Stay here with me,” she giggles.

Breaking away to the surface for a quick breath, he hurriedly submerges himself again. But she has disappeared. And blue water stares back in the face at him.

Look At Me Spam Again

2005-10-07T21:38:00.000+08:00

The people
They watch slowly
As the great, grey-white cloud moves quickly
Rushing across the bright blue sky

The photographer thinks
This will be a good shot
And he waits too, eager

And the light fights its way forth
The sun clawing at the cloud's side
Its bright rays pushing and tearing
Intense and blinding
Yet the people watch, fascinated

And suddenly the cloud is past
And the world is Massive Orange
Searing and gripping them
Too intense, too blinding for eyes like theirs

So they turn away
For dusk has come

The Unknown Woods/Realm/Lands/Wadeva

2005-10-04T22:29:00.000+08:00

The airy trees revive their show
As faerie leaves alight with glow
These wooded folk arise from snow
With hooded cloak they dance, they know

This secret cause to why they live -
The sacred flaws of men won't give:
Their hidden homes are never sought
Nor bidden gnomes entice a thought

For men pale at dark, deep woods [or: For/All men pale at darkened woods]
With pen'd tales that do no good [or: And pen'd tales do them no good]
Where mortal men fear to step
Immortal land will fear no threat

/amazing how long i could sustain a triple rhyme or whatever whatnot you call it. it seems to me that the first few lines are more steady and flow nicely, but towards the end it gets quite laborous... bah bad speeling anyway. the first two lines of the last stanza/verse/wadeva really seem like a tongue twister... i suppose its cos of the 'men pale' conflicting with 'pen'd tales' - the sound of the 'p' is switched from 2nd word to 1st...

and seems lik everyone else is too busy to post... speaking of busy... i should be sleeping now... bah. bl00dy wasting my time...

sketch

2005-09-28T00:52:00.000+08:00

he swings across the monkey bars, briefcase in hand. plastic poles and rubber mats greet him as he jumps down to reach the ground. the mid-morning sun chuckles at the breeze tossing his hair askew. panting and wheezing, he rushes about from place to place. "i'm late, i'm late", he says frantically, frowning and glancing at his watch. running past me at top speed, he barely stops to say a quick hello before hurrying off for his next appointment with the slide. as i look on curiously, the playground suddenly bursts into real life.

I Wonder

2005-09-19T00:21:00.000+08:00

i wonder
what they do
those who live
oceans away
on that continent
of the american dream

their sources
tell us much
of pop and rock
and daily fast food
the hollywood culture
bimbotic and cut throat

their schools
are they concerned
with only social lives
directionless youths
drugs and immorality
fat, dumb and pretty
in killer cliques

but what
should we know
of such cultures,
but biasedly through
their own influence
of global domination

/"Where is everyone?" he wondered. "Gone. Wouldn' come back if they could 'elp it," came the reply. "Gone where?"
"Can't tell fer sure. All I been told is they're jes to damn busy"
"Busy... but isn't everyone busy?"
"Yer askin' me? I'm purty sure yer already got yer answer boy..."
"Then what do I do? There's nobody else except me here..."
" 'Ell.. you kin do anythin' yer like... Take it over fer instance..."
"Yes of course, of course... You're absolutely correct... they won't be coming back either..."
"Jes offerin' mah 'umble advice kid. Ain't no need ta git worked up neither... 'Take it cool', I says. 'Jes one small step at a time' I thinks...'"

New Orleans

2005-09-13T23:52:00.000+08:00

As the bad news trickled in
Many heard and many wondered
Of this place called New Orleans –
How? How could it have been,
That as the waters filled the streets,
The caveman came to New Orleans?

Through the flooded streets he led
Telling of how they would survive;
“Fend for yourself like I -” he said
“Follow heart and feel no mind.”
And as mortal desire and instinct grew
They exposed the true mankind

Many years he must have travelled
To take his place amid the floods
Revealing the modern man unravelled
And what lay under flesh and blood...

/used this as half a response for my reading portfolio article on the disaster in new orleans... go look for it on www.iht.com... "In the Big Easy, inured to the macabre"...

the storm of 9 and 12

2005-09-13T23:48:00.000+08:00

it was on that september night
that i wished for cool [and sleepy] evening -
and on that year of twenty,oh and five
did silent nature reply in full

for a good forty the black sky raged;
it was a storm unseen.
a tempest to challenge Lear's;
it was a wrath unleashed.

the anger writhed among squeaking men
and dried in cries of anguish

the lightning flickered like broken lights
and deafened with blinding flashes

the thunder pounded and roared
and shook the feeble walls

but as it began, it came to end
and cool rain flooded in
upon the sweating blocks it swept
and redeemed my dreamy wishes

/spammation. they say thunder and lightning storms don't last for more than half and hour... if that is so... what on earth was that last night?

fields of fun

2005-09-13T23:37:00.000+08:00

[oh my eyes!
how sore they are
but, as I close them now
to retreat and rest,
I dream of my fields of fun]

Under green trees and sun
Where we play and we run
And our work is undone -
These are our fields of fun

/i've done about 3 poems over the past two days. must get them up. this was one that i did in class today... just scribbled it down... i found it quite hard to connect the two stanzas.. so perhaps i should simply use the last verse alone... it came from a one-liner i thought of a few months ago - "in our fields of fun"... oh well... bah i disagreed with royce over the content of a recent post.. but i guess i should just accept his form of artistic expression...

charcoalfactory worker

2005-09-13T22:35:00.000+08:00

woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel

woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel

woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel
woodchuckshovelshovel woodchop throwinshovel

how to grab attention

2005-09-10T21:12:00.000+08:00

.SEX.

sketch

2005-09-09T23:28:00.000+08:00

dawn filters herself into my morning coffee, as she tenderly fingers the flowers sitting on the windowsill. downstairs, buses and taxis horn impatiently as they wait for her to get on. she sighs, clearing her throat in the morning exhuast. the kettle whistles merrily as she steps out of the shower, soft light like trinklets down her hair. dripping wet with dew, she peers shyly out from the shower curtains. i rub bedclothes and sleep out of my eyes, straining for a second look - but she's hidden herself back in the shadow, a half-smile hanging from her lips. before i can say a word, she slips away, out into the morning hustle.

an ubin eagle

2005-09-06T00:28:00.000+08:00

it was a stormy afternoon one day
[that] i saw a bellied eagle -
black shape upon a sky so grey
t'was the soaring regal

"where go'est thou, dear feathered friend?"
i asked the misty wind
"what do'st thou in day so dark
that stirs your feathered kin'[d]?"

[as spray dash'd acros't the rocking boat,
he set on hanging branch
and swung great wings to keep afloat
'gainst the mighty *wind

yet amidst the sweeping, whisp'ring gale
the eagle watched in silence
as clouds rained noise and watered hail
said he nothing 'til mine absence

and hence he took to outstretched wing
and flew away on waves that sing]

/i saw a couple sea eagles on the bumboat to ubin for the dreaded and now over npcc atc. black things soaring in the distance. poor things, cos the weather was really very unpleasant...this actually wasn't the original poem that came to me, i think it was lost in the three days of boredom and sleep-deprivation... not really very happy with it... esp. the latter 3 stanzas or are they verses (?) whatever they are anyway.. would someone like to help me compose another ending? or continue the poem from after the second verse?

sanity

2005-08-26T03:13:00.000+08:00

is when you can draw a line
between knowing
and pretending.

Post 111 (and then some)

2005-08-24T23:06:00.000+08:00

the birds whisper their evening song
as the light fades and sky darkens
the activity once here is now gone
and eerie quiet comes [silently] creeping

upon the empty school

Version 2
dark, contrived quiet creeps upon the school
where light fades and soft evening comes [also]
upon the empty halls where birds whisper

Version 3
contrived quiet and darkness creeps
upon the school

where light fades and heralds
soft evening

among the empty halls where
birds whisper

//many ways to play with the same idea and words la... and school is really like this at 7pm on tuesdays... quite frightening really...

and the little people

2005-08-19T01:36:00.000+08:00

and the little people
go

----------------a-jumping

----------------------------jumping

---------jumping

all the way round

whoa.. ego probs

2005-08-16T00:53:00.000+08:00

i looked upon a reflection one day
but i was surprised
for something frightening stared back at me
until i realised the face was mine
and i cursed the mirror that hung upon the wall
who told me the prettiest of them all

oh mirror why did you lie to me?

/this is exploring the realm of ranting over failed ego trips... not very good at it... poem not very nice either.. what is it about good poems that make them tick??.. i must read more.. more prose.. more poems...

it's been a while

2005-08-15T02:26:00.000+08:00

it's been a while
since the skies bathed in pink
while green clouds swam by

it's been a while
since camillas and tulips breathed
yellow and redpolkadots,
frolicking in violet fields

it's been a while
since sand sang blue,
since waves crooned frothy orange

it's been a while
since the pastel palette
tinged my sky

chameleon

2005-08-15T02:10:00.000+08:00

fading in and out of countenances,
charming coquette blends with
treebark and prettyflowers abound -
for the vines where we all (hypo)criticise:
the colours and shapes;
moods and textures untouched-
not by the poisonous fangs virtue preyed upon,
but modelled after surroundings printed
exquisitely by more:
mere chameleons.

rhyme & reason

2005-08-15T00:40:00.000+08:00

/bing. all i can say is. wow. very nice. and if the poem holds true, i feel sorry for you man... and your father...

i hope one day i might rhyme
and words shall come rushing in
filling me, as i sail, line by line
upon the misty wind

and as i rest, perhaps, one night
i shall hope to count no sheep
and yet sweet words will be the light
that sings me to my sleep

/i realised i havent done a proper rhyme for a long time...still sounds rather forced.. my rhymes were always engineered you see... still are i suppose... blogging does take ones time, but when its doing something i like, it's worth it...well, until i wake up groggy the next morn...

Waking

2005-08-14T03:30:00.000+08:00

I know that once the sound of
the doorknob turning hits my ears
like a gunshot at two or maybe
three in the morning, I will hear
my father’s footsteps sink into
the marble floor like feeble boats
and the fatigued rhythm of his movement
that indicate how surely he is aging
and cannot afford to have his sleep
interrupted so many times in a week
And I cannot but keep as still as the furniture
as his stern words attempt to
traverse the sea between us. I like to think
that we might be two panes of an open window
which will one day be firmly shut,
but till then what remains is a long receipt
of merciful silences, like the one that
accompanies us in the dead of the night,
or the one colder than the air-con in the
car as he drives me to school
while I watch the daylight gush out
from the wound in the sky.

Bus Ticket To

2005-08-10T03:11:00.000+08:00

It was the same white, rectangular face from
long ago that returned my stare as it lay
comfortably on the bed of my palm, in the
slumber of time, now almost transparent
just as it probably would have done when
my eyes were only as high as what I thought was

the mouth of the red ticketing machine and its
mechanical cough, the commuter’s irregular heartbeat
which I waited to share as my mother paid with her coins
but not without first consulting the bus driver, who to me
was always the man in the green shirt with his hands
on the frighteningly large steering wheel. Similarly,

I can’t remember every invidual ticket, but I recall
I once planned to collect hundreds of those slips
as though an incomplete, huge jigsaw of memory was
waiting for a contribution that would never have sufficed.
And I do know they made good origami materials on the way
to abacus or piano class - how I could fold hearts from

those worthless receipts is ironic; but how the threadbare
detail on each of them was so easily erased from memory
is no surprise- EZ-Link has made them less important, but
years have crafted more complex shapes from this creased
past, so they linger, the fine print inscribed on the ceiling of
my mind, and allege that remembrance is the law of existence.

Another Untitled

2005-08-05T01:00:00.000+08:00

i would be grateful
for the opportunity
to be myself in a place
where i can sing
and dance and talk
to myself
and nobody would bother
or wonder why my lips -
they move without a sound

/phy test tmw. hafta go and sleep. but note use of one or two long words, ones that are unnatural to a poem...

7 + 1 having dinner

2005-07-29T00:16:00.000+08:00

you know the other day i was having
yes i agree it's just so unfortunate
oh don't worry ive seen worse than
the food here's just so oily, i'll get fat
no it's ok, everything will be fine by
why are you always so quiet this
oh well i hope you're ok

.

the Magic Squirrel

2005-07-28T01:16:00.000+08:00

magic me away, magic squirrel
magic me away
to the place where daisies lie down
their heads softly resting

oh magic me away
to the place where you begin
where the hazelnuts fall
upon the moss lies the cool shade

magic me away, dear squirrel
magic me away
to the place where i can forget

take me away
to the place of magic

/okay nice fairy poem. byebye. just finished an english speech i hate. need to sleep. the mozzies are all trying to kill me... one tried going for my face... whoa...

recess time

2005-07-24T22:29:00.000+08:00

Ding ding ding! goes the bell
and an influx of inmates irrigate
the thirsty chairs
craving tables
fill 'er up!

Queues and more
queues of people waiting inline
Chomp Chomp! go the tables
its purpose served
that's 60 dollars please!

bite chew swallow check
bite chew swallow
check
slurp chew bite check swallow

crush slurp burp

weaving her way waddling
side to side past Purchased
Goods and production lines
ticking tocking clocking waiting
RINNGGGG

big grin big Thank you!
please come again!

Hao!

2005-07-24T22:27:00.000+08:00

here's one i whacked out immediately in the convo i was having with Mr. Piano:

the original ~
you see not the piercing pain that's bled
and dying wish,
upon withering weed

been playing around with little poems... arrangement and everything... i've taken to writing quickly the little inspirations for poem that have a knack for popping into my head... a small Religious Harmony notepad and pen come in really handy... and i think it helps a lot...

after some thought ~
you do not see the words that bleed
and dying wish,
upon withering weed

in the original, the first line suddenly came out of nowhere. it's actually from my Sec 2 War Sonnet, and i think its one of the few nicer parts... then i decided to see what it would be like if it actually rhymed (ohmigdness! really? wait did i speil that wrong?). royCE says his friend thinks i should have ended off my previous poem with a couplet for more impact. cool. my scribbled draft actually did end in a couplet, but it didn't sound right. but i'm just a-gonna keep the way it is :P cos i can't seem to find a way to make it feel good with a couplet... but i do have some lines i'd like to add, like "Frown professionally" and "busy with success"...

Distance

2005-07-23T22:08:00.000+08:00

i cant stand it! josh getting too pro liao! hmpf! [pouts] i shall write a poem as well! and disregard all my homework. yesh. muahahaha. sigh.

Silence echoes her pretty song
of Car Horns and Alarm Clocks -
Orange blinking, cellphones ringing
Meet the deadlines
distanced.

Just sighing for a moment
Shielding off fingers tickling
at the back of her mind.
5am and dancing on distance
quaintly, far away.

Scribbles knock
Stopwatch whistles
phonecall email duty fringing
off on the border

a distance
a distanced.

Excuse me.

2005-07-23T21:19:00.000+08:00

dialogue between A and B. scene takes place in a crowded train station. Both A and B are waiting for the train. A is a middle-aged man dressed in a long-sleeved white shirt and white trousers. B is a youth dressed casually in street wear. The former is standing still reading a newspaper, a briefcase at his feet. The latter is fidgeting, fiddling about with his handphone, composing an SMS.

[B knocks into A a few times while fidgeting around.]

A: Excuse me?
[B ignores him]
A: Excuse me?
[B ignores him again, focusing on the SMS he is typing. He accidentally knocks into A yet again.]
A: If you haven't noticed, this is the fourth time you have knocked into me.
B: I'm sorry, but do you have a problem with that? [continuing to sms]
A: Yes, in case you havent noticed, i do.
B: Oh, just move aside or something.
A: If you might have noticed, I refuse to budge.
B: Your problem then.
A: Excuse me, you're the one with the problem here. Knocking into me with no apparent reason Is a problem.
[B chooses to concentrate on his SMSing]
A: Excuse me, I can't believe how incongruous your behaviour is.
B: You're excused.
A: If you haven't noticed, I have decided not to talk to you.
B: Fine.
A: Excuse me. Fine.
[PA system announces 'yellow line' announcement. pause.]
A: Excuse me, if you haven't noticed, you're behind the yellow line. That is dangerous.
[B ignores him again]
A: Excuse me, I'm saying this for your own good.
B: You're not my mom.
A: [shakes head] If you haven't noticed, Youths these days -
[A's phone rings. He picks it up, starts talking. B decides to finish sending his SMS, and takes out a comic book, opening it]
A: Excuse me. And as i was saying, youths these days are just incongruous. Fiddling with their phones, [stealing a look at B] reading comic books, dressing up in bad clothing. [puts down phone]

A: Excuse me, I've been asked to do a social survey.
B: Go away. I'm reading.
A: [scribbling into a notebook] I've noticed. Tan Ah Kow. 16. reads comic books.
B: My name isn't Ah Kow. [pauses]. It's Ah Mao.
A: I've noticed. Tan Ah Mao. 16. reads comic books. rude in language and tone. [looking up] Excuse me, tell me about yourself. What do your parents work as?
B: Um. My mom's a secretary. My dad works as an engineer with the PUB.
A: I've noticed. Middle-income family. Probable residence 4-room HDB flat.
B: I think you're sick.
A: I've noticed. Healthy, virile, useful. [looks up]. Excuse me. Congratulations, you have passed with flying colours.
B: Do I get paid peanuts?
A: Excuse me. Being useful is a duty. I've noticed. Congratulations.
B: Whatever.

[train comes.]

Yay Another Poem, Finally!

2005-07-23T21:09:00.000+08:00

The busy men and women
Stare out from behind steely frames
Hurry! They say, Hurry!
I have meetings to attend,
Appointments to uphold,
And so many, oh so many things to do!

And they glare impatiently
Hands raised over horns.
Hurry! They mutter, Hurry!
I certainly do not have all day to wait -
I have places to go; people to meet

And they sit comfortably
Ensconced in their expensive, silver cars
Dressed in polished metal and pallid grey

/oh and for the record, the previous one was done a veeery long time ago, when joel ranted to me on msn about prefects in the form of a poem. i, being annoyed, ranted back. so no worries. he still finds many ways and means to rant to me about prefects nowadays, if not more so...

In Response to Joel

2005-07-18T23:37:00.000+08:00

do.loop ("end==stagnancy")<7{day--s};
if i++ = post;
then i++=k!ng;
end.loop

why on the
sweet earth must
people take it
out on us
prefects

sheesh. i hate
booking. but why
must i still
argue with them. convince
them to believe
things i sometimes don't
even believe

i just believe in
responsibility.i wish
everyone had tt. and even
me. but i noe tt
not everyone has
that maturity. they
just enjoy life. i would like that
too

we are not
perfect. just
hated. laughed at
and scorned
for things we
are expected
to do

i never said
we were anything
near

perfect

public announcement

2005-07-12T03:41:00.000+08:00

yes dj u sound subdued. no more hyperness. erkg;sohje;sjgk;xkdjpogjsj'.

i hereby declare, that i,
the-pianist,
shall not be able to post poetry
as often as before.

im hardly in the poetry writing mood nowadays. prob wont turn back to it again. sadly.

Rainy Afternoon

2005-07-11T18:57:00.000+08:00

Alone
And it is dark
The rain jumps upon the balcony
And upon the windows it goes

----------plit
----------------------plat

----------split
----------------------splat

Ah finally. a post to end the deadness of the blog. i also think its the best one i've done for some time now. lately i've been trying to force my poems out from two lines, and it didn't work out well. so i felt this one was more natural. Even though i had originally started with the first two lines, when i'm thinking of an experience and translating it into imagery, i guess it's slightly easier for me. annoyingly, i still had trouble choosing the word to describe the rain. at first it was 'splatters', then 'platters', 'clatters' and now 'jumps'. but it still doesn't sound right. anyway, i changed the template. ew >_O".

Mattress

2005-07-04T00:59:00.000+08:00

Last night I pulled out that old mattress from
the past which my parents keep under their bed

and watched as it buttered the parquet floor with
an unearthed, rectangular piece of childhood sky.

Yellow star-shapes remained spaced out in comity,
but in between was the delicate thinness of fabric,

dusty, and dirtied with the ashen traces of scorched
years. The last time I lay on it was the last time

I was thoroughly sick; engulfed in bitter fever and
having, with some languorous tossing and turning,

caused that comfortable, fluid interstice to
evaporate, as it eventually did from my memory,

so I sometimes found myself on stubborn wood,
conscious of how the hard surface had exposed me

and left me rushing again for its simple reassurance;
and beyond that, the contentment of fairer youth.

But once again I lay on the mattress, allowing it
to reclaim and slip me into a fresh recumbence,

as both bodies briefly shed the ennui of age,
while I couldn’t help but fall firmly asleep.

Must I Put A Title?

2005-07-04T00:50:00.000+08:00

In the words of Aunt May: "I think there's a dead blogger in all of us, Peter". And Jane Austen, in her famous classic Pride & Prejudice (also known as Angst & Alfalfa-juice), says "It is universally accepted knowledge that boys of an angsty age, regardless of fortune, would be in want of a dead blog".

All blogs lead to Stagnancy, not Rome. I figure the reason why some people's blogs are so popular is because they actually bother to update on interesting things, regularly. ANYWAY, to stop me from making this into a personal diary (i really should set up an separate ill-fated blog some time with jasper or something) I shall post an old, wise word play.

To train is to improve
To bike is two maximum
To bus is too crowded

(Woah, like, how funny can i get? I seriously cannot stand it. Can I please be funnier nowadays?)

angst

2005-06-28T02:36:00.000+08:00

hah! i shall valiantly stop thy spamming, oicannotmakeitlah! and yes! angst shall return to haunt this blog! muahahahah!

what's new,
when old wrinkles away forgotten;
what's tender raindrops
when storms slaughter and plunder;
what's the ticking of the clock at night,
when indifference creeps up to throttle;
what's life
when time seeps off leaving us dry.

2005-06-28T01:02:00.000+08:00

hah. im going to try spamming this blog-cum-poetry-blog-thingamajiggallyjig. hah. like bing or mostly Mr. Piano. hah. hah. gag. hey. i might be quite good at it. you know. just spam a whole lot of old poems lor. hah. zzz.

reminisence, scraps of nothing,
that cling to hope of revival and success

::Jasper's Reply (editing anyone?):
i wish i hope i wish i hope, the joys of yester fell through my fingers

:: Words Of MacBeth's
abjure from avarice, detraction
from pernicious scruples
insatiable, lascivious epicures

Booo. Semester 2

2005-06-27T00:36:00.000+08:00

Hi. A very good welcome to you, dude!
You've been doomed to Semester 2!
It don't ever matter what you even do
You're just gonna suffer along with me too
Hah. Go ahead 'n say boo.

Sigh...(haha the following words after sigh i turned into this poem... not a very good one... but an expression all the same sigh)

in 5 and a half hours
a new semester will begin.
Searching to destroy.
To drain.
To damage.
Forever.

maybe not forever,
not for eternity
because eternity is too long
to suffer
to die
and lie dying.

i ask for power again,
for strength.
for the blooming of new flowers,
the passing of spring showers
to abandon the corner
in which fear cowers

i look towards eternity,
look toward hope,
look upward for help,
to survive.

Because I know,
i know
that eternity is long
but not too long
not too long to live

Untitled

2005-06-19T18:14:00.000+08:00

justice is as never was
merit itself decided cause
justice never is as was
merits change with timely cause

morals are what was never known
standards made for broken stone
morals never are what was known
as standards always set in stone

this is known as forced rhythm, forced rhyme and forced poem. its what happens when i only have one line... well ok maybe two to work with... oh no! so sad... yay i shall spam the blog while not doing work... impending doom... impending doom... wheee *splat*... till the hurlyburlys done and the battles lost and won - i shall be awaiting death by homework! yay doom doom doom doom.. oh no im figuring that im sounding a lot like Mr. Piano in hyper mode... or on drugs... well... both...

Boring as Life

2005-06-17T19:05:00.000+08:00

sighz... still got quite a bit of work left... and i haven't completed the Fairy Stories yet have i? oh well... oh and for the record.. the fairy tale news thing was my idea first... well actually i just came up with headlines but no story... anyway... last night before i went to sleep i felt like writing something... but only got round to it today, but only some of it is done... i got distracted and started reading Clancy's Rainbow Six half-way... so i decided i had better not finish the story under the influence of such writing... i haven't even gotten to the part that inspired me to write... sigh, oh well... the music from the movie Ray is so distracting...oh and the story's called Boring as Life...

Click. He snaps on the light. Harsh orangey-yellow stabs at his eyes for a moment. He looks about the familiar, boring kitchen. Are there lizards? On the floor, maybe, like the ones he had seen dashing for cover the other day. Or perhaps they could be hiding under the refrigerator? Better there than under his foot, he thinks, and shudders figuratively. He watches himself step into the room, half-reflected in the windows. There is no use wondering if the ones across, with bright light and shadows on bunks, were there. It would bother him, sometimes, but not tonight. He turns, slightly, and reaches for the cup drawer. As always, there are no cups left in the drawer – he supposes – only the dainty little porcelain tea-cups. He had used them before, but decided they were too small. Somehow, though, the drawer feels heavier as he tugs on the tiny curve of metal that is meant to be a handle. There is, amazingly, one cup left, looking lonely and covered in those field grasses of sepia tones and black and purple flowers. He contemplates; he is not accustomed to using such pleasant ones, just the plain blue and white ones that always seem to be breaking every once in a while. He takes it in his hand, and carefully fills it with the cold milk from the fridge before replacing the carton. The door is nudged closed and he hears the gentle thud of attracting magnets with ears that have long taken such sounds for granted.

He liked to drink the milk in one gulp; it seemed to bring out the taste more. This time, though, his teeth seemed to scream with shock, right to the very roots. Far too cold, they said. He would have to wait a while, although, as he glanced at his cup, he realized he didn’t have much left to drink. No matter, really...

maybe i'll finish the story one day... the writing somehow... isn't like bing's... he's good man, he's good... pretty disheartening looking at his totally bombastic vocabulary... whoa..

Murder of Ms Candyhouse

2005-06-14T22:37:00.000+08:00

Reuters - The village of Candyville was shaken yesterday with the brutal death of Ms Candyhouse. Ms Candyhouse, 158, was found dead in her oven last monday morning by the milkman. The victim suffered 99% 4th degree burns. An autopsy later revealed that she was hit on the head with a metal object and then roasted in the oven at 300 degrees celcius for over an hour.

Neighbours described the victim to be a small, friendly and caring old lady, who liked having children over at her Candyhouse. However Ms Candyhouse had not been seen (alive) ever since neighbours spotted two children eating her home.

Mr Beadle, a neighbour of Ms Candyhouse's, claimed that he saw two figures running off from the Candyhouse into the woods on Monday evening. "They were running rather quick, so I couldn't recognise them," he said. "But they seemed to be carrying lots of stuff. Like, totally."

Further investigation by the police showed that Ms Candyhouse's home had been ransacked, and that half of the house remained standing - the rest of the house was defouled by bite-sized holes in the walls. Police suspect foul play.

"The two kids she had over at her house - they were really mean," said Dame Chocolate, another neighbour. "Like, totally. They claimed they were starving, having had lost their way in the woods. weird names they had too, Gretsel and Hantle, I think."

"It's a pity that we lost Ms Candyhouse. She was the nicest lady ever. She made lots of pies for the whole village every month," said Mr Beadle.

Police are looking further into the case.

The wake of Ms Candyhouse would be held at the site of the late Candyhouse from tomorrow afternoon till Saturday morning. The casket would leave for the oven at 9am on Saturday.

If you have any information, feel free to call 1900-THI-SHOAX. Thank you.

My Gay Club Entrance Essay

2005-06-13T20:11:00.001+08:00

I hate life.
Why does it do this to me?
Jenny must die.

Nothing will satisfy me now.
I crave his absence.
I cannot tolerate
being the only one miserable.

I am always
in love.
But always
the only one.

I want him to read
and immerse himself
in this,
and feel
these lines run across
every inch of lovely skin
like veins
then soak
in this tender milk bath
of my loveless words.
loveless words.
every word a part of me.
every word a part of me.

then let me hear
him scream.
as words turn
to nails.

expected to

2005-06-10T15:56:00.000+08:00

staying here, with free food
free lodging. and antiseptic
accomodation.

expected to like it here.

it's a privilege. unlike people
down there, scurrying with their
miserable lives.
or so i'm told.

through the bars, i watch people
frolick in mischief, wishing
all the time
that i could break out and fall down
right there.

but as i stare. people stare back too,
in expected admiration, which happens
to pass for a fleeting second.
they expect me to be inside.

expected to like it here.

i've tried breaking out.
they push me back in,
whether they know it or not.
it's the cage ive built
in unknowing glory
that traps me in.

expected to do my best in here.

forced inside, kept inside.
the guards don't know their
occupation. it hangs on the
Level of Subconscious Thinking.
and Expectations.

polished metal of expectation.
stainless bars of reputation.
i've built it up
only to want them taken away

expected to stay in there.

i confess - a mistake
on my part in the first place.
now that ive repented,
all i ask is their forgiveness.

give me a chance.

"no, you're not expected to."

Wuteva

2005-06-07T18:34:00.000+08:00

All in favour of the motion say "aye"
Eye!
I!
Oi!
U heard it! The vowels have spoken!

!

But i haven't!
U aren't a vowel stupid...
Trivial matter, dearies, just form the word!

Wahlau... has anyone even talked about us few at the end?
U aren't vowels either stupid...
Trivial matters, dearies, just settle down..
Everyletter knows WXYZ are not important...
Vat did voo say?? Vhere is our vrights voo spell?
Alright, alright... enough... i think everyletter knows their abc's already...

With compositions like these, you have to be broadminded to consider them poems... but as we have promised... more poems... no blogz! no prose! yeah right... jes' kiddin' yer

the call of nature

2005-06-07T18:17:00.000+08:00

caged in cold steel
polished shine leering unintentionally
stiff expectation barring escape
as people outside wave, smile, and take pictures.

wearily pacing upon the past
building up impressions cast
in metal. the jungle outside
wild and free
with boundless valleys and
unlatched marshes
beckons,

the call of nature.

its high but lonely up here
where languid hope lies.
just wistful, wantful thirst
for the sincerity of rivers and streams
gently flowing past.
it seems that im never able
to drink up

the call of nature.

it seems that everything else runs amok
down there, under treetop cover.
while its sanitised up here:
disinfected duty imposed by
the expected.
the people taking photographs.
it never seems to go away
that void that drowns out

the call of nature.

locked up in loss
of that 'ring ring' that never comes
the sound of silence
which would break the bars
steal the repressed
make me fall:
it never comes
and im still waiting for

the call of nature.

Apple-Logies

2005-06-07T18:15:00.000+08:00

Dear All (whom we hope actually do pay the slightest bit of attention to this muse-blog),

We (collectively) at pos3rpoets apologise (mostly) for the recent bloggings by one of our members whom we shall not name. Mr. Piano (not his real name, which is witheld to protect his privacy), in his recent terrorisation of the pos3rpoets blog-cum-muse site during the absence of much our members, had attempted over the last fortnight or so to turn the site into one of his bimbotically gay blogs (referring specifically to past 4 or 5 posts). The miscreant has been warned and we assure you that no such terror will ever come to pass (or such we hope). We here at pos3rpoets promise to continue to provide more boring, cryptic and angsty poems of our previously established high quality. Thank you.

Sincerely,

Pos3rpoets

Untitled

2005-06-05T14:34:00.000+08:00

By Gay Inc. - Ng Chu Ting, Royce Lee, Lim Khoon Liang & Sarah Teo

Verse 1:
Under the light of the moon
My boyfriend ran off with a goon
That night I cried
Till my eyes were dry
And i turned gay by noon

Interlude:
Heyyyy darling! *winkwink*

Verse 2:
Hey you gay that I find attractive
Even though we know you're defective
I love your hair
Your skin so fair
Getting you is my only objective

Chorus:
It's hard to say why I am gay
Try as I might there was no way
It's dumb but fun - and makes my day
I just can't help but shout "I'm gay!"

lol something me and some cappers did for fun. yay! go read my blog for further details. xD

ok...

2005-06-05T10:43:00.000+08:00

i guess im being weird....

but i dont noe, i dont care, i just hope i look alright!

haha some line of the bimbo song. from wad i can remember of it. haha. when i completely learn it from chu then ill post it up here. MUAHAHAHA! i shall echo the throes of bimboism! hear me u big wide world!

...

im missing cap.

bimbos!

2005-06-05T08:07:00.000+08:00

hey, baby! im back again! and i lurve being bimbotic! watever that word means. heeheeheeheehee!

although uve got a blotched up face
ive seen past blotches to fall into craze
with chatter, and batter, and golden-brown fritters
i just cant step out of your bimbo phase

i love you, i love you, i love you, the blotches on
her brown face, her fat arms, her flab legs, just need to say
i want you, i want you, i want you, you blotches that have
saved me from the abyss of circumstance and precision.

lol anticlimax. haha. just some screwed up song. haha. FUN! FUN! FUN!

I'm back, baby

2005-06-04T01:32:00.000+08:00

[bimbotalk] hey darling! im back from CAP! and for your benefit, its spelt "cap"! now wait. i think its spelt ... ah-hah - its spelt P-A-C! yeah! im brilliant.

well darling, ive had a lovely time at this cap thing. i was acting like an airhead, HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE. [well it aint realli acting ist] hey wads that supposed to mean? oh? that im smart and beautiful? oh yeah! say that one more time for me will you. [well it aint realli acting is it] oh YES!YES!

oh have you seen my "i am GAY" shirt? it has this lovely lovely heart on it. all in red!!! *shivers in excitement*. well i dont know what in the world the words mean, but it looks fantastic! and behind are all these lovey dovey signatures! stuff like hey gurl and hey darling! so cute!!!!

well i'm gonna miss cap. the girls ive met there (hey gurls!), the guys too *swoon*. and my gay club! no well we dont think im gay but i think not too. heeheeheehee. [bimbotic chatter]. excuse me - me bimbotic? ohoh. oh i see. my chattering is bimbotic. yes. well, tata!

-ok. i noe im damn hyper xD-

leaving

2005-05-29T13:37:00.000+08:00

since everyone seems to be going off for some camp/holiday or another - i decided to dig up something i wrote last year.

leaving

you are leaving.
i'll be waiting,
taking flight
for your return.

i'll be waiting,
speck in the sky,
for your return?
fast fading,

speck in the sky,
of azure tears.
fast fading
of greying fears.

of azure tears?
down empty corridors
of greying fears.
plain and dull

down empty corridors,
i'll stare blank.
plain and dull
resolved regrets.

i'll stare blank
you are leaving?
resolved regrets
taking flight.