Monday, 7 May 2012
F(or)amiliar
Conventional wisdom taught that familiarity breeds contempt, but personal experience taught otherwise, even after all these years.
Only with such familiarity was I allowed to appear no more capable than a woodpecker with rubber lips; no more competent than a paper plane; and no clearer than a needle-less compass. No pressure, no finger-pointing, no battling of pride, no ego. You truly and you only, thank you so much.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Handling Golden Vag
Before I go off on a tangent and make all else but sense, I'd better, first and foremost, make my point. So here goes:
The lowest one can ever possibly go is to beseech for validation. Worse, from whoever with whatever at wherever and whenever. Worst, by means that even hookers will charge you for.
Let's thrash this out before you mistake this for jealousy at work. I've misled you before, but this time, I am not gon trick you into ballooning your self-styled exaggerated self-importance, again. Truth is, all of these stem from the utter and pure disgust I hold for you, so bloody highly.
You are, since the birth of time, the central epitome of promiscuity and disgrace. Don't you ever mistake your easiness for attractiveness again. Truth be told, your easy virtue was the only silver lining I had when I was down. If it wasn't for your inviting pussy, I wouldn't even give you two strands of fuck for all I freggin care. Of the scores of partners, you were the only one who made me feel like a chaste man for the first time. Only your easiness can contrast how much of a virtuous man I am. And let's set this straight: you didn't bring out the best in me. Rather, with you around, my iniquity becomes petty issues, like when an anchovy meets a celebration of bears. Mickey fucking mouse, with a woman like you, even Edison Chen appears less of a philanderer. Your parents must be proud of you, like really proud.
For you, C.
The lowest one can ever possibly go is to beseech for validation. Worse, from whoever with whatever at wherever and whenever. Worst, by means that even hookers will charge you for.
Let's thrash this out before you mistake this for jealousy at work. I've misled you before, but this time, I am not gon trick you into ballooning your self-styled exaggerated self-importance, again. Truth is, all of these stem from the utter and pure disgust I hold for you, so bloody highly.
You are, since the birth of time, the central epitome of promiscuity and disgrace. Don't you ever mistake your easiness for attractiveness again. Truth be told, your easy virtue was the only silver lining I had when I was down. If it wasn't for your inviting pussy, I wouldn't even give you two strands of fuck for all I freggin care. Of the scores of partners, you were the only one who made me feel like a chaste man for the first time. Only your easiness can contrast how much of a virtuous man I am. And let's set this straight: you didn't bring out the best in me. Rather, with you around, my iniquity becomes petty issues, like when an anchovy meets a celebration of bears. Mickey fucking mouse, with a woman like you, even Edison Chen appears less of a philanderer. Your parents must be proud of you, like really proud.
For you, C.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Your Gemini Man
Took only a fraction of the eyes, a stingy scoop of witty responses, a sprinkle of bits of everything about you and I'm convinced a face-dive back to earth after getting too high on you, would be worth the pain when all's worn out and died. With you being you, I will just have to give paradise a rain check; with you Heaven can wait.
Seems like 2012 has more than just a few promising months to offer. Stay tuned.
Seems like 2012 has more than just a few promising months to offer. Stay tuned.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Societal Prostitutes
When you were younger, what did you aspire to be? Perhaps a doctor, if not a lawyer. Otherwise, it must be along the lines of a fireman, or a policeman, maybe a teacher, or even a nurse. I'm certain.
So did I. I dreamed of being a policeman.
Throughout my two years in pre-school, whenever the teachers asked what we would like to be when we've grown up, I'd gladly proclaim that I'd want to be a policeman. I thought it was an outright offer to showcase my masculinity and boyhood bravery, and to be able to "catch all bad eggs and throw them inside the jail forever". Apart from all that, to be able to have a real gun was, by itself, a chief pull-factor. But that was back when everything in my life was provided for (by my folks at home, that is).
But along with the passage of time and maturity of thoughts, was the gradual, natural and practical vanishing of a childhood aspiration.
If my pre-school teacher ever asked me again, on any time of the day, on any day of the week for the rest of the millennium, what do I want to be after graduation (the adult term for "when you grow up"), I would have said anything, really - so long as being an "anything" puts me in the correct brackets for an organisation that dishes out a handsome bonus every quarter.
You see, we are all jet-set urbanites brought up in a very prosperous country lavished with big cars and nice houses for, almost, every household. You may refuse to agree, but the sad fact remains that we are all material people: the last time you bought a big boy's toy wasn't THAT long ago now, is it? Or that super sweet dress you wore last weekend.
And when you finally do get that whatever dream job you wished for, issues then escalate to another level altogether. You would probably begin to plan for the next chapter of your life - getting married and having a family, that is - while concurrently living THE life you had been wanting to live all this while. Specifically, you would want to appear at work in an Audi, if not a Beamer; racing against the time shown on your Cartier or Omega timepiece, while being dressed in your latest season's Ferragamo or Prada outfit. Even apart from all the German automobiles, Swiss timepieces and Italian clothes, you would still like to have French wines, Japanese gadgets, British houses with American architectures and everything nice, all with a paycheck that never seemed to be enough.
Never mind about that, cause you would probably find ways to stretch that paycheck. Just as then, the real problem comes - Children. Yes, that one fragile thing that knows how to spill things and cries at the most unforgivable times of the night. If you haven't already known, that thing will grow up to need and want things. Just seeing it through university would already cost you half a bomb and if you have a pair of those things, that's more than an arm and a leg, based on the most conservative of estimates. Coupled with that is the unavoidable medical expenses. And if all that aren't bad enough, think about the things that they will grow up to need and want, like a MacBook Super Pro VI; a crystal-white iPhone 26; or a Blackberry Italic Bold 999990; a pair of limited edition Nike Dunks 2038; or a pair of collectors' Asics Duper. Oh God...
Yes, welcome to the real world.
Now think again. Does that dream job give you enough for all of these? It wouldn't. And since your dreams aren't likely to change, your job has to. Is that still your dream job now? Little, if not none, in this world gets their dream job. In other words, we are doing what we do not like, just to be able to do things we like. So how different are we from sex-workers since we both prostitute our services to people who pays us?
Fortunately, and the only consolation I can draw is that, I'm still 21. I still have a few years before me before I have to wake up every morning to join the rat race of prostituting myself to the society in order to indulge in guilty pleasures for the comfort of material things that soothes the misery of me being a hooker in the first place. What irony life is.
Until then, I will suffocate myself under a pile of girls and drink lots of beer, and have all the fun I can possibly have...... Or so I hope. Hahahaha!
So did I. I dreamed of being a policeman.
Throughout my two years in pre-school, whenever the teachers asked what we would like to be when we've grown up, I'd gladly proclaim that I'd want to be a policeman. I thought it was an outright offer to showcase my masculinity and boyhood bravery, and to be able to "catch all bad eggs and throw them inside the jail forever". Apart from all that, to be able to have a real gun was, by itself, a chief pull-factor. But that was back when everything in my life was provided for (by my folks at home, that is).
But along with the passage of time and maturity of thoughts, was the gradual, natural and practical vanishing of a childhood aspiration.
If my pre-school teacher ever asked me again, on any time of the day, on any day of the week for the rest of the millennium, what do I want to be after graduation (the adult term for "when you grow up"), I would have said anything, really - so long as being an "anything" puts me in the correct brackets for an organisation that dishes out a handsome bonus every quarter.
You see, we are all jet-set urbanites brought up in a very prosperous country lavished with big cars and nice houses for, almost, every household. You may refuse to agree, but the sad fact remains that we are all material people: the last time you bought a big boy's toy wasn't THAT long ago now, is it? Or that super sweet dress you wore last weekend.
And when you finally do get that whatever dream job you wished for, issues then escalate to another level altogether. You would probably begin to plan for the next chapter of your life - getting married and having a family, that is - while concurrently living THE life you had been wanting to live all this while. Specifically, you would want to appear at work in an Audi, if not a Beamer; racing against the time shown on your Cartier or Omega timepiece, while being dressed in your latest season's Ferragamo or Prada outfit. Even apart from all the German automobiles, Swiss timepieces and Italian clothes, you would still like to have French wines, Japanese gadgets, British houses with American architectures and everything nice, all with a paycheck that never seemed to be enough.
Never mind about that, cause you would probably find ways to stretch that paycheck. Just as then, the real problem comes - Children. Yes, that one fragile thing that knows how to spill things and cries at the most unforgivable times of the night. If you haven't already known, that thing will grow up to need and want things. Just seeing it through university would already cost you half a bomb and if you have a pair of those things, that's more than an arm and a leg, based on the most conservative of estimates. Coupled with that is the unavoidable medical expenses. And if all that aren't bad enough, think about the things that they will grow up to need and want, like a MacBook Super Pro VI; a crystal-white iPhone 26; or a Blackberry Italic Bold 999990; a pair of limited edition Nike Dunks 2038; or a pair of collectors' Asics Duper. Oh God...
Yes, welcome to the real world.
Now think again. Does that dream job give you enough for all of these? It wouldn't. And since your dreams aren't likely to change, your job has to. Is that still your dream job now? Little, if not none, in this world gets their dream job. In other words, we are doing what we do not like, just to be able to do things we like. So how different are we from sex-workers since we both prostitute our services to people who pays us?
Fortunately, and the only consolation I can draw is that, I'm still 21. I still have a few years before me before I have to wake up every morning to join the rat race of prostituting myself to the society in order to indulge in guilty pleasures for the comfort of material things that soothes the misery of me being a hooker in the first place. What irony life is.
Until then, I will suffocate myself under a pile of girls and drink lots of beer, and have all the fun I can possibly have...... Or so I hope. Hahahaha!
Monday, 6 June 2011
Travelers Quartet
“
也许在梦的另一端, 无法存活在真实的空间. 试著抱你在怀里, 看你看的世界, 在你梦的画面, 只要靠在一起就能感觉甜蜜. 试著让故事继续, 至少不再让你离我而去, 散时间的注意, 这次会抱得更紧. 这样挽留不知还来不来得及.
也许在梦的另一端, 无法存活在真实的空间. 试著抱你在怀里, 看你看的世界, 在你梦的画面, 只要靠在一起就能感觉甜蜜. 试著让故事继续, 至少不再让你离我而去, 散时间的注意, 这次会抱得更紧. 这样挽留不知还来不来得及.
”
Monday, 30 May 2011
The Late Bloomer's Newfound Craft
Contrary to the new pop song, today is the day that I feel like doing everything. Like say, telling someone off for stealing and not giving credit; or cleaning up and categorising the files in the external drive; or perhaps even sending an e-mail to God. But there was just an overwhelming amount of things, though trivial, that needs to be done (not immediately but ideally as soon as possible). (Gees, I'm so freggin lazy since I enlisted that I've convinced myself to procrastinate every single thing without even feeling any form of guilt whatsoever.) (For all we know, breathing could be next!) (Oh holy Moses!) (Apart from that, I also realised that I'm beginning to have more conversations with myself of late - there could be a 7-party, 3-issued conversation going on in my head while I'm on the train or when I'm eating) (And evidently, just like this one!) It's pretty scary what NS and the consequent isolation from the 'outside world' can do to you. But come to think of it, I haven't returned to camp for more than a week now. So I wonder...... Hehe.
But on a more serious note, and given the time that I have, or rather, saved, after my newfound habit of procrastinating every damn thing, I gave a serious thought about continuing blogging in such revealing, tell-all fashion. The thought of having people whom I don't even know exist read about and know me like, literally, an open book irritates. It irks to know that I am filling dozens of question-mark-faced silhouette figures in about how I am in a continual vicious spiral of agony and disappointment because of the affection I still have for Szewan; or about how far I've gone with a particular so-and-so that I'm seeing; or how I'm screwing up my already bizarre lifestyle choice (or habit, however you like to see it) of getting inked and inked again; or about how my desperate appeal to read Economics in SMU has progressed; or how my sometimes disgusting amusement is comparable to that of the self-styled model and singer Steven Lim (oh and speaking of which, have you read about his online 'recruitment'?). Judging from how accessible Web 2.0 is today, I liken my life to that of a goldfish in a glass bowl placed in the heart of Jurong East train station during the morning rush, should I continue to blog. Then again, I like my opinions heard (or read, in this case), I want people to know about my two cents' worth on issues, big and small, objective and subjective, interesting ones and the ones not so. Perhaps I'm taking blogging in a wrong manner and direction, it's not like I'm a journalist writing columns. There is no need for direction or whatsoever for personal blogging to begin with (I just realised).
And with my second newfound habit (or capability) of having conversations with myself, I've self-helped to decide that I shall just continue blogging in whatever manner, however ludicrous and whenever I feel so, because this is Bandwidth Catastrophe and it's my avenue. (Whao, I feel a surge of ownership in me suddenly, haha!)
But on a more serious note, and given the time that I have, or rather, saved, after my newfound habit of procrastinating every damn thing, I gave a serious thought about continuing blogging in such revealing, tell-all fashion. The thought of having people whom I don't even know exist read about and know me like, literally, an open book irritates. It irks to know that I am filling dozens of question-mark-faced silhouette figures in about how I am in a continual vicious spiral of agony and disappointment because of the affection I still have for Szewan; or about how far I've gone with a particular so-and-so that I'm seeing; or how I'm screwing up my already bizarre lifestyle choice (or habit, however you like to see it) of getting inked and inked again; or about how my desperate appeal to read Economics in SMU has progressed; or how my sometimes disgusting amusement is comparable to that of the self-styled model and singer Steven Lim (oh and speaking of which, have you read about his online 'recruitment'?). Judging from how accessible Web 2.0 is today, I liken my life to that of a goldfish in a glass bowl placed in the heart of Jurong East train station during the morning rush, should I continue to blog. Then again, I like my opinions heard (or read, in this case), I want people to know about my two cents' worth on issues, big and small, objective and subjective, interesting ones and the ones not so. Perhaps I'm taking blogging in a wrong manner and direction, it's not like I'm a journalist writing columns. There is no need for direction or whatsoever for personal blogging to begin with (I just realised).
And with my second newfound habit (or capability) of having conversations with myself, I've self-helped to decide that I shall just continue blogging in whatever manner, however ludicrous and whenever I feel so, because this is Bandwidth Catastrophe and it's my avenue. (Whao, I feel a surge of ownership in me suddenly, haha!)
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Wednesday, 4 May 2011
Monday, 25 April 2011
Truth Be Told
After months of hiding and shielding from perhaps the most painful period of my life, I think I'm pretty much over and done with living with the agony and disappointment...... or maybe not - not until I give the first, and last, instalment of my side of the tale.
Then again, I would only be doing the rest of the world a favour if I just keep mum about what some moral-defunct has done (and did not do too), lest the rest of the world feel disgusted. Even the slightest thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach.
Oh you, should you ever chance upon this, you need to know that you being 'confused' doesn't give you any ground over me to lay me on a guilt trip, just so you know, cunt. So just go the fuck back to him and give him head all day, cause used shoes are of no use to me. Fuck you. Fuck you and all your coated lies. Fuck all your pretentious intentions. Fuck your cheating. Fuck your twisted morals. And while I'm at it, fuck you too M, try me; you can't even last 30 seconds in my world. You've got my number, don't you? Meet me up and I'll show you who's daddy.
And with that, I end one of the gloomiest chapters of my life...... and move the fuck on. Goodnight.
Then again, I would only be doing the rest of the world a favour if I just keep mum about what some moral-defunct has done (and did not do too), lest the rest of the world feel disgusted. Even the slightest thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach.
Oh you, should you ever chance upon this, you need to know that you being 'confused' doesn't give you any ground over me to lay me on a guilt trip, just so you know, cunt. So just go the fuck back to him and give him head all day, cause used shoes are of no use to me. Fuck you. Fuck you and all your coated lies. Fuck all your pretentious intentions. Fuck your cheating. Fuck your twisted morals. And while I'm at it, fuck you too M, try me; you can't even last 30 seconds in my world. You've got my number, don't you? Meet me up and I'll show you who's daddy.
And with that, I end one of the gloomiest chapters of my life...... and move the fuck on. Goodnight.
Sunday, 27 February 2011
A Post From The West
I think I had never lived my life so healthily before, for as long as I can remember - on my own accord I swam, jogged, worked out (both ways), didn't light up, got up early, have three meals daily et al. And I'm more than satisfied with myself for completing 2.4km in less than 11 minutes (not like 10m52s is anything worth mentioning about); I managed to cut 5 minutes from those 8 years of smoking in 3 weeks!
The long weekend was (and still is) good, of course! And just as I'm typing these very words, the familiar DKNY smell is choking up my nostrils...... which means we are good to go!
Till next weekend, your one-inch-hair long zero-fighter commando trainee
The long weekend was (and still is) good, of course! And just as I'm typing these very words, the familiar DKNY smell is choking up my nostrils...... which means we are good to go!
Till next weekend, your one-inch-hair long zero-fighter commando trainee
Sunday, 20 February 2011
Booking Out
Hello bandwidth and Web 2.0! Hello civilisation and urbanites! Hello family and friends!
I! AM! OUT! (but gon be back in camp again in a tad lesser than 9 hours. Zzz)
Uber long strands and spills. Geee.
In a few months' time I will fly so high, I can walk with clouds between my legs! For honour and glory (and some gory). Ho!
I! AM! OUT! (but gon be back in camp again in a tad lesser than 9 hours. Zzz)
Uber long strands and spills. Geee.
In a few months' time I will fly so high, I can walk with clouds between my legs! For honour and glory (and some gory). Ho!
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
I Make You Famous
If you want a reaction I can make a scene and you will get more attention than an entire year of CNN's put together. I can do you the favour of making you the talk of the town, for all the wrong reasons. I can bury you right at your own door. Trust me.