And so a year comes to an end. It's been a rollercoaster ride of sorts. Domestic life isn't all bliss, it has its up and downs. Laughs and exasperated sighs. The thing about staying together really is that you're practically in each other's face the entire week, which is where the compromise and the need to communicate come in handy. Some might not be as good as communicating as others but its still necessary to avoid misunderstandings.
And yes personal space is still important. We live together, we love each other, well hopefully, but we still need our space. Even if we compromise on other things. But no one touches my WoW, for now. hahahaha. Anyway New Year's around the corner. The usual new beginnings, new resolutions hopefully not to be broken within the first couple of weeks or so. Lol.
Ironically, the loved one may not be spending New Year's Eve with me but sick people have to rest. In the meantime, I think tonight should be enjoyable. And did I mention how bloody enjoyable WoW is? I cannot tell you how glad I was to sex/Race change Errath, a boring, beefy old man to Sepharael, a nubile, lilthe night elf. Even if the racials aren't fantastic but visual is v important to me now. Got tired of staring at an old man's ass for what, almost 3 years (excluding the hiatus from WoW)? Now chant with me, Lvl 85, lvl 85! hahaha.
Anyway, for what it's worth, happy new year y'all. Enjoy the time with friends, family and loved ones. Not necessarily in that order. And yes if you need to, have that New Year bonk. Things are so much better when you're semi ineberiated and with a loved one/ favourite sex buddy isn't it?
Errath woke to the sound of his hacking coughs, prodded awake by the constant aches in his body. The Sundering had come to pass and his health had deteriorated steadily since. The trials and tribulations of the constant adventuring and front line battles in the diverse places of Azeroth ranging from the depths of the earth against power hungry dragons to the icy wastes of Northrend against a megalomaniac warmonger had taken their toll.
All the healing he'd received had simply served to slow the decline, not reverse it. After all, there was only a certain number of times one could mend a threadbare cloth before it disintegrated. Death could not be cheated forever and the inexorable march of time was something no man could fight against.
But there was so much to be done and his mind burned as if with fever, keen as ever but constrained by the increasing infirmity of his body. There was no comfort for a young mind trapped in an old body. His one regret was not having an apprentice to pass on his wealth of arcane knowledge to. The wars had claimed the lives of the few apprentices he'd bothered to take under his wing, the promise of fame & glory attracting the other talented ones like moths to a flame. But Errath refused to go without a fight.
'In Kalimdor ere the Sundering, a Priestess of Elune sleeps. Her power is strong but her will is weak. Wake her not by will but by choice and by that choice, submit. Then breath shall become one with no demise.' a sagely druid from the Cenarion Circle advised. Be aware though if you fail, there is no return, he had cautioned. Errath cared not, he would not live much longer anyway. Better to die knowing he had tried than to curse furtively at the dying of the light.
Clearing his mind, Errath commenced the ritual that had taken over a week to prepare. All at once, he was surrounded by multitudinous threads, stretching out as far as the eye could see, many flickering and flashing in and out of existence as people awoke and slept around the world, stronger glowing ones signifying deeper states of consciousness or unconsciousness as the case may be. Concentrating, Errath located that single thread as the druid instructed him, a throbbing emerald green glow, and grasped it. The world spun, blurring into a nauseating swirl of myriad colours, the wind tearing at his very soul.
When Errath opened his eyes, he found himself ankle deep in a cool, crystal clear pool lined by thick lush foliage and delicate ferns, the earthy fragrance of flora native to Kalimdor. Shrouding the foliage immediately beyond the banks was a thick grey mist that barely stirred with the occasional breeze, cool and wet. 'Typical nightelf dream of paradise, a slice of Kalimdor.' Errath mused. 'Now how should I get the Priestess' attention? I doubt she'll be very pleased if I burned down a couple of trees to announce my presence.' And he chuckled at the ludicrosity of the thought.
“What amuses you so human? And why are you here?” a crisp voice emerged from the mist. The mist parted to reveal a tall night elf woman in a shimmery white gown that matched her long snow white hair and regal composure. “I am..” “I am aware you are a mage. You reek of magic. And your archaic affinity with the arcane is palpable to me, even if you have sought to hide it. Now why are you trespassing on my domain?” the night elf interjected.
Errath raised his eyebrows at this observation. “So you can sense my presence. It is true after all, you certainly possess a great affinity for magic, more than most of your kind. I am here simply to offer up my entire knowledge and memories of the archaic arts to one who may continue the fight in my stead. I believe you are that one.” The night elf looked startled for a moment but quickly regained her composure. “I am a priestess of Elune and we have not practised magic since the corruption of Sunwell. We have no need of it.”
“Ah but you've always been a priestess out of a sense of duty haven't you? And did you not ever feel that strange yearning desire for more. That seemingly dark unspoken urge for the forbidden archaic arts?” Errath countered. The female night elf stared at him silently, the shine in her eyes accentuated by the reflection in the pool.
“Things have changed now. The Sunwell is restored and magic is no longer banned amongst your kind. Even now many are rediscovering the old arts in the effort to fight against the abyssal forces of Deathwing.” Errath continued. “But I am happy here. I have lived without magic for so long and can do without” came the reply.
“But are you really? When in the waking world all living things are threatened by the Cataclysmic forces unleashed upon us and doom only awaits those who don't resist?” “Stop lecturing me human, I have lived many a Spring more than you comprehend the threats to our world all too clearly” the night elf snapped. Errath sighed softly,“Yes, but you won't be able to assist while in this world would you?”
“What do you want?” she asked, affixing her cold crystal green eyes on his. “To pass you my entire mastery of elemental magics, the memories and friends, that you may continue the fight my body no longer allows me to take.” The night elf sighed. “Humans and their short lives, they blaze in glory in their prime and splutter out just as quickly. Which may be good too. Long lives means long memories and possibly unbearable grief.”
“Even so, I have not been able to leave this place.” the night elf indicated with a wave of her hand the surroundings. “It is at once my sanctuary and prison. Penance I must make for my incompetence in the conduct of my priestly duties.” Errath shook his head. “Hardly. It's your guilt that's weighing you down and your refusal to acknowledge your arcane talents that leaves you powerless to escape this finely wrought refuge. But if you agree, I can show you how.”
“Words of wisdom sometimes come from the mouths of babes.” With that, the night elf turned away from Errath, silent. Errath found it objectionable that a man over 80 years old should be called a babe but decided that it was not the best time to raise it. The night elf stood silent for so long that Errath was expecting her to turn him down, when she spoke again, back still facing him. “Tell me, mage, what is your name?”
“Errath, mistress”. He replied, using the honorific usually used by night elves for a servant of Elune. Turning, she said “From today, you are not Errath but Sepharael. And for the first time, the night elf smiled, a warm smile like a sliver of moonlight dancing on the cool, clear lake. “Sepharael, the mage.” “Come.” still smiling, the night elf extended her hand to Errath. Who reached for it with his gnarly hand, a grin on his face.
A continent away, an old man shuddered and breathed his last. The hiss of escaping breath not detracting from the smile on his face. Leagues away, a female nightelf roused from her slumber, fire in her eyes. “There is much to be done.” Beckoning at her two surprised attendants to follow, Sepharael strode out of the chambers, attendants in tow.
Settled down. It's been a tempestuous couple of weeks. Generally on that continuing high, the mundane aspect of chores and settling various household necessities not detracting from that high. On the contrary, it's become an enjoyable routine of sorts, the sense of ownership ironically present now where it was once lacking. Even the occasional visits to and interactions with the Family have changed slightly. Less abrasive though no less naggy replete with the usual bigoted narrow minded ravings about homosexuality & low income neighbourhoods. But whatever.
These few months, I've come to appreciate the value and camaraderie of true friendships, unpretentious and sincere warmth, the sincerity and desire to aid without the sarcasm, 2-faced backbiting and self-serving manipulations. Reviving old friendships and forging new ones. Promulgating dissension in a divide and control strategy might be a good strategy for subjugating your enemies. It certainly has no place in friendships.
In other news, the KTV bug is still going strong. Hur hur. We have an extensive repertoire now. Doubt they were quite expecting the gospel-ish 'Swing Low Sweet Chariot' Hahaha. Finally found that song by Sandy Lam, which reminds me, I should get round to finding Sandy Lam's delicious recipe for Fried Freshwater Prawns. I'll probably get her 'My Shanghai' cookbook too. Yummms.
Whirlwind does not even begin to describe these past couple of weeks. Tempestuous but not destructive. Consuming but not overwhelming. And like a torrent that hits you when you least expect it, sometimes all you can do is drown in that thing called love.
Wont as I am to disclose more, I shall not do so here due to the fact that people I have no intention of sharing anything with, have access to this blog, which is public after all. Close friends (in contact) get all the details haha. Suffice to say that a new chapter begins and it's one I'm really looking forward to. Living a new life was never as real or within my grasp as it is now. The decisions I have made these two weeks have probably been amongst the best i made these two years.
On a different note, the urge to KTV has been rekindled, haha not least cuz of certain friends and the fact that the special one is such a good singer. Like oh god, I can just drop dead and die when he sings 每天愛你多一些 to me hahahaha. I've finally mastered that ancient song by 潘越云, the one that left such a lasting impression on me way back in primary 2, I never forgot the main 2 lines of the chorus.
That's right it's 我是不是你最疼爱的人 . Hahaha and entirely inappropriate as it may be at the current juncture, the song just resonates so deeply with me and I can sing it with a depth of emotion that even surprises me. Now try it and see. :) Whatever the case, it remains a very moving song.
The past few months have seen so many changes, a marked departure from the status quo.
Of new friends and new experiences. The joys of quiet camaraderie, simple activities that are nonetheless enjoyable if not because of the company. The revival of old friendships and some not so old ones, but for all of whom, some much needed catching up. The spontaneity of actions, the heights of reactions, some wild but never dull.
The depths of disappointment, the fracturing of erstwhile strong bonds which on hindsight might not have been more substantial than dross. The confirmation that a couple of bonds and at least one in particular was nothing more than sanctimonious lip service. Hollow and fake. Though my instinct for that particular bitch was always right.
The tumultuous changes. Of love considered, contemplated then rejected for the simple reason that it was lacking. The ability to passively meet past loves and feel nothing more than genuine amicability and the quiet comfort one would feel with a close friend.
For all these changes and more, a bumpy ride at times but interesting and no less enjoyable by virtue of the company; I am thankful. Well I could do with a little more passion, more steamy trysts, but I'm still thankful. :)
Heroes of Newerth continues to be just as attractive and riveting as it was when I first started. Perhaps even more so now that I'm familiar with the usual favourite heroes and pwning others (subject to idiotic team mates, noobs and/or an utter lack of team work) is so much easier.
The current favourite remains the aptly named Soul Reaper (Necrolyte in Dota) that insidious four legged portent of doom (though I still prefer the necromancer form of Dota's Necrolyte). The allure? The ability to aoe heal/damage at the same time while slowly killing enemies who just happen to be in his presence by virtue of his aura. It's actually quite amusing to have heroes chase/ run from him, then die just because they've spent one second too many in his presence.
The main attraction though really has to be his ultimate. It's sinister enough, summoning a grim reaper spirit that deals instant damage with its scythe to the targeted hero up to 0.9 times of the damage the hero has taken so far, with an additional 1.5 seconds stun. But what makes it truly orgasmic is the disembodied shout, 'Your Soul is Mine!' that is broadcast to all the players when you kill that hapless sod with his ultimate. Without a doubt the coolest ultimate in the game.
Nothing better to rub in the ignominy of defeat than by gloating to everyone that the dead hero's soul is his. Pwned by a four legged insectoid looking freak that summoned a spirit which lopped off your head with a scythe? Yeah you should be ashamed. But it really doesn't matter because he's coming back for more.
Time is a paradox. Not the concept (and I'm not talking about the mechanics of time), that is easy enough to grasp. The inexorable march of Time, that Time and tide wait for no man or inanimate object for that matter. The physical impact of Time and its inescapable effect on the material universe is a reality we come to comprehend and accept (to varying degrees) early on in life.
Rather, it is the impact or effect of Time on the intangible things of life such as relationships and love wherein Time is an enigma, a paradox. It is this enigmatic allure of Time that spawns the myriad phrases, idioms, nuggets of wisdom about Time that we are familiar with. For Man is always fascinated by what we cannot comprehend and we seek to define what we do not understand in the hope that by setting certain parameters, by making observations about the few applicable truisms; we are able to impose a clear definition on what is essentially undefinable. Much like the proverbial shoving of a round peg into a square hole.
Yet we draw what comfort we can from our paltry definitions, making the best we can of our observations of the duality of the impact of Time on the intangible things in life that are dear to us. What is Time? Seconds extending into minutes into hours into days into weeks, into years. A continuum of reality that goes ever forward, never backward (at least not yet). What is the effect of Time? There is no satisfactory, all conclusive or remotely acceptable answer.
Take the impact of Time on relationships. We have oft heard of the tongue-in-cheek phrase that "Time is a great healer but a terrible beautician". Time may be a salve to soothe and heal the raw wounds inflicted by an unpleasant breakup or altercation. A convenient amnesia fickle in its embrace or a carefully constructed defence elaborate in deception, tough on the exterior, brittle within. I would think a genuine healing and acceptance of sorts would only be achieved if the parties involved have come to terms with the reality of the situation, are fully apprised of all the relevant issues and reached a tacit understanding on their respective positions and the need to move on.
Yet Time can exacerbate the distance in a relationship or friendship, can deepen the misunderstanding, the animosity and ultimately the indifference. For issues left unresolved or untreated, the failure to discuss or communicate with a view towards sincerely resolving the issue(s) is like glossing over an untreated wound. Which slowly but surely festers and poisons the entire relationship. Time and tide wait for no man or relationship, friendship or otherwise, soured by unresolved issues, poisoned by insincerity, destroyed by apathy.
Time the great ravager of men's ambitions, destroyer of great monuments, grandiose cities erected by men to last through time. But Time has the last laugh as citadels crumble, civilizations collapse, their claim to grandeur and all memory lost with the shifting sands of Time. Time that exalts, propagates and celebrates the greatness of individuals, concepts, ideas and religion. Time that deifies, reveres and exalts the formerly mundane.
Time is a fickle master that promises much but guarantees nothing. Time's only predictability is its very existence and relentless onslaught. Still we live our lives ordered by Time, resigned to its governance, cognizant of its paradoxical effects, fascinated by the enigma. As Dion Boucicault aptly noted, "Men talk of killing Time, while Time quietly kills them." Indeed, the same way Time quietly kills relationships plagued by unresolved issues compounded by a lack of sincere communication and poisoned by indifference.
Widor's Toccata from Symphony No 5 has always been to me akin to what I would imagine the relentless flow of time to sound like. This is one of the better versions. Like a vivacious burbling stream, constantly surging ahead, steady and triumphant. After all, it is Time and time is on its side.
Packing has become relatively less painful. Mainly because I decided to skip the hassle of packing toiletries and what not into impossibly finicky plastic bottles that are hard to fill and harder to keep from leaking. Damn things have a knack of leaking their contents at the most inopportune moments. Rather pay the extra $20 bucks. So the overnight bag looks a little like a stuffed chirozo now but that's fine since it's being checked in.
Actually, I'm rather pleased with the size of the bag considering my penchant for lugging along disproportionately large luggage for short holidays. Still, some quirks just won't change. like doing everything else but focusing on packing and always leaving something out after I think I'm done. The object of choice this time, the lube. As far as short holidays go, this Phuket trip will be a good break. To get away from work and all the nonsense.
On a wholly unrelated note, I've finally found that song I've been searching for these past couple of months ever since I heard the song again on gold 90fm after all these years. (20?- Seriously old haha) If you haven't already guessed by now, it's Expose's- Your Baby Never Looked Good in Blue.
I always thought it was My Baby never looks good with you. Haha. But there you have it, when you're 8 and you hear a nice song on the radio , sometimes you don't always catch the lyrics correctly. Oxymoron I know. But well that's the way I was. Now excuse me while I set this song on replay on the iphone. The perfect don't-break-up-with-me song lol.
Expose - Your Baby Never Looked Good in Blue
You should hear what they're sayin' about you You should see the way they talk behind my back They say that you've found another and that you're gonna leave But you wouldn't do that to me . . . So
Say it ain't true The things that they've been saying They say that you've found Someone new But don't break my heart (don't break my heart) Cos your baby never looked good in blue Your baby never looked good in blue
In the morning, staring into your eyes Your eyes look everywhere Everywhere but mine (everywhere but mine) And darlin' I've got a feeling that the tears are gonna start And losing you would tear my world apart So . . .
Say it ain't true The things that they've been saying They say that you've found Someone new But don't break my heart (don't break my heart) Cos your baby never looked good in blue Your baby never looked good in blue
Tell me you still love me Show me you're still mine Don't tell me there's somebody new Cos you don't wanna see your baby cry
Ooh, ooh, ooh No, no, no, no, no
Say it ain't true The things that they've been saying They say that you've found Someone new But don't break my heart (don't break my heart) Cos your baby never looked good in blue Your baby never looked good in blue
Your baby never looked good in blue (No, baby) Your baby never looked good in blue (Don't make me blue) Your baby never looked good in blue (Your baby) Your baby never looked good in blue (Never looked good in blue) Your baby never looked good in blue (No, no, no)
I've never viewed Batam as an 'acceptable' holiday destination. I guess the preconceived perceptions of the place being a seedy rundown place frequented by old Singaporean ah peks to visit prostitutes in crummy hovels along with the occasional newspaper report of men maintaining mistresses there didn't help. Other than the fact that the best keropok (fried crackers) is to be found in Batam, Batam really didn't have much going for it. Or so I thought.
The past two days haven't been too bad though. Lots of eating, lazing around with cheap spa treatments and the daily swim. Batam's still filthy (though less so than Hanoi) and there's really not much to do besides eating and buying keropok (unless you like cheap t shirts). Then when you get tired, come back for a swim or pamper yourself at the spa. Prices are usually significantly cheaper than Singapore.
On the downside there's the occasional chance for bedbugs (horror of horrors), being accousted to sit 'taxi' (minor irritant though), the difficulty in communication 'Saya tidak bercakap Melayu' (more irritiating), blatant demands for tips (ok la guess that's the culture though) and did I mention bedbugs?? But ok all in all, it wasn't too bad at all. A good break. I'd say two nights is just nice.
I didn't buy keropok though. Sunning it before frying sounds like too much of a hassle lol.
I've never liked to wash dirty linen in public. While the act of bitching and ranting used to (and may on occasion be) a cathartic release, I've come to the realization that as the years go by, it's often better to forgive and forget. To learn, accept and observe. Then react as the situation calls for it. However since you've rejected all reasonable attempts at communication and closed all avenues of communication, I shall state my position here and the facts supported by incontrovertible evidence. I have no doubt you'll read it. You always do and by your admission, the ability to know more about others while disclosing as little information about yourself is highly attractive.
So let me recount the ways you astound me albeit unpleasantly.
First was the salvo fired without warning or any prior indication last Wednesday. Shortly before BBall. The allegation? Big mouth. Ok fine, we've always had that perception in the now fractured Gang that I liked to share information (which has i suppose always been a trait since I share stuff freely too, we're friends after all or so I thought). Some say too freely. I admit I was a little miffed at first but that was eons ago and I soon came to accept the concept that people's perception of an individual is not something easily changed. If I'm fine with it and have a clear conscience, so be it, I can live with that.
So that was fine. I have been for the longest time. So alright, the allegation, big mouth. I asked, very nicely for particulars. A simple request, what was it I allegedly said and to who so that I could explain and apologise where necessary. In your usual brusque manner when pissed, you said forget it. Added another salvo along the lines that I should think sometimes before I say but knowing me it's difficult. Then inexplicably, adamantly refused to give more particulars. I repeated the same a second time to no avail.
Even a criminal needs to know what he's charged with before he can opt to claim trial or plead guilty. Particulars of a charge must be given especially when you fire the first salvo. Let alone for friends. But no, none was forthcoming. I even explained that I felt 'gaowei' (ie: very uncomfortable) if you refused to even say what the alleged offending disclosure was because I'd always feel it's unresolved. On a big picture perspective, it was worrying because If friends are angry with each other and annoyed, the very least they can do is to talk it through if the issue is a real problem.
If it's just a minor infraction that causes annoyance, we usually just overlook it or put it down to the idiosyncrasies of the person. However if you blast the person and obviously feel it's a big issue, you address it. You give details and expect a solution. Not just fire a salvo and arbitrarily decide that you've 'settled' it without any communication with the person and leave him/her reeling from the bizarreness of it all. So if this cannot be resolved what is to stop a similar situation from happening in the future? And that in turn calls into question the strength of the friendship or perhaps its very existence.
Yet, I still went for Bball even though you conveniently compartmentalised it as exercise (sorry it's a social activity to me and until this crazy ridiculous issue is resolved (if ever) don't bother even asking me for bball) because I'd already promised to go And a friend was coming along.
Cue: Day 2. We had a meeting scheduled the next morning. We'd discussed about the matter, preliminary issues, deposit required and things to take note of before the meeting. So I emailed you the next morning, to ascertain whether you would be attending the meeting. Because personal issues aside, work is work. You've said so yourself and I presumed it true. You said No. I replied to say Ok, I'll attend the meeting and update you then. Then the shocker: No, what I meant was I'll attend the meeting myself. You don't need to waste your time. Just pass me the file.
Don't waste my time? Since when was that ever a valid consideration for not attending meetings? There's no way round it. Like it or not that was a stark dismissal. So much for the dichotomy. I tried to engage again. 'Is it about yesterday? Because I really think we should talk about it. But will pass you the file' To which I was rewarded with a curt 'Just pass me the file. Thanks.' In the kind of 'go and die' manner with Thanks added as a sarcastic afterthought.
At the pain of sounding like a dumped ex, I reiterated the need to talk and that I should at least know what the disclosure was even if he wanted to protect the identity of the person, so that I could explain and apologise where necessary. A two paragraph email. Dismissed in 3 lines: No need. I know what to do. Thanks.
Thanks?? You may know what to do but I don't. Because I sure as hell felt/feel damn uncomfortable. You do not fire a salvo, leave it hanging, refuse to even give particulars of the offending incident, act all weird at work (I don't care about the taking back of the file really, just so much for the dichotomy) and arbitrarily decide that you have resolved the issue when you don't even communicate at all. If you decide to resolve it on your own, you shouldnt even have raised the issue in the first place.
So because I was uncomfortable ( and I explicitly told you at least twice) I kept all social activities including but not limited to lunch to a minimum until you felt like talking about it. I just put it down to the fact that you were annoyed and might have needed sometime to cool off. Though it did bug me that if you could send long lengthy emails to another friend whom you declared you were 'unfriend-ing' to explain your position, why was it the case you couldn't even bother to tell me what it was that I allegedly disclosed which you found so offensive. But whatever.
So I was uncomfortable and avoided contact. I was puzzled and genuinely bewildered because till today I have no idea what it was that pissed you off. I WAS NOT ANGRY. What was just as puzzling if not more so was the inexplicable fact that a female colleague, a new addition to the grp I guess, suddenly started ignoring me. Even a simple Hi, was greeted with sullen stares and a frosty face that would freeze a polar bear. It was perplexing and unpleasant. My discomfort was only with you. This inexplicable attitude on her part was (and still is) a mystery. I can only hope that you had no hand in it. Even a casual email to the said frosty female enquiring if anything was wrong was rewarded with deafening silence. Not even the courtesy of a reply.
Imagine my shock, utter bewilderment, disappointment when I was informed that 'actually the two of them (you and frosty female) were not angry with me at all. They just thought I have a big mouth. And because of that I am angry. But they will just leave me be' Like HELLO? How much further from the truth can that be? I am seriously at a loss of words. Do you genuinely believe what you foreseeably knew what would be relayed to me? OR was it another half past six attempt at glossing things over. LEt's go through the utter ludicrosity of it all.
1. YOU were pissed. For sure. Wednesday evening all the way till Thursday morning. If you tell me you were not pissed, you know jolly well that's a blatant lie. Sure you may have somehow decided that you aren't pissed NOW. I don't know. But you were pissed THEN. I wasn't angry. I was confused and felt very uncomfortable after you rejected all my attempts to communicate and apologise. Social activities were (and still are) reduced to a minimum.
2.Me being pissed at the big mouth issue is such a retarded reason for the reasons mentioned above. IF I was pissed for that (which I was not and am not) I would have been pissed EONS ago when you and the gang raised it and have stayed pissed. I didn't. Don't drag AA into the picture because then my only unhappiness with her was for the 'trust' issue not LL. But you see the thing about AA and I is that unlike our altercations, we end up being able to communicate and resolve it. Arbitrary decisions is not the way to go for a friendship. Being friends isn't supposed to be a court room battle with the occasional verbal ripostes and parries to see who gets the upper hand.
3. How the fuck did Frosty Female ever get the impression I was angry with her? Like I said my discomfort was with you and you alone. I was fine with Frosty, fine with the Mad one, fine with AA, fine with everyone else. To be visibly snubbed and treated to the occasional glacial face by FF when I had (and still have) no fucking idea how I wronged her is perplexing and not very pleasant.
4. Please this was never a case of me being pissed over some prissy thing just to make me look like a stuck up pompous bitch. I may be a bitch at times but all in good clean fun and never with malice or to tear a person down, much less a friend. Let's frame the situation correctly shall we? I allegedly said something. You got pissed. You fired the first salvo. You refused to say what it is despite my repeated attempts (at least 3) to ask you to tell me so that I could explain and apologise even at the pain of sounding like an utter desperado simply because I thought we were good friends. Or does my gender not even warrant me the courtesy of a proper reply?
FF then ignores me for no reason. Next thing I know everyone's zen, I'm just pissed because they've called me a big mouth (I presume FF's name calling was at a different time from your MSN message) and they won't back down. But because I'm pissed they're leaving me alone for now. Seriously, how warped is that?
I would usually say blogging helps to exorcise the demons within, to release the venom on the metaphorical paper, to bleach it beyond recognition. But this isn't one of those cases. There is no venom to expel, no demons to exorcise. I'm just astounded (unpleasantly), flabbergasted. By the surrealness of it all, the duplicity of natures, the inexplicability of an unexplained situation. The volatility of the eruption, the brittleness of the relationship, the dearth of direct communication. It's sad to think something you would have stood by might not have been there to begin with.
So maybe I should quote a line from Frosty Female's correspondence before she froze, "I don't know what game the two of you are playing, but I don't appreciate being dragged in." I don't know what game this is but I'm not playing. Or as Sister Hazel put it, "You were the one... Who taught me what I don't need And I thank you-I thank you for that. You were the one...That brought me to my senses And I thank you- Now just leave me alone"
Coughing like a heavy smoker. The hacking debilitating kind of cough that keeps you up all night. Then get greeted by the news that Onemanga, arguably one of the most popular online reading will be following in the footsteps of Mangatoshokan and removing all its manga by next week. WTF. There's always other ways of obtaining one's fix of manga, true.
Though if the current trend of publishers pressurizing scanlation groups and manga sites to shut down continues, it'll become more and more difficult to do so in the future. RIP Onemanga.
It's been a while since I last wrote. As in really writin. Not short, vacuous observations of recent events or random ejaculatory musings. I just haven't seen the need to write or felt the urge to do so. I guess it doesn't really help that these days have been packed chock-a-block with activities, work and the propensity to agree to various impromptu arrangements.
It's certainly been an expensive, alcohol-fuelled, sex-driven couple of months. Well, perhaps less of the latter for now haha. If anything, I think certain activities temper the inclination to blog. Gaming, in all its pervasive mind-numbing allure and its seemingly innocuous ability to fritter away the hours in the blink of an eye is one such activity.
Not all such activities are equally 'distracting' (if the reduction of the urge to blog can be called a distraction that is). Take sex for example. An extremely pleasant distraction for almost any other activity (depending on the partner). Yet pleasant as it may be, it hardly has the power to distract so absolutely, so long, compared to say gaming or mahjong. Ironically, I have oft found that sex (both good and bad.. unfortunately)can greatly stimulate the creative juices or more.
Certainly, not all activities are as cheap. The recent spate of clubbing on consecutive nights highly enjoyable but imposing a hefty burden on the already none too healthy finances. And let's not even start on shopping. Though I must say the recent clubbing spree, inspired in no small part by the urge to dance to great music and the company of like-minded friends, has provided the opportunity for great entertainment as well as a good workout.
And when I say entertainment, I'm not referring to the joys of grooving to fantastic beats or booze. It's the entertainment provided by others around you, all in various stages of intoxication. Like someone barfing on some unfortunate girl replete with horrified, hysterical shrieks, drunken displays of amor or lust and the absolute fluidity & show-womanship of drags with their favourite Gaga songs. If you think I have 'no'bones' (as certain individuals from the Gang call it), you haven't seen one of them sisters.
It certainly helps that the spate of clubbing seems to have induced an uncanny sense of clarity when clubbing, an effect which persists (thankfully) after the lights come on despite the copious amounts of booze consumed. Certainly a pleasant change from previous occasions where the night becomes a blurry alcoholic haze and you awake in various stages of undress in different corners of your room with only a vague, patchy recollection of the night's events. I have yet to wake up in a strange bed beside a strange dude. And hopefully that'll never happen. haha.
I've always said that variety is the spice of life. A convenient mantra to wield, embellish and embrace as one sees fit. I should add that spontaneity and the ability to make and agree to plans made on the fly can be exhilarating indeed. But that's quite a mouthful so I'll just say if variety is the spice of life, spontaneity is its sauce. Not that I don't like my made-in-advance plans, I do. But sometimes like they say, its good to have some gravy on the side. Like now. Lol.
Gaming is so therapeutic. Fuck the naysayers who think otherwise. I mean how can going on a rampage and slaughtering creeps and human players alike not be therapeutic??? The instant high or quick shot of adrenalin after a couple of well spammed spells or attacks destroys an opposing human player replete with the added voice overs (ie: Savage Sick, Ultimate warrior, serial killer, doooomination) is the gamer's equivalent of a mini orgasm.
As any gamer worth his salt would tell you, pwnage is so fun. Herores of Newerth is a good replacement, I haven't had so much fun since Tides of Blood and the maaaany versions of DoTA.
In other news, I can't seem to get Christina Aguilera's 'Not Myself Tonight' out of my head. I blame that banshee shriek. Haha watch and bewitched by her MV. You go girl!
Say I'm hot, you're probably right. Say you're fat, you probably are. Say I'm yours, you're probably not. Say you're upset, you're probably sensitive. Say I'm sensitive, you're probably rude. Say I'm rude, you're probably mad. Say I'm mad, you probably are.
An ode to all the deluded, double standard peeps in denial out there. What would life be without them? A lot better no doubt. But they're here to stay so you might as well figure how they operate and give em a wide berth.
Bumped into an ex-BMT mate this morning at the taxi stand while headed home after the impromptu clubbing session. Well, maybe bumping is the wrong word, he never recognized me and I nearly didn't place his face till I'd gotten a full view of his face. By that time, he was getting into the cab and it was too late.
I've forgotten his name, it could be Julian, Jack, Jason or Timothy, I'll need to try dig up my old BMT photo. I'd remember a face anytime though. Especially the face of a person I've been intimate with (unless the said person is sooo forgettable), an unexpected corollary of a very visual person, the quirky workings of the human mind.
He was assisting an APNN, arms around the APNN's waist, smiling and offering words of encouragement as he guided him into the cab, before heading into the next himself. He looked the same, short punky hair with a couple of spiky ear studs and casual gothic like dressing. Call him! B. exclaimed when I uttered a cry of recognition. I did, waving at him while his name and consequently, words, escaped me. But it was too late, he was already in the cab by then, oblivious to the motions of a stranger at the edge of his peripheral vision.
It was really that look on his face, that strange, bemused, caring and almost tender look that made me take a second look at what appeared to be a quirky stranger assisting an unlikely APNN companion and place the face. The same quirky look he gave when describing how he was constantly picked up by men at bars and clubs even though he was attached, the same look when musing how he was probably bi, the same look he gave when our lips touched...and more.
He always had that cool, laid-back fucker air about him though he was anything but. It's hardly appropriate or fruitful to search for that ghastly BMT picture at this (relatively) unearthly hour on a Wednesday morning and I doubt I'd find it anyway. Perhaps the refrain from James Blunt's 'You're Beautiful' expresses it best :
"You're beautiful. You're beautiful. You're beautiful, it's true. I saw your face in a crowded place... But it's time to face the truth, I will never be with you."
Got into the cab and heard J. Jackson crooning "Like a moth to the flame, burned by the fire. My love is blind, can't you see my desire." Which brought back a flood of none too pleasant memories. God, I hate that song. Now, just 4 hours to crash and I'll get round to identifying Mr 'laid-back' fucker. Eventually.
I seldom blog twice a day. Not out of habit or due to some idiosyncratic principle. I'm just too lazy. But this is an exception, fuelled in no small part by the fact that the modem was fried by the recent thunderstorm which means I'm stuck with a 500kbps internet tethered connection over my iphone. Meaning I can do precious little (ie: no downloading, gaming, etc) Wouldn't even let me access Auction Sniper for fucks sake.
The subject of this entry is an innocuous article I stumbled upon while googling a wholly unrelated phrase 'what does it mean when my watch is hard to wind'. With the title 'my farts smell really bad' and a website called poop report, it sounded like an aunt aggy forum/ helpline for the offensively flatulent. Something like your average litany of embarrassing health problems that hapless souls often relate in your average women's/ men's magazine. Only presumably more embarrassing. In other words mortifying if you're the person with the ailment, amusing if you're the spectator reading about the problem.
The brief synopsis found in most google searches was the clincher that made clicking on the link, the natural thing to do. (I.e :' if I fart in the car,it takes about 2 days for the smell to go away. ... For I am destined to spread the unhallowed wind of raw sewage until I expire. ...')
The mainarticle was serious enough (read: not very entertaining), a desperate plea by 'Smellyass' who can't even stand the smell of his/her own farts for advice and help. However, it was the farcical, unabashedly shameless comments to the article (scroll down) left by people that left me in stitches, laughing so hard till I cried.
These are obnoxious, brash sods with flatulence noxious enough to clear the room in seconds and peel paint, yet they have no qualms about reveling in their odorous abilities and depict their smelly escapades to devastating effect. In a tongue-in-cheek perversion of sorts, a decidedly major social handicap is trumpeted as a major virtue with manifold benefits. Take this hilariously, shameless anecdote by the aptly named 'Chief Thunderbutt':
I picked the user name ChiefThunderbutt because my flatulance is the stuff legends are made of. I was told by a friend when in the Air Force, "If you were an indian your name would be Thunder Butt."
I take pride in my farts and love the really stinky ones the best. I enjoy them even more when I am able to share them with others.
I have shared them through devious means a few times. I was once expelled from the control tower cab in which I worked because of my gas. The watch supervisor sent me down to the latrine and told me not to return until I had taken a shit. I continued down one more level to the room that contained the air conditioner, I climbed into a chair and farted into the air return vent. The crew was huddled around the vents in the tower cab getting fresh air. It made me very happy when I heard their voices coming down through the vent, "God damn, it smells worse over here."
Stinky butt,you have been blessed with a great gift. Learn to enjoy it'
Another person after adroitly noting that the person in question (Smellyass) must have really smelly farts if he couldn't even stand the smell of his own farts, remarked that eye-watering flatulence was useful to have in situations like 'when you're standing in a long line at a store or bank, or when you have guests at your house that you wish would just go home.'
Spent 20 minutes reading all the comments and almost died laughing. Pretty sure the abs got a good work out in the process and no, I didn't fart. Good to know some people can still make the best use of their stinky situation. That's one league I'm happy staying out of.
Though for the loud, proud and happy gasers amongst us, Chief Thunderbutt has a tip or two:
'For the most wonderful smelling of all possible farts you must eat "gyoza",
small meat dumplings (your choice of flesh) with lots of cabbage, garlic and onion. These little gems can be steamed but are much better pan fried. They are dipped in a mixture of soy sauce, sesame oil, rice vinegar and chili pepper. They should be washed down with prodigious quantities of beer.
The farts that ooze from your anus several hours later will be hot and rancid. Those who are around you will be highly entertained.'
Good lord, now I know why Y. is so hung up about paos smelling like Fart. LOL.
Inspiration's a funny thing. When you're inspired, you feel exuberant, empowered and the creative juices flow abundantly, seemingly ceaselessly. Then, when like the fickle mistress she is, Inspiration flees, you're left apathetic and feeling drier than the Sahara. Suspended in a state of blah.
I've been singularly uninspired these past few weeks. I can't tell whether it's the drudgery of work, the ongoing fascination with eBay or the lack of stimulating company (and no don't bother reading anything into this because chances are, it's probably not what you think it is). Probably a bit of everything. Different factors which build up to form a debilitating malaise of sort. The kind that makes you do the mental equivalent of a glassy eyed stare with drool leaking out from the slightly down-turned corner of your mouth.
Still, there's no cure, no automatic stimulant to evoke inspiration and rouse one from the mental stupor induced by the utter lack of inspiration. Sometimes, all one can do is to wait until that fickle mistress returns to your arms for another passionate sojourn before the cycle repeats itself all over again.
On an wholly unrelated note, an individual from the Gang has left for (presumably) greener pastures. A fact bemoaned by some, bewilderment by others and mild amusement by yet more. The dynamics have changed, nothing will ever be the same again! An individual in the first (though more likely second) category uttered. Of course it will, though not necessarily for the worse hahaha.
But that's the way it is. People change like the seasons. Things change. You live with it, the way it is, and adapt accordingly. And for the few who bemoan the changes, lock themselves away from the world to mourn the passing of an era, the same that make idle talk about whiling away the time as the world passes on uncaring, it's time to get over the self-pity and move on. As Dion Boucicault aptly put it, "Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them."
Get moving, for we are young (for now) and time is not on our side.
Kick Ass (We are Young) by Mika(On another random note, I just realised Mika looks like a leaner younger version of Jeremy Irons, yum. haha)
We are young We are strong We're not looking for where we belong
We're not cool We are free And we're running with blood on our knees
We could rule the world On a silver platter From the wrong to the right light To an open stream
With a crash and burn We could make it better Turn it upside down Just you and me
We are the dream No other way To be
We are young We are strong We're not looking for where we belong
We're not cool We are free And we're running with blood on our knees
I could change the world I could make it better Kick it up and down Take a chance on me
When you fake a smile And you think you're better Gonna put it down Rip it at your feet
No bridge to burn Nowhere to turn For me
We are young We are strong We're not looking for where we belong
We're not cool We are free And we're running with blood on our knees
What do they know about us? Are they thinking of somebody else? Are they wondering what we might be? Are they thinking of you or of me?
We are young We are strong We're not looking for where we belong
We're not cool We are free And we're running with blood on our knees
Life is like cruising on the expressway. Sometimes we speed up, go on auto cruise, putter along at 40km/h or streak down the highway of our life like there’s a dozen cars on your tail. I like variety in my pace of life, too slow it becomes an absolute bore, too constant you get too complacent and dull, too fast you risk crashing and burning. Which although it sounds dangerously cool, is about as exciting as a lunatic with a death wish. Not.
Flirtation is no different. Sometimes its slow, mysterious and titillating. Sometimes its shamelessly brazen. Sometimes it’s unapologetically corny and a dizzying sprint from rest to go. Such as the one with L:
L: Ok I’m booking the tickets le. Where do you want to sit? Middle or backside?
Aelg: haha I didnt know cinema got backside lol. up to you. back side, rightside left side also can. As long as not outside.
L: Ahaha lol inside can ah?
Aelg: yeah at the backside.
Luke: inside, backside ah?
Aelg: I think that will be quite hard in the cinema but backside is good. L: hahaha ok booked. Backside me?
Love is but a moment, cherish it. Lust is but a release, acknowledge it. Loyalty is but a possibility, accept it. Lies are but fallacies, abandon them.
Oh what tangled webs we weave, when first we learn to deceive.
Somethings never really change. Lunch while simple, was highly enjoyable. After all, with friends, it's all about the company isn't it?
Seasons change, people change. Though as is often the case in relationships or friendships, sometimes people don't change, it's about discovering the person for who he or she truly is. Their ideals, principles, attitude towards friends and life in general, the person's core. For better or for worse, time and closer interaction with the person (almost always because you're interested to know the person better as a friend or in the case of a lover, your companion) inevitably reveals the core of the person.
And sometimes it's not pretty, certainly not what we expected. Because like it or not, we often either consciously or subconsciously impose our own pre-conceived ideas of a person's character on that person and attribute reasons for his/her conduct based on our perception of that person; even if we profess to accept the person for who he/she really is. We assume that a person would behave in a certain manner perhaps even remotely rationally (now surely that's not too much to ask) based on our pre-conceived notions, observations and general experience interacting with other human beings.
The problem may be summed up thus: we presume based (mostly) on rational observations when in reality sometimes we are unaware of the true nature of the person in question. The person's core self so as to speak. And when we discover it, it can either be a pleasant surprise or a rude jarring shock.
Humans are not perfect. No one is. A perfect world with perfect people all doing objectively perfectly acceptable things, pleasant though it may sound, would be a fucking boring place. Even fucking may be a civil affair. So naturally friends (like yourself) are imperfect. There will always be things about friends that annoy you. Little idiosyncrasies or habits which irk and irritate but things which we are of course able to accept and overlook as part of the entire package known as your friend. You might hate the habits or quirks but you still like them as friends. God knows you're no bloody angel yourself.
There are however certain fundamentals issues or principles you live by, tenets of your interaction with friends and loved ones that are central to your very existence. These principles and beliefs are so fundamental that you will brook no breach of them and a person whose ideas/principles run counter to the same principles is someone you can never be closer to than on an acquaintance level. Not quite anathema though I guess for certain people, certain principles are so deeply cherished that a person who falls afoul of them may be dead for all they care.
I'm talking about general universal principles such as loyalty, trust, etc. You get my drift. Though these principles will invariably vary from individual to individual. I'm a man of few principles (haha much too tiring to keep track of) and I think individuals with a load of principles are no more principled (pun fully intended) than individuals who happen to be more scrupulous with their principles.
So one of my principles is I'd expect a friend, a close one especially, to be consistent. And when I mean consistent, I mean be consistent in your treatment towards other people based on their conduct/character and your friends in particular. Also please be rational. Naturally, it's fine to be emo sometimes, to be under the weather or what not. Like I said we aren't saints. You would certainly however expect more consistency from a close friend and the unspoken understanding that you don't treat that friend based solely on your mood especially when your fucking mood/reaction has absolutely fucking nothing to do with that friend.
That presumes the person is rational in his/her thought processes, can articulate his/her reasons for their conduct and express logical explanations for his/her quirky beliefs. A presumption that sometimes, it appears, is to much to expect or even hope for. There is always a limit to how much communication can do. And when communication fails, all there's left is arrivederci.
Just talking about this just pisses me off. Sometimes, the problem isn't about others or how you perceive others to jettison you simply because of your falling out with another. To reach such a conclusion speaks volumes of your regard and perception of the person who 'jettisoned' you. Superficial & threadbare. Perhaps it's time to take a good look at yourself and realise that most people appreciate some consistency in treatment in a friendship. Certainly not being subjected to the mercurial mood swings for vacuous matters unknown even to yourself that somehow gets redirected to your clueless friends.
It's always sad when a close friendship which you really valued turns out to be vacuous and devoid of amity. But I've said it before. I have no time for the insolent, the inconsistent and the consistently mad. Life's short enough as it is. Like I told a friend, once (the first time something serious happens) I close one eye, twice I close two eyes, thrice you go and die. And once you're dead to me, you'll always be.
My attraction to and affection for the latter has never been in doubt. Having cock is a wonderful thing. My fascination with clocks however was considerably understated in comparison, tempered by an inability to get my hands on any (pre-internet) and the prohibitively expensive ones that were available locally. Then along came the joys (or scourge depending how you view it) of ebay and online shopping which initiated the clock buying spree these past couple of months. Which naturally prompted incredulous queries from friends questioning the state of my mind and my apparent sudden obsession for clocks with punny statements ranging from 'You going cuckoo is it?" to "Aiyah, no cocks don't need to go for clocks ma."
I've always liked clocks. You know the antique or vintage clocks with mechanical movements that actually go tiktok and not the battery powered modern quartz movements which have as much character as a missionary in a strip club. Anything with weights and/or springs that doesn't require any form of electrical or battery power is sufficient (assuming the clock looks decent of course), to enthrall me. I've been hard pressed to explain just why such clocks fascinate me so.
I guess at the most basic level, it's watching the movement tick, to see & hear the gears moving in unison while knowing that it's powered by nothing more than gravity or the energy of a wound spring. The chimes and strikes on the hour, while not essential to the attraction, is undeniably a highlight. The whirr of the chime and/or strike train followed by the actual striking of the hour/ 1/4 hour is both an aural as well as visual treat. Naturally, no two clocks (unless you get the same model) sound the same when chiming/striking; the sound ranging from factors like the size of the clock case, the material of the clock case, the number of striking levers and of course the object being struck which generally fall into three categories: bells, chime rods and coiled gongs.
And this diverse aural repertoire adds to the attraction of these vintage/antique clocks, giving an immeasurable advantage over their boring quartz battery counterparts with their flat electronic sounding chimes. It is one of the reasons why my fascination for clocks doesn't extend to watches (which I still appreciate btw), you'll never find a watch with a rich Westminster chime that only a 5 or 8 bell Seth Thomas Sonora bell chime can provide. Not to mention that as far as clocks and cocks are concerned, big is better. :p
Now I'm not saying that ALL clocks chime/strike beautifully, with fluid precision or at a subjectively 'acceptable' volume. Some like the Seth Thomas Chime 77 are more melodious than your average gong striking clock, some like the19th C JapyFreres clocks with their single brass bell more sonorous than others. Some have tinny, mellow strikes, the kind you'd be able to leave in your bedroom and not worry about. Yet others like the Waterbury 'Gibson' double alarm parlour clock with two gongs have been described as 'anything but musical' and to be 'loud enough to wake the dead'. Which I guess serves its purpose since one of its functions was as an alarm clock. All in all a potential glorious cacophony but therein its variety lies their attraction. Who wants 100 clocks which all go bong with the exact tone, pitch and volume?
I like my gadgets new and my collectibles old. It's all very well to have a nice snazzy piece of furniture or collectible which may very well become an appreciated antique/vintage yeeeeears later. But there's something about an antique clock or collectible that arrests your attention like no new fangled piece can. There's history, character and you can be damn sure that it's been around longer than you have. Now I just need to learn how to attempt to clean and oil them to minimise the predictably expensive servicing sessions.
Antique clocks are working pieces of art. Everytime they tick, every movement the gears make and every strike they take is a portrayal of history in motion and art in action. And I have no doubt they will outlast me as they have many others. Perhaps my epitaph should state : He liked his clocks old and his cocks young. lol.
No this isn't an epithet (tho it may be under other circumstances) or a bitch fest rant against some imbecile. Rather, it's one of those random thoughts that come to mind unbidden while doing random things like checking the status of the remaining auctions on eBay or taking a leak. Toilet intellect at its finest. It isn't rocket science but it sure as hell is entertaining.
I'm literally talking about noisy.. fuckers. You know the ones who make lots of noise when they fuck. We all know sex is (supposed to be) an enjoyable affair. That, along with the feeling of intimacy one derives from fucking (hopefully someone special) are about the main reasons why people fuck when pro-creating is the last thing on their mind. Alright, sometimes sex is abysmal. That can't be helped, some people just have to suck. Luck of the draw.
So yes I guess one of the corollaries about sex being enjoyable is that the participants (ie: the fuckers) usually feel a need to express their satisfaction cum pleasure while fucking which is done visually (hence the orgasmic look) and orally through various sounds ranging from pants, incoherent grunts, whispered mushy words or porno commentaries.
Which like I said is understandable. After all, no one wants to feel like he's fucking or being fucked by a guy with a dead pan expression and to whom surrendering to ecstatic throes of passion entails measured grunts. There's a word for people who dig sex like that and that's called necrophilia. Though I can hardly imagine what sex with a zombie would be like or called. The concept already sounding like a grotesque cross between a b grade 'Dawn of the dead' like horror film and a cheap porno flick where the director ran out of ideas.
So yes, I guess some noise (of the correct sort) is desirable in the man who fucks you. What I find an absolute turn off are noisy fuckers who engage in porno spiel, the kind you'd find in cheesy porn flicks with plots less substantial than the skimpy thongs the male AV stars wear. Stuff like "Want that big XXXX [prized part of the human anatomy] in your [add description] hot hole?" "Yeah I know you want it baby, [insert desired activity] this big [more anatomy]." You get my drift. The kind of corny conversation/ noise that detracts from the action.
I've always liked my porn without plot, because trust me porn with no plot is better than clutzy porno speak porn. Porn is watched for a purpose, you get off and that's that. If I want plot and wit, I'd catch a movie or sitcom. Porno speak belongs in the realm of the useless afflictions like shrink wrapped plastic and boiled carrots.
I can never understand guys/fuckers (in all senses of the word haha) who engage in porno speak during foreplay, much less when fucking. It's noisy, an utter turn off and an apt portrayal of a vapid mind. I don't need any stimulation that can't be provided physically with the mouth, hands and glorious cock all working in tandem to an explosive crescendo. Sex is hardly intellectual and even if intellectual stimulation during sex was the order of the day (which it will never be), I'd rather write sonnets or compose poems while fucking/being fucked.
So really, if you're one of those clueless fuckers who engages in porno speak while fucking with the mistaken notion that your vacuous commentaries about stuffing various parts of anatomy into other parts of the human body is sending your partner into seventh heaven; do the hapless fuckee a favour. Shut up and fuck. Because that's really what he/she wants you to do. And he'll love you all the more for it.
I've always had a love-hate relationship with boybands and their songs. Love the songs because they're so singable and easy to relate to, kind of like a convenient pick-me-up. Hate them because they're so cheesy, emoish and more often than not, when one listens to them at a point of time when you feel you can relate to the song(s), you end up feeling worse than before. There is some innate quality in the said songs that fuels emo-ness when it's least wanted.
Giant was playing a whole slew of Westlife hits. I can only imagine some aunty must have control over the music system for the night. Not the usual kind of piped in radio music you'd hear at NTUC but still I guess I've heard worse (i.e Richard Clayderman at the now defunct (in Singapore) Yaohan). Apart from the occasional song played over radio, it's been years since I last listened to Westlife.
And this particular song just got stuck in my head. Not entirely apt because I've never (since then) been in love but pretty indicative of the general mood otherwise. Can't eat your cake and have it. Can't go cold turkey and expect gravy on the side. Can't preach peace and expect it to follow. Quid pro quo.
Fool again- Westlife
Baby, I know the story, I've seen the picture, it's written all over your face Tell me, what's the secret that you've been hiding? And who's gonna take my place? I should have seen it coming, I should have read the signs Anyway, I guess it's over
Chorus: Can't believe that I'm a fool again I thought this love would never end, how was I to know? You never told me Can't believe that I'm a fool again, and I who thought you were my friend, how was I to know? You never told me
Baby, you should've called me, when you were lonely, when you needed me to be there Sadly, you never gave me too many chances to show you how much I care Ooh, should have seen it coming, I should have read the signs Anyway, I guess it's over
Chorus
About the pain and the tears Ooh, If I could, I would, turn back the time Ooh yeah I should have seen it coming I should have read the signs Anyway, I guess it's over
Gotta buck up on my jap. Stumped by last week's worksheet. Which is not a good sign.
Life's a funny thing. Tracks once presumed to be permanent and steadfast abruptly disintegrate into nothingness and the momentum of a friendship, a relationship, a continuum of interactions grinds to an abrupt jarring halt. Doors close. New ones, never before envisaged, open. Old trains get derailed. New trains set off for an as of yet unknown destination.
Funny that a person as nonreligious as I should be dating a person who's an ardent catholic. Though I've always believed that religion should never be an issue in a relationship and that was one of the first few things we clarified. Though I must confess that for a nonreligious person, I enjoy black gospel songs, often having an inexplicable urge to burst into song when listening to them.
For one, I find them incredibly uplifting and joyful. For another, the sheer power of a choir, a band of people singing in harmony is undeniable. Sometimes, just sometimes, I think there's a black gospel choir woman in me just screaming to get out. Ha ha.
I love this song. It's joyful, exuberant and always uplifting. Turn up the volume and let the inner black woman/man sing. ^^ O Happy Saturday!!!
Oh Happy Day by the Choeur Gospel Celebration de Quebec & Sylvie Degroseilliers
Last night was a first for a number of things. The first date with someone whom I was at least remotely attracted to for a long time. The first time things progressed so far and on an impromptu basis on a first date. The first time I'd so much booze and so little sleep the entire night cum morning. The first time I'd seriously reconsider my position since the break up.
As Ab Fab's Patsy would say: Cheers, thanks a lot!
Friends who feel I'm very risque usually haven't met my other friends or T. and S. in particular. These are friends who wouldn't think twice bout cracking jokes about various parts of the human anatomy or discussing sex and personal grooming over coffee as nonchalantly as if you were discussing the weather. Their logic being it's part of what we do and who we are and since sex is good and we like it, why shouldn't we talk about it anymore than straight men rave about football and boobs? Logic which I can hardly fault and actually agree with haha. Though it'd be considerably more moderated on my end which might ensue in exchanges like:
Random Risque Friend : " Eh, why so serious?" me: "Am I? I can't always be talking about sex can I?" Friend: "Why not? You love it, what's not to like talking about it?" me: "Perhaps because I haven't been getting any lately?" Friend: "Get moving la. Waiting for prince charming is it?" me: "Crazy"
So yes, though it may be hard for some to believe, I am tame in comparison to some of my other friends. But I digress. An outing with the risque duo is always noisy, raunchy and never dull. We'd gotten acquainted (at different times) through the usual smorgasbord of internet chat rooms and gay forums back in the hedonistic days of our youth. Though they might dispute the latter, if only because they're just as hedonistic now as they were then. Lol.
As the years went by (god sounding like an old foggy now), we met up a lot less, each leading our separate lives with T. being based in HK these days and S. always flitting across the globe on one of his numerous assignments. We still take the time to arrange meet ups when everyone is in town and available, few and far between though those occasions may be. For you know what they say, boyfriends change like the season but good friends are forever. Though I suspect that's only because apart from the fact that one would be more inclined to overlook certain characteristics in a friend that may be unacceptable in a partner, you're nearly never around good friends enough to get sick of them or otherwise haha.
So it was when we finally arranged to meet on Saturday at Olio Dome, the 'warm' welcome was an indicator of the sort of heart-warming rubbish I've always associated and come to expect from the risque duo.
T: " My goodness, so thin now! Starving yourself to feed the hungry in Africa is it?" me: "Just because you're fat doesn't mean I'm thin eh. haha." T: "Wah still as bitchy as ever" S: "Ya how can anyhow say people starve? Probably too much sex la, he looks positively radiant." me: " Sex your head la, just came from facial." T: " Why everytime just facial only? Do the whole works man."
You get the idea. Dinner at Olio Dome was an animated affair with the usual banter and loud expostulations that probably traumatised the family at the table behind us. We even got a lesson on auto-ejaculation (and mild indigestion from choking on my lamb shank) when T whipped out his Iphone and proceeded to show us a bizarre Xtube video of some buff hairless (read - boyzilian) gym ape spasming violently while grunting away before cumming without any stimulation whatsoever to his dick.
I've heard of auto-erotic asphyxiation and bottoms ejaculating while being screwed by particularly skilled tops but auto ejaculation through no stimulation other than vibrating like a human dildo to the beat of your grunts was something entirely new and bizarre. "Perhaps he has a dildo stuck right up his ass," S mused. "Must be a bloody monster of a dildo to make him vibrate like that." I replied. "See that's why I tell you it's always better to be a top. At least you always get off in them." T interjected. "Ya and I pity your bottoms, they wouldn't even know you're in them" came S's rejoinder. Which predictably evicted a spirited tirade from T before it was cut short by a rather disturbed looking waitress who came to clear our plates.
Life would be so dull without friends with whom one can interact freely and unabashedly. Which is why I always take a dim view of uptight peeps who can't laugh at themselves but have no qualms laughing at others. Worse still are those who revel in perpetual negativity or self pity and rely on that very warped outlook to justify their shortcomings. But with friends of the former (positive) variety, one never tires being with them. And despite the frequency (or lack thereof) of meet ups, the camaraderie remains. I'll look forward to the next time we meet, whenever that may be.
Ever since I stumbled upon Citizen's Calibre 8700 Model 8000-54L while surfing the net last Saturday, I've been more than a little obsessed with watches and finding out what makes em tick. Which is quite inexplicable because for the longest time ever, my attitude towards timepieces has always been if it keeps decent time and looks good, I couldn't care less what went on behind the dial of a watch let alone the subtle differences between the various movements for automatic watches.
Citizen Bl8000-54l Eco-drive.
And in the span of a week, I probably know more about watches than I ever did these past 27 years, thanks to the hours spent trawling the net and googling for specifications & terminologies. Not that I'm an expert at any rate mind you but at least now I can tell the difference from an automatic and a kinetic and the higher the bps (beats per second) of a movement, the more accurately the watch keeps time.
Perhaps the thing that really kept me going was the realization that apart from keeping time (which boring digital watches can do), carefully crafted time pieces could be works of art too. That and a new found appreciation for analogue watches with various functions like perpetual calendars & minute repeaters as well as the unsurpassed beauty of mechanical watches. The wonder one obtains from peering into a mechanical watch and seeing the little gears tick.
While it did seem ironic (initially at least) to be whiling away the hours reading up about watches that keep impeccable time, I wouldn't say it was a waste of time. Got the aforesaid Citizen watch from Amazon (should have checked ebay first pity..), finally got round to setting up my ebay account, ebayed dad's present and sussed out some great deals for the next couple of watches I intend to get. As to which I intend to get first, it's a toss up between the Seiko Premier Automatic SPB001 and the Seiko Premier Kinetic Direct Drive SRH009P1. It'll probably be the former. Even though the most accurate and high end automatic movement will never be as accurate as a quartz, there is a beauty in a carefully crafted automatic that no quartz, exquisite or otherwise can ever replicate.
Now just take a look at that baby. That'd be worth all the lunches sacrificed for it haha.
Front of Seiko Premier Automatic SBP001
Sapphire Crystal back with engraved rotor & gold balance wheel.
It probably runs in the family. This unpleasant peculiarity of getting together with a loved one, getting so passionately involved in the relationship, making plans, then breaking up at different stages of the relationship. My cousin was the latest victim to follow in the Sister's and my footsteps though it is hardly something to be proud of.
Truth be told, we'd always figured that he'd be the first to get married in the family and beget precocious offspring for my granny who's certainly not getting any younger. For frankly speaking, he was the most 'marriageable' one amongst the lot of us.
The eldest cousin, an affable man who vaguely reminds me of Jabba the Hutt with his ample girth, the faint odour of stale cigarette smoke wreathed about him and his slow...pause..impregnated speech doesn't look like he'll be getting attached soon. The Sister is well The Sister, short of an immaculate conception or a missionary arriving to sweep her off her feet (and not into a certain position mind you), I don't see any progress on that end. There's yours truly and hell would sooner freeze over before I'll have sex with a woman, let alone end up married to one. Then there's the youngest, still in poly, presumably single and ironically the Cousin who'd now probably marry first but whom for now marriage remains a distant prospect.
But I digress. We were pleasantly surprised (my granny especially so) when we found out that this cousin had a girlfriend. There are guys who wear their hearts on their sleeves, guys who would not hesitate to express their feelings and there are others who keep it under lock and key, guarding their hearts with the zeal of a carmelite nun. The cousin was the latter. An extremely private person by nature (like some friends I know haha), the cousin loathed disclosing more than was absolutely necessary about his private life. In fact, his mother only knew he was attached (and had been for a year) when he brought the girl back to the house and asked if she could stay over for a couple of days. Though then again, I can fully comprehend why, the less a mother knows, the better.
She became a regular fixture at family gatherings and soon it transpired that they were engaged (again information was not exactly forthcoming - the facebook stalker of an auntie reported the change in status), he got her a blinding rock that evoked the de rigeur ooohs & ahhhs from her friends and they did all the couple-ly stuff. Like getting a HDB flat, not coupling. I'm pretty sure they didn't wait to get engaged to engage in the latter.
They were by and far as things went, a handsome, loving and compatible couple. Him thoughtful and caring, her radiant and attentive. But who can tell what goes on behind closed doors in a couple's private life, the smiles that belie the insurmountable obstacles faced? None but the parties themselves. For it is in your darkest hour that you are most desolate, is it not? And it was in this same vein that we realised (via the same FB stalking auntie) that things had changed: the change of status, the removal of a friend, the seeming gaiety of a man out to live freely and immerse himself totally in his work.
The lawyer in me can't help but wonder idly about the reasons for the breakup of a relationship so close to that frightful institution of marriage as it were. The reasons for that irretrievable breakdown in the relationship. But I check myself. The reasons so persuasive and compelling for the breakup, at the breakup, are often immaterial when all's said and done. For just like a starving man does not need to be told the reason why he starves, so too it is of little use to revisit the reasons, mentally rehash them one by one after the relationship's gone.
You learn to pick up the pieces and move on. For that's what life is about isn't it? Making what you will of it and moving on. Because if you stay still and stagnate, time passes you by, people pass you by and before you know it, you're stranded, embittered and cantankerous with nothing to show for your pathetic life.
So you move on, even if it hurts because to hurt is to know that you live. Even if it doesn't make the pain any more bearable. I suspect my cousin's faring quite well.. on the face of things at least.
As a friend said while we mused over certain recent events, Life's a funny thing. Indeed. I'm still trying to laugh.
There is a subtle yet pervasive power in words. Words written, crafted just so and evoked in a particular manner can transform an insipid observation into vivid imagery that commands yet persuades. Words which leave an indelible impression on your mind.
I've always felt that the difference between a mediocre book and an outstanding one, apart from its contents, is the author's ability to convey the entirety of a particular situation: the characters' feelings, settings and thoughts, realistically to the reader. The words do not have to be bombastic or the prose flowery. Simple words and short sentences can be powerful tools in a master's hands. Take the following excerpt from Haruki Murakami's Kafka on the Shore :
"I'm stark naked, sprawled on the chair on the porch, dozing off in the sun and don't hear him approach till he lightly brushes my head. Startled, I leap to my feet and scramble around for a towel. There isn't one around. Naked in front of him, I feel defenseless and vulnerable, my pubic hair, penis, balls, all exposed. I have no idea what to do. It's a little late to cover up."
And in those few sentences, the author manages to convey that sense of awkwardness and vulnerability the character experiences as surely as if you were the person who was caught naked. The direct, choppy sentences also contribute to the awkwardness of the situation. The effect would have been reduced somewhat if the author had said something along the lines of 'In my nudity, I felt vulnerable and defenseless.'
Then there are books, with sentences so effortlessly crafted and prose so fluid, you devour every page, hungry for more. Even if you may have to re-read the first few pages or chapters just to digest the information within. For just like a teething babe learning to chew, so do such books or authors whet our literary appetite for something far more substantial than your average easy reading. Take this one sentence from Umberto Eco's excellent Foucault's Pendulum:
"The time it took the sphere to swing from end to end was determined by an arcane conspiracy between the most timeless of measures: the singularity of the point of suspension, the duality of the plane's dimensions, the triadic beginning of pi, the secret quadratic nature of the root and the unnumbered perfection of the circle itself."
A beautifully crafted sentence, perfectly structured. A sentence that enthralls yet does not disclose its true meaning on a cursory reading. The said meaning simply being that the movement of the pendulum is governed by a series of factors ranging from the single point of suspension to the infinite completeness of the very sphere. An explanation which does no justice to the linguistic grace of the original. If you would only decipher it. Mind you and this coming from someone who hates numbers in general unless they're numbers in my bank account in which case, the more the merrier.
Spoken words are no less powerful and still possess the ability to wound or heal as the wielder deems fit. Their reach, arguably more pervasive for illiteracy is no barrier to agitation by speech (as opposed to written words) though a limited vocabulary may be an impediment of sorts. However speech and the effect of spoken words is affected by a plethora of other factors ranging from the charisma of the person to the strength of the conviction of the person saying the words in question.
Still, it is my personal belief that when it comes to wounding and tearing down, written words have the potential to be so much more devastating than their spoken counterpart. Cold, harsh and impersonal, written words are devoid of the nuances and actions (the trembling hand, the conflicted face) that may mitigate and alleviate the harshness of a verbal onslaught.
Words are tools and the best tools are only as good as the craftsman who wields them. What we choose to do with our tools is our business but when you tear down another's home, expect yours to be torn down too. The last couple of weeks has been tumultuous though there appears to be a consensus of sorts on the ground.
Though now frankly, I am beyond caring. For as Electra in Sophocle's Electra says, "How could any woman of generous spirit behave otherwise, given the torments I face?"
