The New Wood Smell

(What’s this? I find myself some free time and instead of cramming in the words for Nanowrimo - which I’ve neglected for 5 days now - I’m here wanting to blog. And afterwards, play Borderlands).

I gave in to impulse, and bought myself a guitar.

It’s a cheap classical. It’s a guitar that those people of the guitar profession would stare at, crinkle their nose, and shake their heads in disbelief. In fact, it was cheaper than another guitar one particular guitar shop told me it was for the picnics.

It is, however, a nice guitar. I stared at it long enough, played unknown chords on it when no one was looking, and decided that yeah, you’re coming home with me.

It still has that new wood smell. Of the plywood type. It’s a cheap guitar, after all.

I suck in playing it.

Never doubted my innate inability to play any musical instrument. But now that I’ve bought a guitar and understood how hard it was to master it, I think it’ll be truly wasted if I never try making it play music that it was meant to play.

I give myself three years. And 38 days. Maybe I can play nursery rhymes by then. Good progression, I believe.

I think I can hear Bryan groaning in regret that he has agreed to teach me.

*********

My Nanowrimo is in abandon. It’s just a few days away from being a complete disaster.

My problem is finding time to make things up - times for this mostly end up being used in gaming, making up unrelated stories, and learning the guitar (since Saturday, at least). Oh, and a little bit of homework.

I’m so far behind now that the only way to save it is to cram 5000 words a night, or reach 25K by the weekend. My tally now is only 4K-something.

And I seriously don’t know what I’m writing about.

Where are the Gods of Writing?

Having stones for brains, and brains for balloons.

The effects of closing week hasn’t worn out yet. The brain is still a slab of rock that is cold and hollow and does nothing but stay stubbornly hard.

I don’t think I can string proper sentences. Somewhere along the lines would be a few oddities that become binaries. It’s aggravating, especially when 1000101001010100101000 about the 110101110111111 like global warming and polar bears losing ice to stand on.

Aw, 1001 it.

Ah, at any rate, it’s Nanowrimo now.

I’ll be trying once more to waste my time away writing 50,000 words for the month, an average of 1700 minimum daily.

I haven’t plotted, made plans, or actually know what I’ll be writing about. I think I’ll just down cups of Lipton tea and hope whatever they advertise will help give me the words and form that plot (and, for heaven’s sake, turn this rock-brain into a regular, mushy one).

As of now, the novel has no title.

And I think I shouldn’t have gotten Borderlands today. The first hour itself is addictive and engrossing, and I haven’t even ventured into online multiplayer.

And I haven’t taken into account that I’m working right now, and that there’s such a thing called Closing Week and that it will, without fail, turn my brain back to stone and milk my time into bottles to be gulped down by a monster with a void for mouth.

And the insanity of everything hasn’t hit me yet.

(And that, to paraphrase from forgotten source, is the fun of it).


*********

This is a Jeembie.
According to Teh Ais Limei (avid Zombtist and author of The Zombie Journal and The Popcapian Zombies of the East Pacific):

Jeembie is an evolved species of zombies whose diet consists of slimy, white rolls covered in brown liquid, also known as the Chee Cheong Fun among the Chinese community. This discovery have led Zomtists to believe that zombies do not necessarily need their staple food, known as Braaaaiiiinnnnsss, to survive, but merely chose to consume them as they are widely available in all parts of the world. On the other hand, a small group of Zomtists opined that Jeembie is not an evolved species, but an underdeveloped one, unable to differentiate between Braaaiiiinnnsss and Chee Cheong Fun, due to the similarities in texture, appearance and in some cases, substance.

On another note, the Zombies Nation International Association of Repulsive Bodies (ZNIARB) have declared Oct 27 a worldwide holiday to commemorate the birth of Jeembie.

Happy Halloween!

*****************


I’ll be disappearing mostly for the whole of November. It will most likely be due to Nanowrimo, or a strange trip in the form of a ticket given by a man with a broad brimmed hat and brown suit that’ll be the last I’ve ever heard or seen (if the latter happens, just tell my parents that I’ve moved to a happy place).

If I can update, I will. So if you’re actually keeping posted on the wholesomely profound ramifications from a philosophical genius that is I, you know you’re being duped and that no refunds will be given.

I hold no responsibility.

Just quickly dropping by to post some pictures of the pups, and to prove that I cannot, for the life of me, take good puppy pictures.

To the right, Ziggy. The left, Della. (Both in dad's tender loving hands)

Della's got more of her dad's brown, and Ziggy's all black save for the white angel-wing spread on his chest.

Both of them got their father's brow.

Right-o. Time for bed before the weekend rush. Bonne nuit

It’s closing week now.

I think it’s best if I write a little something here before I barely have any free time for myself. And what better than a little update on life, eh?

The pups of Marley are doing great; they’ve just opened their eyes a few days back and are now very adventurous with their crawling. We’ve just chicken-fenced the cage to stop them from edging out.

I’ve named them. They’re Ziggy and Della Marley. They both have something of their dad in them.

They are, currently, the cutest things in the world.

****

Perhaps not so much of an update on my life itself, which is currently like a flag that stayed still on the pole, with no wind around to billow and flutter it.

And like flags do, I can only sit and wait for that rich Westerly to blow and flap the cloth against the pole. Better still; wrench it out from the bindings, and carry it far and away, maybe into the ocean.

Wait is both a dreadful and wonderful thing, but it’s much like a mysterious drink served at the bar. And good and bad sometimes depends on your taste.

Ho hum.

***********

I dislike the fickleness of myself.

(Or is it really fickleness? Perhaps not. Perhaps simply a not-so-latent, fairly common emotion prevalent since the dawn of time, and that fickleness is either merely a branch of it, or the root in itself. At any rate, it produces the same results).

Feels like I’m a douche. A dick. An asshole.

And it’s very mutual.

I’m confused. But it’s the time of confusion that don’t sink in to cause massive amount of hair tearing. It’s just a leaf on the surface of the water. It disturbs, and ripples, and there’s all there is to it.

Makes me wonder; What the Fuck am I doing?

And whom am I Fucking with?

And What the Fuck do I think I am?

(Right-o. Emo-ness flies, and hovers).

I think I should let slide. It’s gonna be like leaving the stuff you can’t carry when moving house. It’s gotta go but the separation is there. Something’s left.

And you’re gone.

It sucks.

(I don’t even know what I’m confused about now).

(I don’t even know if I have to right to be confused).

(I think I’ll go to sleep now).

(Nites)

After that event at that clubbing joint at The Loft,

I can’t sleep.

I slept for an hour until 1 a.m before the oddity of dreams woke me up.

Right now I’m kept awake by the stubbornness of thought and ramifications, which only seem to be persistent whenever I’m most keen of not to think, and not to ramify.

Didn’t help that whatever growth I’m having in my brain has spread out like a patch of moss on a jagged rock, where it stays and stunts and eat away.

Truth is my eyes were closing at every 10 second interval. I could really fall asleep if I could let myself.

Why couldn’t I let myself?

I guess I can try. Yeah. I’ll go try.

Good morning, people.

Even if we won't celebrate...



Here comes the cold
Break out the winter clothes
And find a love to call your own
You - enter you
Your cheeks a shade of pink
And the rest of you in powder blue

Who knows what will be
But I'll make you this guarantee

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time

In the dark, on the phone
You tell me the names of your brothers
And your favorite colors
I'm learning you
And when it snows again
We'll take a walk outside
And search the sky
Like children do
I'll say to you

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it's obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?

And we'll both be safe 'til St. Patrick's Day

We should take a ride tonight around the town
and look around at all the beautiful houses
something in the way that blue lights on a black night
can make you feel more
everybody, it seems to me, just wants to be
just like you and me

No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
Come January we're frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won't you be my valentine?

And if our always is all that we gave
And we someday take that away
I'll be alright if it was just 'til St. Patrick's Day

I see the Es and sombreness.

They dance in front of me; a little troupe with maracas and hula hoops over Hawaiian music. Not too hard to descry, though small, and ignorable, and very easily trampled upon.

Eden Eve Eventuality Expectancy Emotions Endeavour Embellishment Exit

Boy, can they dance. And the music.

A wiki wiki mai lohi lohi, Lawe mai i ko papa he'e nalu, Flyin by on the Hawaiian roller coaster ride…


*****

An early awakening. A breakfast at Uncle Wai Tou’s. A drive I don’t remember. Bang, zip and whoosh; and I’m there, suddenly, at the Canon Photomarathon 2009.

I went in with the compact IXUS. The throng of men there had DSLRs and hand-cannon lens. It sure feels small using a tiny equipment *ahem*.

I had fun. I was tired as heck but that was the whole point. Unfortunately the organisers had the foresight of a mole at sea and the crisis-overcoming skills of an octopus in the sky, so the whole event went from great to an exercise of subduing frustration.

In spite of everything, I only took 110 pictures.

Here’re some of them, if you’d excuse the crappiness:





































Yep. Good day. Bad night.

***********

Went off and had a pleasant day today, with Japanese pasta for lunch and someone that I was quickly exasperating to the point insanity (“I’m already used to it,” she said, while simulating a knife through her heart). I guess old habits die hard.

Today felt like a peaceful dream. A calm reverie, under the shade of a tree and the serene melody of the rustling leaves, while the wind sway the fringes of the hair and there is a softness somewhere that embraces and stays.

Don’t think I ever felt so relaxed for a long time.

(Except that I drove home after dropping her back and almost hit a car that cut into my lane suddenly, which made me curse of 5 minutes and it actually stunned the toll-booth girl a bit when I unwound the window in the middle of a Hokkien profanity medley).

At any rate, it’s a great day and I’m grateful for the company.

It’ll be mid-week by tomorrow, which means that it’s time to stop procrastinating and get serious on work.

Cheers, people. Anyong-hi jumuseyo!