Wings, and about the first two weeks.

She departed with bags in her hands, and we waved from the railings. She disappeared amidst the reflection of lights and solid roofing on the marble floor, like traipsing away on tiled stars that bridged into a place we cannot follow. What a stupid analogy. It sounded like that other journey, and bear in mind that this isn’t. But it just seemed so that day. A farewell of gravity that didn’t sink in until the apple drops, so much later.

I’m glad I went to say goodbye.

I don’t mean to make it sound so sombre, for it isn’t. It’s a wonderful sending-off with lots of laughs and great memories. In another way it’s like giving H1N1 the middle finger and marching into the airport to bid bon voyage. I guess I’m allowed to exercise a small degree of sentimentalism, no? Brand me as guilty.

At any rate, I heard that she’s safe in Australia and is probably having fun. Cheers :)

But I guess we have these kind of moments in life. Watching a person with metallic wings on their backs that blink in red and blue, flying away, and wondering when you’ll see them and revisit old times, however briefly.

That night, a shoulder shook. Slightly. When I watch it walk away, slung over the shoulders of another , it seemed heavier and ready, then, to start growing its own set of metallic wings with blinking lights, to pick up the coming wind and in time find itself southland.

(Ok, sentimentalism over. Emo filtered out of body and selectedly vapourised).

******

I can’t say much about the first two weeks of work. That’s because it’s still a blur to me, and if I try to recollect, it’s like re-watching a movie with an impaired eyesight looking through sunglasses. But, even if I ask myself to be truthfully honest (bare bones completely naked type honesty), I can only truthfully answer that I’m actually having a lot of fun.

I’m happiest, I suppose, because I’m allowed to write. And this is actual writing. Writing with a stake in hand, with actual readership to inform and entertain, with lots to lose and lots to gain. Writing with a degree of creativity and freedom. Writing with enjoyment.

It’s perhaps still early to say, being only two weeks, but I think I like this job.

I just hope I don’t catch myself here months later to bitch or blame or bombard in a show of pure, utter hypocrisy. Lets not get ahead of myself.

Ah, I’m hired as a Grade E5 Writer, the grade meaning absolutely nothing to me, unless it denotes my corporative rank, which is rightfully correct, then; I’m lowest of lowest, so to speak, and it’s the way to start off a career.

For the moment, I spend my time writing for the magazine, with the occasional proofreading and light editing in between. Away from work, I try to invest my time in picking up more knowledge to improve upon the topic of which is my magazine’s niche (which, sad to say, is not exactly my strong point).

I went to work at the calm before the turmoil, of which wasn’t anything chaotic, nor exactly immense in workload (yet), but takes up long hours of the day. In a twisted sort of manner, I found myself working midnights at the second week at work. It wasn’t a horrific experience; on the contrary, I actually enjoy it very much.

Right now I face a third week, which so happens at the start of the month, and I expect to start doing work a little more independently.

I have my own business card now. It makes me feel… yeah. Whoa yeah.

*********

Some stuff before I sleep:



I’m a wee bit disappointed; perhaps I was overhyped a bit. But it looks beautiful.

Here, a song I dedicate to those who remember, and are remembered:





Bonne nuit!

Silver Flooring.

Which crackled and cracked when trodden on, probably because it’s just silver in colour as opposed to material.

I didn’t notice it, even if it was my third time entering the office. Not until I started wandering around to inspect the office oddities, which is aplenty, that I realised that somehow someone must’ve thought it a good idea to make half of the office floor silver.

Interesting, though.

I’m officially working, by the way.

It’s weird. It’s like I’m telling people that I’m actually a running cog in the vast clockwork we call society.

And today’s the first day. It went like I was whisked away into a dreamlike trance, and everything seemed new - seemed first.

I’m wasted right now. The weekend took its toll on me.

Right o.

Goodnight world.

*****

Wait, not quite.

Do yourself a great, big, self-gratifying favour, and pay a visit to http://15malaysia.com/

And watch the movie(s). And see for yourself the Malaysian cinema we could have, but couldn’t, because our censorship board are knuckleheads.

Right. Nites.

A sign:

Welcome to Morose.

To the right - a mountain, comprised of stitched nylon, cotton and various standardised fabric, revelling in its days-long amalgamation of dirt and stains.

Between the hinges and the door, the remains of a lizard - mummified by months of constant opening and closing - standing like a hieroglyphic warning to those who crawl and scuttle.

A war zone on a desk. Those fallen in battle remained, ignored by the world as it passes by, while the scenery changes by the whim of the Great Chubby Hands in its utter disregard of tidiness.

Also on the war zone; a grey shaver that would need a change of batteries.

Somewhere on the great marble desert, an ant is lost. It will eventually die of starvation or get unceremoniously trodden by a rampaging poodle.

Vines of a great forest, in fact a wiring nightmare, is strewn on the ground, coiling and trapping dust in its rubbery grip.

Speaking of dust, it covers approximately 80% of the land’s surface. Various organisms have begun thriving on it.

The sun of this land is dying; it flickers and wanes, and yet the Gods refuse to let it retire in peace.

Like the sighing of wind, or the howling of wolves, ungainly music floats across the land and engulfs all in its sombreness.

The Dirge sings.

------

On the day the sun died, a Goddess entered. And she brought change to the world.

The mountain diminished, raised to the sky from the earth. Thus, the land became cleaner.

The war zone became a land of peace. The remains of the fallen were claimed (Dust-cling Special Cloth), and the shaver replaced to its rightful place, its batteries changed.

The dust were consumed by the coming of the Great Vacuum. Gone also were its inhabitants.

The vines retracted, and only coil at the dark edges of the land, as with most lands of unseen and foretold danger.

The sun is substituted. The new sun shines proudly and basks the land in its fluorescent eminence.

Legends were spun. Songs were sung. They all tell of the same thing;

With the Goddest came Rapture. The land is now purged.

The sign now reads;

Tír na nÓg

The Land of Eternal Youth.

And just because they’re perpetually youthful, the land shall eventually return to its dire state. As time has proven, history fucks itself up.

Come back in a week or two.

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

In the Essence of Absence, Hiatuses or Those Really Long Breaks,

It would probably be more conducive for me to simply summarise the events of the past weeks into bullets. This is because with bullets, or as we Malaysians like to refer to as ‘Point Form’, everyone is happy.

(Fun fact: Bullets make quick work of everything. I’m talking about every type of bullets.)

Anyway;

--> A karaoke session with friends, in which shouting is singing and my going out of tune can be mercifully (and ignorantly) passed as a hum of a passing bee.


-->I was actually actively seeking jobs. And now I am pending the call that will tell me (in James Jonah Jameson’s quick and piercingly pain voice) that “You’re fired. Oh, you haven’t worked with me yet? You’re hired. And now you’re fired. Haha.”

--> Job interviews are an exercise of not trying to limn the room and fighting the urge to leap off the window.

--> Two days ago, I went on a stage, shook hands with Steven Tan and retrieved my graduation scroll (in fact an empty cylinder). And I tossed my mortar board. And I had a great, thankfully simple after-grad celebration.

Oh, and I’m in just about my final week of household liberty, as the father will be returning from his Euro-trip soon. I have therefore subjected myself to as much anarchy as it would allow without the complete obliteration of my house.

I’ve also been spending some time helping out the grandmother, as the grandfather had gone down to Johor to terrorise my maid-less cousins. I have actually learnt how to placate the baby as much as I can.

Those aside, life is a still a great big town square to bum in. If you’d excuse me, I’d like to return to the bench overlooking the fountain, where the people passing will notice me scowling at them like they owe me lunch.

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

Why hadn’t I been writing lately? I’m rather hopelessly addicted to Battlefield Heroes.

And Wolfteam.

And I’ve finished [PROTOTYPE], and now getting started on Far Cry 2.

And during my trips to accompany grandma, I’ve been returning to FF12.

I now await the great arrival of Batman: Arkham Asylum.

(Somebody save me).

Another death.

First, the wonderment: Death, or the presumption of it? Second, the confirmation. The cold, relentless embrace of realisation, the feeling of world’s harsh reality wrapping around the face like plastic garbage bags. Third, the reaction: stone indifference, or tears, or shock, or uncompromised disgust.

Shock. And indifference, this time. A mingling crawl of disgust somewhere, because it is a gutter-hole death, and because the only thing on my mind was how to tell the father.

Wore gloves. Removed body. Put it on newspaper. Rigor mortis had settled. Looked like it was on a mid-sprint. Eyes half-opened. Still dark, still emotionless. Still exuding a helpless feature - something frail, something small.

Wrapped it up in plastic bag. TESCO. Dad took care of the rest.

I’m starting to feel like I’ve seen it all. And then, knowing that I haven’t, I started wondering if I’ll see it till the time I see mine.

Probably not. For one, I won’t rear any more rabbits if I can help it.

The air of black omens. A permeated smog that curled with the cigarette smoke, that swirled with the ceiling fan. That settled on the furniture and the hair, that adumbrated the mind like a veil, like a shade.


A black rabbit in the gutter.

Nihil agere delectat - It is pleasant to do nothing. (Cicero)

Been bumming around at home. I’m starting to look like a hobo.

I can be lying on the floor right now, and my father will kick me accidentally, making me foam in the mouth, and he would still yell at me to go sleep someplace else.

Amazingly, the yesterday was a busy day. But it was busy in the way that I’m doing something I’ve been cheated into. I’ve wasted hours of my life (that I could’ve spent, in the most conducive of things, writing and bumming some more).

Today, equally, was a busy half-day. Again, I was cheated. I got a lot of sun.

Posted something on Monochrome Smogs. Something I just finished and is too lazy to proofread. Maybe the Internet elves will do it for me.

Bulldog Mansion is fun (it’s not a game. Look it up).

I need an RPG.

Oh, I’m quite sure I didn’t hear this from the movie, and it’s apparently for the lacklustre game;



And because I’m so damn bored right now, if someone were to commission me to write something, anything, at all, I’ll do it. Just don’t expect something good. But I’ll do it. Commission me. Go ahead.

(Wait, nobody reads this. Nobody comes here. Or do they? What in God-forsaken reasons are you here for?)

The Dandelion Effect, i.e:

The probable instance where all thoughts form into strands that lead to other strands, that lead to other strands, that lead to other strands, and so forth.


The massive, muddled, disordered grouping of ideas and brilliance and idiocy that join together in convulsive vagary.


The coming of the prominent wind to sweep away every strand of intellectual ruminations, that eventually leaves the mind in a state of penury and/or emptiness.


To be proposed as the primary method of deducing the telepathic interaction between man and bovina; as such in the case of Man and Cow (1975), in which the Cosmopolitan Effect was used to study such telepathic exchange, I will proceed with the application of the Dandelion Effect in a similar study.


As the presence of the cow (Bos Taurus) in the house highly perturbs the mental condition of other subjects, I will be using the common goat instead (Capra aegagrus hircus).


Man is identified as ‘Jorge Chainmaker’, to be abbreviated as J.C.


Occupation: farmer. Age: 33. Sex: Male (orientation, however, presumably bisexual).


Subjects will be placed in close proximity to one another in an enclosed area (20ft x 20ft), and telepathic interaction between will be recorded and subsequently discerned using the Dandelion Effect.


The results will, undeniably, in words of more literary finesse, ‘shatter the world of science.’


Once funding is completed, the study will proceed immediately.


Funding pending.


(Cheques, money order and PayPal are accepted)


*********

Funding pending.

At any rate, think of it as a contribution to science and the possibly benefits it will bring to the future of humanity.

I take cash, too.

***********

It’s past midnight. I’m supposed to be asleep, so as to maintain a sober posture when I wake at 6 in the morning in preparation to supervise over the minute maids coming in to keep the house in its civil, habitable state. Obviously, sleeping now is uncalled for. Unfortunately, it is both an act of stubbornness and idiocy, as tonight shall - and will - not provide any form of entertainment for me to strive in this consciousness with cause and reason.



It is therefore between going to sleep, highly disgruntled for being put to bed early (forced, incriminatingly, by the lack of activity; damn the injustice) or stay awake with the half-baked boast (and false assurance) that the night shall call for writing that is, at most, genius in the making.



Ergo, the mocking jeer of the blank page, constantly filled with words that were subsequently wiped clean unceremoniously, such like waves over the testimonials written on the sun basked sands, was a grief too hard to bear in a night as such. Ergo, the collapse of the human mind.



Ergo, the Dandelion Effect.



I’m going to bed.

Yeah, I found out after all these years; Bustin’ makes me feel GOOD.

Something happened today that made me very happy. A couple of hours later I realised that the happiness was something like a glorious puppet show, which is wonderful to look at and get lost in; magic, wonderment and lights. Then, when you remember that they’re just socks on a person’s hand, the magic just ebbs away.

Kill-show, I suppose; it’s the same as knowing the tricks to a magic show before hand. Nothing works.

Finally settled down to read A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon, and having finished it, found 6 empty pages at the back of the book, which purpose escapes me. Normally a publisher will deck it with excerpts from another book or with book order forms or with interesting adverts. 6 empty pages is strangely peculiar, and a little fascinating. To top it off, A Spot of Bother is about the subtleties of going insane very politely, and it got me wondering if 6 empty pages might mean something more than just pointless filler space.

Next, I’m going to try and really finish The Harmony Silk Factory. I’ve started over twice and each time I just managed to reach half of the first part. And now that I’ve forgotten everything (expect, perhaps, the Amazing Toddy Machine), I’ll just have to start from the beginning.

Quote of the week:

“This is a sign, Stuart, like the burning bush, except its a carburettor and I'm not Moses. But it's telling us something: Let your people go!”

- Snowbell the Cat (or Nathan Lane in another voice-work master class) -

That’s from Stuart Little 2, which I’ve rewatched with the first one a couple of days back, out of complete boredom and sheer curiosity if I can like a children’s show now that I’m watching it as an adult. For odd reasons, I laughed really hard when I heard that.

(To which Stuart Little, the intrepid Little brother and stout-hearted mouse, replied by saying; “We’re not giving up!”. And off he went to find a balloon to carry him up to the Pishkin Building to rescue his good friend Margalo the bird.)

I’ll be honest; I still enjoyed both movies. I guess if you like something young you’d still like it when you’re older.

This, however, does not apply to Michael Bay’s Armageddon.

*****

When I grow up, I want to be a Ghostbusters.

Of course, the most I could do is probably purchase a life-size replica of the Proton Pack and run around KL in a jumpsuit (and get mobbed and assassinated by our local bomohs, who’d figure well enough that I’ll ruin their businesses, directly or indirectly).

Or pick up Ghostbusters: The Video Game, and play it with the intensity of finally being able to live out a childhood dream in virtual simulation, the way all of us will be able to with nanotechnology in the near future by having a special nose inhaler.

The game is a blast. And the fact that it’s written by Dan Akroyd and Harold Ramis, who penned and created the movies; and also that all the actors from the original returned to do voice work (no Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis, though), makes it the crème de la crème of every Bustin’ fan.

Too bad it’s short. I ran through it in 4 sittings. That’s 8 hours.

(In the gaming world, that’s close to ripping off your money).

*******

Some Jin Bora (or Bora Gene, as she is known internationally - thanks, Amber :P) before I head to bed;





I can’t find anymore of her. Youtube only has as much in good quality.

Right, time to crash. Goodnight people.

That Figment - The Dream, the Cobwebs, the Submarine with Anthrax Torpedoes.

I had the most wonderful dream ever. Then, 10 minutes later, my father called me and told me that Michael Jackson has passed away.

Just like Christopher Reeve, like Steve Austin, like Bernie Mack and Heath Ledger, my first response was, “serious shit?”. Afterwards, it was pretty much facing the facts and letting the truth sink in, and then realising that they weren’t anyone important to me.

They were, however, important people to the world.

I paid my tributes. I did a small R.I.P in the featured YouTube videos with the words, “Forever the Thriller.” Along with the several millions that came after it, it got swallowed and vanished, leaving a ghost of a tribute that may or may not matter.

And then, at a whim, I modded my Left 4 Dead main menu so that - instead of the lighthouse and the wonderfully eerie music playing - it would feature a part of the Thriller MTV.

It looks something like this:



I had a smile every time I turned on the game today.

Rest in Peace, venerable King of Pop.

*****

I don’t remember the last time I dreamt something that made me groan when I woke up.

It’s just as much as disappointing in finding out that it’s both a dream and that it ended - like most good dreams - too damn soon.

It bugged me for the rest of the day. Like words, told to you, that stayed in your head for hours on end telling you about things that are and aren’t and may be, and you know yourself that you can’t do jack about it.

I think I’m letting it bother myself too much.

Reading this? Being bothered by a wonderful dream? Irony?

It made me sing to my dogs as I bathed them. It made me stare outside the car windows at non-existent stars. It made me access my Facebook account for the first time in half a year.

Dear god, it made me look for Korean jazz. (Jin Bora, however, is one fantastic pianist. And she’s just about my age.)

What’s in a dream?

True desire, or a fragment of fantasy?

(Are submarines equipped with Anthrax torpedoes?)

Goodnight people.

Boredom births stuff like this.

So it wasn’t the best of days. I went to sleep with a nascent flu and woke up with it gone, but substituted with a parched throat that threatened to sore and a steady rise in temperature. Then I washed the car with the dad and went out to buy dinner, in a night that was devilishly trying to replicate the Kansas tornado.

I took two pills and went to sleep, assured that the label stating that the drowsiness that follow would probably carry me off into next morning, hopefully better.

I was awakened by a dysfunctional family, arguing on my bedpost (“The wedding, dear; we simply must have Brussels.” “I think she meant mussels.”). And, when I tried to sleep again, they hung around and decided to up the ante (“They hated the idea. They hated it. They made seem as clear as the god-damned people who built Times Square.” “Now, dear, it doesn’t really matter, does it?” “For hell it does.”).

And when I did fell asleep, I was at lunch with a high school friend I hadn’t seen for 5 years.

I wanted to ask him how’s he doing, but it seemed that it was a consciousness I could only be aware of but not tap into.

We were eating roti canai, in a cafeteria that looks sort of like something you’d find in a prison; plastic tables that and chairs that stuck to the ground, coloured grey and black. A lot of people were eating, but they appeared blur and they all wore school uniforms.

My friend said, YouKnowTheTimeWePlayedWithTheBoysFromYuHua?

(Oh, counter-strike. Ok.)

Yeah, I said. Yeah.

ManTheyWereCheating. FellaHadSv_CHeatsOnAndWeDidn’tKnow

(Oh, we lost. Ok.)

Yeah, I said. I remember.

He said, OK.

And the dream moved on to class in university (didn’t I graduate? What?), and a DVD shop where they didn’t have Indiana Jones, and the usual twisted amalgamation of colours and sounds and voices I can’t remember.

I was awakened by a dysfunctional family talking on my bedpost (“Jamie, would you please turn off that computer and come down here for dinner?”). The biggest bummer was that it was only 1 hour and a half since I fell asleep, and I was soon left fresh awake and coughing and really wishing I can just find a cafeteria someplace and order lemon tea.

I had to watch Madagascar 2 to fall asleep. Yeah, I didn’t like it very much.

And I’m really, really bored.

****

Good thing, though; by this morning the throat turned from parched into a well-watered savannah and the fever pretty much ebbed away by the afternoon.

I bathed the puppy and cleaned the brother’s car and watched Night at the Museum 2 while trying my best to refrain from eating the peanuts (just as I thought; if I didn’t enjoy the first one, I can’t enjoy the second one. Good thing it had Amy Adams).

Did some trailer digging and I found this one;



As expected, it pretty much appalled Bryan. But I must say; it’s looking a little better than I expected.

(That’s because I secretly enjoy M. Night Shyamalan. Even the sucky movies. I found Lady in the Water to be refreshingly inspirational and The Happening a comedy in the disguise of an apocalyptic horror film).

Ah, and Disney is bringing Ponyo to the US with an English dub.



Which means a proper DVD might arrive soon. That’s good news.

Lastly, the best short story I’ve read all this week by An Author You’ll Never Know:

http://eastoftheweb.com/short-stories/UBooks/BaggStor721.shtml

Goodnight people.

Feeding the Gods of Degradation.

Perhaps not something someone would’ve done very constantly, but I found myself going through the older posts here (those 3 years ago, when I was considerably much similar to myself now than anything). It took a lot of wincing; reading older things you wrote might or might not do that to you. I won’t say I’ve improved. I do, however, regret that 3 years ago, I could write anything.

3 years ago I don’t think I’ve ever given much thought over anything I’ve written and posted. The aftermaths of which was never really concerned about until it swings onto my face, the force of a wrecking ball.

These days, I think I think too much while writing. It saves me from some humiliation, if whatever I wrote ever did it, but damn - I mean, just writing whatever and whatever else, it’s the sort of free-flight sensation that seems like something a lifetime ago. I guess I missed it.

I guess I’m envious.

Have I made a step forward? Maybe, maybe. But it feels like leaving the great green meadow to find that blue cubicle with a grey desktop and grey keyboard and orange mug of cold tea.

****

I used to like doing this, just for the heck of it;

The word of the day today is Ebullient.

\ih-BUL-yuhnt\

1. Overflowing with enthusiasm or excitement; high-spirited.
2. Boiling up or over.

Supposedly, it helped with my vocabulary, which never improved anyhow. But at least I learnt Genuflect and Nonagenarian and Nimiety.

An example in using Ebullient:

The glasses he wore for astigmatism gave him a deceptively clerkish appearance, for he had an ebullient, gregarious personality, a hot temper, and an outsized imagination.
-- Jon Lee Anderson, Che Guevara: A Revolutionary Life

These are taken from Dictionary.com’s Word of the Day e-mails, which never failed to arrive nightly, though I’ve taken a long backseat in actually reading them.
Well, I guess there’s no harm trying pick it up again.

Learnt something new today…

*******

I feed my soul to the Gods of Degradation.

(Bottled. And. Suckled. And. Over. Dinner.)

They complain that it’s not wholesome enough. Something about imbalanced meals.

Django Reinhardt sings to me with his guitar, his two fingers are four and six and eight and a hundred and eighty five. Stéphane Grappelli joins him and so was the Quintette du Hot Club de France.

Jeepers Creepers, they play. Nothing scary here. It’s only jazz.

Ba. Da. Dadadadadadada.

I sit here all day. I sit here and I watch something. Then I read something. Then I play something nice. Then I go and tinkle and come back and sit. And these hands here they stick tubes in me that link to pipes that link to valves that open to a big gigantic thingy that processes the stuff and put them in bottles and the big boss drinks it, labels it, sends it to his friends.

I need to get out. I need to go park myself at the nearest avenue and leer at the world like they owe me 60 bucks.

But these pipes. They never leave.

And Jeepers Creepers.

Ba. Da. Dadadadadada.

A couple of leftovers.

From the Penang trip. I didn’t take a lot of pictures; comparably, anyhow, to Langkawi or Bangkok, or even Betong. And I didn’t write a lot about it either, mostly because I know everything else would be comprehensively covered the good people whom I went with.

The guard.

This was a weird house. It had a helmet guarding the barbed wires where the gate should be, and looking inside was a manner of oddities. Most interesting, at the window sill, was a deity of Kuan-yin with three D size Eveready batteries in front of it; you’d wonder why the incense were substituted. I noted that candles were lighted there at night, when we passed by.

(It was very obviously occult, though if Bryan hadn’t pointed out its immense peculiarity I would’ve ended up walking in and checking it out and, quite possibly, manage to get something else following me out.)

Anyhow;

The Penang Baptist Church. Which has interesting architecture, and a neon cross. See the red?

These were all taken during the walk shortly after arrival, in which the destination was;

Biscuits. Ghee Hiang.

For all that's worth; that red thing there looked tasty.

Which conjured this odd individual here doing these things;

What the...

Stop getting into my shots

And then; Mansion!

The taking of Pelham 123

Le Gurney Drive;

The smell of fish markets and bogus dead-sea mud

The Maharajah had everything; a grand kingdom, treasures in mountains, personal harems, exotic summer getaways and an awesome turban.

Yep, life is good.

And the he lost everything.

"NOOoooooo..." "GYAhuaaAhuaahAaha!" (ok, he's gonna kill me for this)

And then we got all pose-y, and Li Mei took this shot;

Huff! Happy Birthday XP


Right. I’m all lazy now. Goodnight people.

*********
Maybe some music before i go:




From Sword of the Stranger, composed by Naoki Sato.

For the record, Sword of the Stranger is a decent movie. Nothing too new or too great, but you'd dig the fight scenes, the characters and the sweeping score.

Ah, and also:



From The Sky Crawlers. Composed by Kenji Kawai. The score here reminds me of another Mamoru Oshii movie, Ghost in the Shell. Wait. It's the same composer.

This movie, on the other hand, was refreshingly engrossing, even if it has fewer dogfights and high-flying action as the title might imply. Instead, it's more of a character study type of movie. Riveting.

Life, the Universe, and Everything.

I am standing on the threshold about to enter a room. It is a complicated business. In the first place I must shove against an atmosphere pressing with a force of fourteen pounds on every square inch of my body. I must make sure of landing on a plank travelling at 20 miles a second round the sun - a fraction of a second too early or too late, the plank would be miles away. I must do this whilst hanging from a round planet, head outward into space, and with a wind of aether blowing at no one knows how many miles a second through every interstice of my body.

(Arthur Eddington 1882 - 1944)
- British astrophysicist. -

That was taken from A Treasury of Memorable Quotations, courtesy of Bryan and Li Mei, the former having tricked me to walk a good distance across a mall and into the parking lot to retrieve it. I haven’t complained; it was an excellent present. I can’t thank them enough.

On the other hand, I have to books to write things into; one a Moleskinne planner from Pauline (by jove, she better be truthful about it being on sale), another a completely empty hardbound journal by the 5th Aunt, who saw well enough that the one thing I really wanted was a book with empty pages.

Ah, that was just about the birthday I neglected to write about, above many other things.

*****

This will be a long post.

Undoubtedly, because I neglected to update at all for the past… gee, two months.

Truthfully, it’s because I told myself that I wouldn’t write anything irrelevant to work until I’ve handed up my FYP and finished my exams.

Truthfully truthfully, I broke that oath by writing a short story in the course of 8 hours (into the wee hours of the morning, and completed close to noon after a quick snooze), which I submitted to the MPH short story prize, which I expected not to win anything or even mentioned at all.

And I’ve procrastinated several more weeks so that other post-exam pleasuring would take up my free time.

And now, with most of the fun done away, I have lost all excuse not to start.

Right. Take it away, Mr Sulu.

*****

Hmm.

There was a class party. Yeah.

Here’s a picture:

The quintessential class photo

The food was great. And there was a lot of picture-taking.

Funny thing is, thinking back at it now, it felt nostalgic. Maybe because there was something magical about it. Great nights do. Then again, maybe it’s because I went to the club later that night and drank some J-Walkers and, hating it (and the place, of dark and noisy sobriety), went out and played pool before driving home with the windows down.

(I figure if I had written about it shortly in the days after the party, there would’ve been more pictures and more thing said, but it’s been 2 months now and I don’t quite remember what I had wanted to say about it).

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

My last day as a student.

Probably not.

I think someone said that we’re always and perpetually a student of life.

Until we die, that is.

Then again, whoever said that we never learn in death?

I guess I should be writing a credo, or a memoir, or a passing expression of farewell and gratitude, to my last days as a student. Sometime ago it was at the tip of my ‘to-dos’, but now, if I would have written it, I wouldn’t be entirely truthful.

If I’m being truthful, I would say, It’s been a jolly good 2 years.

And would’ve left it at that.

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

Post exams;

1) Ensure, with immaculate planning and good judgement of parental behaviour, that I do not pass myself off as a loafing, goofing, and ultimately lazing unemployed man, but rather a loafing, goofing and ultimately lazing graduate.

2) Think about the future. The next 10 minutes. Garlic bread will be nice with VONO instant soup (just add hot water… genius, genius).

3) Go on a trip with friends. At least once.

Number 3 did indeed materialise. I found myself on one fair Monday sitting at the backseat of a car prepped in both equipment and spirit of a road trip down to Penang. I had packed a small bag which eventually grew bigger as the mother decided that enough is never enough (for it has to be sufficient, with extras for emergencies; what if a tsunami were to hit and you run out of dry socks?).

So it’s about food. And a lot of picture taking (not necessarily on my part). And the sea. Ah yes, the sea.

And here, Li Mei caught me reminiscing about the cold arctic ocean of which was once my home.

Stay cheap, by the way; go to YMCA.

These are tourists, by the way. You can tell from the slippers

And as fate would have it, we actually ran into classmates on a west-coast adventure, going North to South.

All i can say is; It's a really small world

With most of my money allocated to food, the only things I bought home were 11 odd DVDs (going for dirt cheap) and a remote-control car.

It’s something else, going with friends. The liberty is at the expense of our stamina and durability of our feet. The pacing entirely at our leisure. And we can literally go high and don’t give a shit about anyone else.

You have to have it, you know. At the end of something, it’s always good to go to the sea.

I swear to God, it skipped. Twice.

Feels like you’re there to throw something back. And watch the waves swallow it.

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

Ah, about Number 1 earlier. Let’s just say: Mission Failed.

I’m now officially, in the eyes of my parents, unemployed. Means I’m currently a parasitic entity and some sort of weeding has to happen.

Means I need to get out of the house, and do something.

Only that I don’t feel like doing anything yet. At least, for this week. I’m still in a lazing mood.

I haven’t written my resume yet.

Oh heck.

11.11

It had felt familiar. Somehow.

Like I was there before. One way or the other. Front-row centre, or at the Box, with binoculars, listening and grasping the rhythm.

Oh right.

This has happened before.

This was the precipice. This was the edge of things where the next wrong step is the eternal plummet. This was where I sometimes kneel to look over, wondering how far the fall, or how wonderful.

And how dark.

I was so close to falling.

Too close.

Never again…

******

I’ve never had the chance to say this, but I’ve got to at any rate, because it’s somewhere part good news, somewhere part nightmare;

We have a poodle puppy now.

A mini type, which is not quite as large as the regular, not quite as tiny as the Toy. She’s dark chestnut with a patch of white on her chest. She’s gnawing my toes off as I write.

Her name is Missy. I don’t know why I named her that. The parents, however, didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s the first dog that I named that they did - and could not - pronounce wrongly.

And since my brother and I are the type to give our dogs full names, her name would be Missy Colette du Fromage.

She smells of milk. And sometimes, cheese.

(For the record, Missy was the name everyone could agree upon, after Anya and Camille by me, and Mochi-Mochi by dad).

We adopted her from my mother’s client, whose poodle had a litter of 6; three of them which died. The lady was worried that the mother wouldn’t be able to care for the other pups properly, and had to give them out. Dad immediately jumped on the idea and voila; a cage in the house, and a puppy who has little mercy for my toes.

She’s grown on us. Especially me. Every warm night at the computer completing work, and she was there asleep by my feet, occasionally pawing my heels.

I’ve broken it to brother. He isn’t taking it too well.

***********

It’s friggin March now.

I won’t deny that I’m counting, but gee; times are so fast now that I couldn’t even remember when it was normally paced.

2 more till 22.

Hum dee dum…

(It starts first with nonsense)

I paid a visit to an Eskimo which I hadn’t seen for a very long time.

The last time I met him, I was dying in the bathroom after some bad food, and he was fishing on top of some ice, telling me that it was not my time. It was otherworldly; I thought I was in heaven or something, you know? Or some sort of limbo, made from the state of your mind, which differs from everyone. A special place. Unique to each individual.

Today I was dying again, and I didn’t know if it was breakfast or the amalgamation of everything chili which I’ve eaten, in bulk, over the weekend. I was probably in cardiac arrest when it all turned cold, and I was watching things in flurries of snow and ice, bounding around towards someplace I didn’t know.

I was on a sled, sitting behind him, hands around his waist. He turned to me, dark-tinted Oakley goggles reflecting my face. “Not so tight,” he said, and I loosened my grip.

We rode for sometime; all I could see was his parka and snow and glimpses of the sky, and there was no way to tell what was pulling the sled or if we’re going downhill.

The stop was sudden, but smooth. He walked off, dusting snow off his shoulder, while I struggled to stand.

I think it was the edge of the ice. The ocean was just there, flopping silently by our feet. I thought it was familiar.

“Back again, eh?” he said. “Couldn’t help what you eat, can’t you?”

“Nope. Born to live that way.”

“Pfft.” He bit the end of the cigar, spat, and lit it with a Copenhagen lighter.

“So, my time is now?”

“No. But the next time, can’t be sure. Just watch what you eat.”

“Will do.”

“Now fuck off,” he said, and settled down on the snow. And I was back, breathing. I went to run the taps and made for the medicine.

Twice in a lifetime, and I’m not 25 yet.

*****

It’s hot, which is probably why the parents are asleep, and they’ve actually skipped the 9.30 drama for it. If nothing’s new, that’s new.

I’m still waiting for the room to cool down before I attempt to hit the sack, and despite the heat, it was a good night to write, hence the utter nonsense you probably had to read through in the top part of this post (you poor, poor creature).

An old friend popped up online, and we chatted for a bit. We hadn’t IMed for a good half-a-year; I’d occasionally drop by her blog whenever I remembered, and she’s doing great apparently, and will be down to KL on March and asked if I wanted to go retrieve our diploma together (fuck, it’s been 3 years. I wonder if they still keep it).

She’s teaching now, and she seemed rather happy about it. And I read about meeting someone, and the story that came with it. All in all, she’s just as about set on the Path of Life. Makes me wonder about myself; the senseless floundering, floating where I could afford to float, dreaming and ambitioning but seeing it from a distance.

Also makes me reminisce about College. The sense of it, at least. Something like standing on the gateway arc to someplace new and wonderful. Only, well, tonight is something more like seeing that arc after a long, long time.

Makes me want to call a few people, and ask them out for drinks, just to talk about old times, and about the new.

I’m starting to think it’s the heat.

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

My addictions (stemming from the uber awesomeness of finally getting a set of speakers that play my music wonderfully);







And they’re all from the movie Slumdog Millionaire, in case the vids didn’t tell you clearly enough. It’s Bollywood, yes (the music; the movie, still distinctly British), so it’s either hit or miss for you.

I’m rooting for A.R. Rahman to win the Oscar. I’m just as much addicted.

You need the VISITOR’S PASS.

I start the day with jam.

Apricot; the dregs of it, that clung to the walls of the jar. It didn’t do me any good, mostly because I only had one piece of bread. Cooked some noodles later, with egg and chilli.

And then, for the life of me, traffic jam.

Something to do during jams; start wondering aloud. You probably can’t be heard, amidst the muffled honks and cursing, and if someone spotted you doing it they’d wonder how long they’d take to start to turn into you.

I tried the dad’s detour, that made a sneaky pass through University Malaysia through several different turns and ways, bypassing the Fed Highway altogether. The downside is, you’ll have to pass yourself as a student or bluff your way through the security guards. Normally I’d pass myself off (even my dad did; but maybe they thought he was dropping me off), but today, with things suddenly stricter, they noticed my lack of a UM sticker, which was always (I noticed) emblazoned somewhere top right of any student’s car.

They motioned me to wind down the window. I already had a bluff prepared.

“Just to drop something off to my brother. He’s in the accountancy block.” Just left of the accountancy block is the exit into Jalan University, and 5 minutes from Uni.

“You’ll have to park yourself there, and take the visitor’s pass.”

Shit.

And I had to toss my IC into the guard house, make a round around the campus grounds (rather beautiful by the way, and certain spots overlooking the lake would be one of those poster shots of students under trees with books and laptops), and then return for my IC. Only then I get to drive off and head for class. By then I was already late 45 mins, and had to conclude an answer to a question I barely had time to comprehend (bull-crapped my way through, and winged it).

All in all, I spent one hour 45 to reach a class that lasted (for me) 15 minutes, just to conclude an answer I didn’t give. Oh, and twice the petrol intake of that of a normal day.

****

Lunch was wonderful, and it was Kin Kin’s original spicy pan mee, which was heavenly when I first tasted it; still heavenly now, only that the kick seemed to have lost itself between the 4 spoonfuls of chilli I took.

Dessert, which happened way, way later, was some awesome ice-shaved honey dew thingy with sago topping off every inch.

I was, however, more distracted by the new set of speakers I bought, which emptied the ang pows for this year. I was so distracted by it that I forgot I bought Burnout Paradise for the PC.

Which is in my bag. Ah right.

And I also bought peanuts.

They’re stale now. Shoot.

It's like an oven, only with a little more mercy.

Right now, I’m wishing I can drink that can of coke in the fridge, in my father’s currently unused porcelain glass filled to the brim with ice.

But right now, there’s no ice. And even if I’m tempted to drink it off the can, I wouldn’t, because the can is as warm as though someone had sat on it for a good 2 hours.

That’s because, right now, in the hottest of hottest nights, the new fridge came, and with it being just plugged in 5 minutes ago, I’d bet my toenails that the can of coke is only drinkable by midnight tonight. By then, I think I’ve already melted into goo.

Hot.

Hot.

I was starting to think if my father had a windfall one of these days; new fridge aside (of which, he claimed, had to be bought, as the old fridge was losing its ability to keep itself shut), he went and got a magma lamp (which, I think, is more like an artificial aquarium; it’s a tube that’s a little phalanx-like and it has bubbles and plastic fish in it. Symbolic) and a new all-in-one printer.

The printer was a given, however. We found out the old IP 3000 wouldn’t print anything anymore, and he flew into impulse-buy mode and we picked this one off an offer in All-IT Kajang.

The printer comes with a scanner, which is a Yay.

He almost bought me a speaker set for the PC. I refused. He got rather agitated about it (I had refused him flat-out in front of the sales-clerks and he couldn’t have been happy with it), but I didn’t tell him I was aiming for something a little higher than what we saw. Nope. It’s something I’ll be getting myself, for myself.

What with the new things around the house, his mood is considerably cheery now. Great welcome, especially in such hot nights, where temper from any side might just escalate into a full-fledge bush fire.

Man it’s hot.

Now, to help mom with acquainting the new fridge with the magnets.

******

EDIT: Some bargain bin luck these days;

1) A Study in Scarlet by A. Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes’ First Case, for the uninformed) for 12 buckaroos.
2) Star Wars: The Revenge of the Sith OST by John Williams for RM9.90, about 40 bucks off.

3) A lonely DVD copy of Misery, directed by Rob Reiner, for 7.90, found in some unknown video store at Giant Kajang.

Man, being a cheapskate pays off sometimes.

After the Big Red Celebration (less Red this year, probably due to the recession and a funeral last year), and after unchecked and largely semi-conscious acts of massive bingeing, it was as though the world withered away.

And in the darkness, I started seeing goats. Grey ones, brown ones, Disney ones, which all started head butting an oversized cardboard cut-out of the Marlboro Man. And I thought, the world’s gone to the goats. There’s nothing we can do. Like the full cycle of life, it always end and start with goats. The song of the world; the first tune, resonated and echoed among hills and canyons, was MEEEeekkkkkkk.

MEEEeekkk became the wind, that the wind made the waves, and the waves cut the rocks and turn them to sand and from the salt came life, MEEeeekkkk was the first word it says.

And then it’s the Planet of the Goats.

Such easily were we forgotten.

******

I had to write that down.

Admittedly, the sole reason that I’ve been putting off blogging for so long was because I forgot how to write nonsense. Nonsense is the best thing to write. Nonsense is shaped with the whimsicality of clouds and the carelessness of freedom, and if you don’t know the therapeutic properties of utter and inconsequential nonsense, you’re either too uptight or you’re too bound to the seriousness the world demands.

Then again, too much nonsense means you’re crazy.

So, it’s after the Big Red Celebration, and the Big Damn Bingeing, and it was over and done with like an assignment you’re glad to rid off. Maybe it was because the brother isn’t here, but for all that’s worth, this year’s CNY was quiet. I welcome the newfound serenity. I detest the extra workload. Either way, I still rather dislike CNY.

Ang Pows are not incentives.

For now, classes were back on, with the holiday mood veiling over it, so it’s rather hard to see what’s going on and start focusing. The lecturers were speaking poetry behind their notes. It’s easy to fall beyond it. Sleep. Let the words wash over you.

Chap goh meh on Monday next, and hopefully the veil is taken down.

When it boils down to life…

I know the answer! The answer lies within the heart of all mankind! The answer is twelve? I think I’m in the wrong building.

- Charles Schulz- (1922 - 2000)

(For those that didn’t know, the great Charles Schulz authored and drew the comic strip Peanuts, which, above all things, one of the greatest things ever conceived by the minds of men and women.)


I’m going to repeat the word “great” again. I’m going to say that borrowing a book of 2458 of the best things anybody ever said, is great. Mainly because you get to read things like this;



No sane man will dance

- Cicero - (106 - 43 B.C)


And


To eat is human.
To digest is divine.

- Mark Twain - (1835 - 1910)



To which George Bernard Shaw, as if in agreement, said;



There is no sincerer love than the love of food.



Amen. Amen to all of that.

The best quote for me, however, was this one;



A blank page is God’s way of showing you how hard it is to be God.

-Unknown-


That one, I cannot disagree. In no any other way.

******

I realised that I forgot to mention where I got the blog layout from.

I got this one, and another one for Monochrome Smogs, here:

http://btemplates.com/

(Hehe, here you go, Essie.)

Monochrome Smogs is now displayed over Moleskine. I will always find that awesome.

*****

I’m still having marshmallows for brains. Exercise didn’t work. Trying shock-therapy.

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

Stop this Train (By John Mayer)

No, I'm not colorblind
I know the world is black and white
Try to keep an open mind
But I just can't sleep on this tonight

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

Don't know how else to say it
Don't want to see my parents go
One generation's length away
From fighting life out on my own

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can't
But honestly, won't someone stop this train?

So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said "help me understand"
He said "turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate"

"Don't stop this train
Don't for a minute change the place you're in
And don't think I couldn't ever understand
I tried my hand
John, honestly we'll never stop this train"

Once in awhile, when it's good
It'll feel like it should
And they're all still around
And you're still safe and sound
And you don't miss a thing
Till you cry when you're driving away in the dark
Singing

Stop this train
I wanna get off
And go home again
I can't take the speed it's moving in
I know I can
Cause now I see I'll never stop this train

A Notebook from long ago.

Everything now felt like marshmallow left too long over the fire; all gooey, sticky and falling apart, plus a little singed at the side.

Note 114 from the Dodgy Doctor Handbook (Harper Collins, 1988)

Excessiveness, or the expunging of any useful thought, logic and coherence, may lead the brain to turn into a 1400gm marshmallow. It will be all soft and squishy, and if you let it burn out over a fire it becomes taffy. Yum.

-Dr. Mack T. Shortenheim.-

Also, it makes you very lame. And you can’t decide if you’re being deliberately so or otherwise.

It also robs you of your writing capabilities. I feel mentally challenged (retarded).

Woot for 2009!

I’ve been trying to mess with the Blogger layout settings over the New Year holidays and somehow - despite it being idiot-proof now - managed to accidentally overwrite the blog’s layout and gadget placements, which pretty much turned the blog into a blank page of errors while deleting my links in the process. So I started template hunting, and settled for this one, which has a coffee-ring at the top corner like the one over at Nanowrimo.

And I’m not one that remembers whom I linked to in previous blogs, and what you see now is all that I’ve managed to salvage from my decrepit memory. I’m sure I’ve missed half. And if it’s your blog, would you kindly drop in a reminder?

I’ve not really settled over a proper title yet, so I named it The Pragadissio Notebook, an old notebook I lost which title meant nothing (I’ve searched, online and off, and really, it means nothing) for the time being.

This is as far I’m updating for tonight; I’ll only put up something proper once I sort out this marshmallow-of-a-brain problem. I hear some sort of exercise works wonders for it. According to Dr. Mack, anyway.

Gnites peops.

The Obligatory Pre-New Year Post.

Mostly because I feel that, as a writer, there is something at the end - and at the start of things - that has to be written about. I don’t know how it fits to logic, or reality, or anything else for that matter. I pretty much filed it as personal delirium - compulsiveness, if you may. That madness in all of us.

In truth, however, I have nothing to write about (gya-har-har-har).

Nope, I have not drawn my New Year’s resolution yet. It seemed like a pointless thing to do. That’s right; I’m one of those people who’d have the gall to draw a list and call it a Resolution, proclaiming to the world that by rule of death and living it shall and will be fulfilled… and then turning that list into a paper airplane to see if it flies well down the third storey. Oh dear goodness.

This year had been a wonderful year. Every year had been. I am a fortunate man (it feels odd, and maybe a little too ambitious, to put myself in that ‘man’ stature), and I have friends that make me feel like I’m loved. I am happy. And I hope somewhere I’ve made people happy too.

And I know that I’ve made people sad or angry; you always know if you did, intentional or not, and for that I apologise. Sorry doesn’t wipe the scar, but if it does something at all, then I can only say it, and ask that I’m forgiven somewhere.

I’ve not done a lot this year. Some I had promised, most I had not. I’ve done so little that looking back, it was a wasted year. The few that I did, well, were nothing. Maybe it wasn’t. But you’ll have to tell me. I don’t see anything myself.

But yeah, all in all, it was a good year.

And for that glorious ‘09, here’s to wishing that it will remain - at the least - like it was; and here’s to wishing that it will become something else entirely.

Something more beautiful, of course.

Happy New Year!





P.S: And to my good mates, namely Bryan, Kelvin, Pauline and Vic (and everyone else, even if you‘re not mentioned, but remembered in heart) ; in the good nature of 2009 being the year of the Ox, it’s gonna be full of Bull-crap.

Here’s to you, with hopes that you don’t take bull-crap from anyone, and that yes, bull-crap is very much welcomed if flung here in good jest XD.

Once again;

Happy end of 2008!

No Christmas Lights Tonight.

Somehow the power-box managed to short circuit itself, or at least the rain had helped in more ways than one, so that trying to turn on the lights to the garden Christmas tree (it’s not pine, not anything else, but it’s tall and it looks like any Christmas tree) will result in the main fuse tripping.

Not that it matters, since we don’t quite celebrate Christmas, but it’s nice to help brighten the festivities with a tree of blinking lights to decorate one small side of the road.

For a little bit of speciality the family decided on KFC for dinner, and guai ling-gao for dessert (bitter as hell, but a sign of good quality), and instead of a humble fire and some popcorn we sat and watched TV and cussed at the ever unchanging grievances of Hong Kong soap dramas (at least, dad and I did).

This evening we found the first grapes of the house.


We’ll we watching if more will follow, but from how my mother accidentally killed the other vine with her random trimming, the future looks bleak.

*****

Here’s a note for you, if you even plan to have a house with a garden that gives you a lot of space to plant and grow trees or flowers;

Avoid. Planting. Bougainvilleas.

They can look very nice, especially when good balances of rain and sun come around with the weather, and they can bloom into a menagerie of colours, and when the flowers shed onto the ground it can look like it came out of a Victorian painting (at certain perspectives, also depending on your tastes). But when it comes to upkeep, you either make it a point to trim it consistently, or prepare to hack at it one fine evening, ala Prince Phillip to rescue the Sleeping Beauty.

Damage report; several splinters, a couple of cuts, a thorn through the pirated Crocs and into my feet and twigs and brambles and leaves in the hair on both days of battle.

Also, I neglect to mention; as it is pretty much common for people to plant it by the fences, an untended bougainvillea can cause mega damage to it, as it grows outwards and if you have those wire-type fences, it can push it outwards and pretty much open up holes where it shouldn’t.

We don’t have wire-fences now, but I remembered that year where gardening led to discovering that the fence was fucked up by a rogue bougainvillea, which led to the father engineering his dream fence, which led to the most miserable month of self-construction, and golly, it had hurt so much.

Do yourself a favour, and skip on bougainvilleas. Pretty yes, but the thorns and the nature of it, it’s like something Maleficent herself would throw up for good measure.

***********

I don’t know why I keep finding stuff like this:



Oh, and this is some neat animation:



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

Ooh nuts, it’s pretty much belated since I uploaded it so late, but

Merry Christmas everyone.

And here’s wishing that you’re with the people you love and that you’re out giving love.

And if you don’t celebrate Christmas but just the holiday, I hope you had a great day.

Cheers!

That’s funny.

It’s already two years now. Two years since the last.

And these two years had been incident-free. In that sense.

There was one thing. But it’s different. Very.

There’s no asking why; the answer’s pretty much straightforward.

Laid like red apples, on white canvases.

I simply didn’t talk.

And unsurprisingly;

It’s what that makes it matter.

******

On a couple of side-notes (now yellow and Stick-It):

I’m back to a semester break and when put into perspective (by a late-night, accidental glance at a MSN private message), it’s the last semester break I’ll be having, for this course, at least. I doubt I’ll ever be in another course again so this is just as much as finale as the curtains drawn over the bowing actors.

Make the best out of it? Perhaps, haha…

It also opens up several new things to consider, but I’m not talking about that tonight. It wouldn’t quite fit. A better night would call for it, if it comes.

Ah, and there’s the matter of the new Prince of Persia game.

I like it. I don’t love it like I did with Sands of Time, but as far as this rebooting-of-the-series goes, it went on a beautiful, vastly joyous direction.

So, I heard there’s a sequel. Thank you.

Next stop, possibly, properly play Fallout 3.

And then there’s RE: Chain of Memories. And Persona 4.

For some reason, Christmas 2008 has been generous with games.

Yes, yes, I know; I have a final year project to complete and I’m way overdue. But golly, Christmas is soon. And there’s something about spirits and festivities and the universal agreement that a somewhat deprived gamer would get his games, no?

No?

What Christmas are you celebrating?

Sometimes I piss myself off. I’d piss myself with a bad case of urine infection and watch it stink, then feel the burn. Then go Fuck Shit Mama, it Hurts like Nails down the Pipelines. Hear it ring and clang? Clatter clatter clatter clatter.

The aftermath of it; I put it behind, among the shelves and old cabinets, and when something like this resurfaces I get to look back and say, well, been there, so might as well be careful. Maybe I’d forget it. I know myself to do it sometimes. At any rate, it was a stinking bad piss-off. Like bed-wetting incidents, I should just go hang it out to dry. Then spray some FeBreeze.

It’ll smell like pine, but beneath it all, you know it’s stained.

*****

Skipping Stones.

I miss doing those, really. Whenever I do it I happen to be with my brother, and we’d just start picking pebbles to fling them and compete to see whose stone can skip the most. He’d win, mostly. Sometimes I luck out. Importantly, however, was the sensation of seeing the stone skip across, leaving ripples at its wake, which mould into one another and become intricate, shimmering webs.

Ripples settle back into steadiness. Placidity, and unbroken calmness.

Then we’d toss another few more stones, and watch them skip.

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

Excuse what I just wrote above. I’ve been struck with a case of emo-ness lately and it had started to turn into a mess of boils and pus, so I better put it down in a more arranged manner. So it wouldn’t mutate. That might turn ugly.

Now, as I always do, and now it’s almost tradition, really, and a by-product of years and years of increasing laziness; I summarise 10 days worth of events in bullets and points, which saves time for both you and I, and goodness know we don’t have much of those lately:

1) Broadcast Journalism took several days to properly edit, and I’ve just taken a look at the marks the other and I thought it wasn’t anywhere bad, just nowhere great. No better results, truly.

2) My NaNoWriMo novel, somehow, managed to complete itself, at 50, 539 words. They gave me a few digital badges and a certificate that I can print and laminate and hung on the wall, but I think I’ll just keep it in the computer.

3) I fell sick. This sickness came with fever which made me hot and cold sometimes, to the point I had started wondering if it had to do with certain objects and the relative distance between myself and it; I lost voice for 3 days and mostly I couldn’t do anything but try and sleep.

4) I fucked up for Online JR assignment. That’s the easiest and least painful to way to put it.

5) After everything was finished, I went ahead and spent the afternoon completing Dead Space. I sat through the credits feeling rather shaky, and when they allowed me to return to the game with the equipment I had plus the new Stormtrooper looking suit I went ahead and spent some quality time stomping with brand new white boots.

6) I have managed to hitched an addiction towards Left 4 Dead, which is turning out to be one of the best zombie shooters out there, and one of the best co-op games I’ve had the pleasure to play.

7) I’m facing trouble for my Final Year Project, because I’ve not been able to submit anything final and I’ve not even drafted the questionnaires yet. Future looks bleak.


I’m so glad it’s over -- even if it didn’t go particularly well -- that I’ve been spending the past few days loafing and goofing and fooling around.

Now, there’re the exams to worry about…

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

Ah, yes, and because I needed to gloat about it one way or another, even if it wasn’t anything great or amazing:

Also, I found out something about a script frenzy thing, which, like Nanowrimo, will have you writing a 100 page script in 30 days. It starts in April, I think, and it sounds all fun.

Do check out the MPH-Alliance Bank National Short Story Prize 2009, if it’s your kind of thing.

Well, for tonight, oyasumi!

Deadness of the Brain; Petrifaction, Calcification; The Frozen Leaf.

Snow. I’d like some snow now.

I’d like to feel cold beneath layers of clothing and working on a computer that will inevitably freeze up, and I will proclaim that work and assignments and the entirety of it useless, pointless, and go sledding at the nearby hill. And then I’ll chuck snowballs at random people. And then I’d return home, cold and wet, and I’d drink hot chocolate and make myself a fire and go to sleep.

I’d like some rain, at least. To make the night a cold one.

Funny thing is, it rained today. Once in the afternoon and all the way till 4, where it stopped for a bit and then continued until 8+, after I bought dinner. It had rained and it was hot, and stuffy, and even under the drizzle it felt like going through a line of hot water shower. Somewhere I started wondering if my car’s air-conditioner stopped working; it had seemed compelled to give me more of warm circulated air.

I had thought I was having a fever. I was not, of course. I figure I was only being delirious.

This heat is getting on my nerves.

Tell the truth
Sing the story
Write the words
Wish the glory.

NaNoWriMo on imminent failure; I’ve clocked 37K but I haven’t been properly updating for days now. The story had pretty much walked out of my hands and dived down somewhere among the muck and convulsing concoction of horrendousness that some stories turned into. In another word, it’s starting to mutate into something I don’t ever remember making up. It pretty much woke up and started strangling me. Now feel like I should rouse the villagers, arm them with photon cannons, and take them on a hunt to kill the creature I created. But I might not. It’s my creation after all.

Somewhere along the lines I started thinking about making it a wife. As in, writing a sequel. Holy nuts. Maybe they’d start having kids.

At the rate of work and assignments, I probably have to spend the best of 3 days writing 13000 words. I won’t finish the novel, but I intend to finish the race. And one fine afternoon I’ll start thinking of rewriting it down. Maybe. Possibly.

The room,
And burning coal.

The smoke, smog
Steam
Dryness and wetness and all round constriction

Deadness of the Brain
Petrifaction of the Mind
Is the Calcification of Thought.

The Falling Leaf
Frozen in the Air.

And because I’m too tired to NaNoWriMo tonight;

1) Things are still as it is.

2) I bought an external HDD the moment my cheque came and now I’m back to being broke.

3) Broadcasting Journalism is fun, but dear goodness, inexperience with the camera can cause you trouble

4)




I’ve missed fulfilling NaNoWriMo quota for two days now, so I figure I have to make up for it over the weekend, provided my father didn’t rob my days off like he always does.

On the side note, EA’s Dead Space is probably one of the best survivor horror action game to come out since RE4, and if you’re talking about being immersive and downright scary, Dead Space is topping charts for a long way to go.

I should probably be back to updating regularly, if I ever did, once the month’s over and I can safely put myself away from Nanowrimo.

For tonight, Goodnight.

This one is with some explaining to do.

I’ve been occupied with a few things. It hadn’t robbed me of my life and turned me into a recluse, but all the same it strayed me away from this blog, and I had to walk a full circle and past the bridge and across the paddock to get here.

Right now, I’ve been kept busy by;

A) Final Year Project

B) Assignments

C) Nanowrimo.


Of all which takes up my free time unless I made ensure the time is occupied by something else, such as slacking in secret, or asking friends to join me for lunch/dinner one Sunday.

I predict that I wouldn’t be updating for sometime, considering the slowly but surely growing stack of work, both given and taken.



These were what happened over the past few days;

Firstly, of which I am still rather dazed yet somewhat proud of, is the fact that I’m still actually participating in Nanowrimo after 10 days and has been making steady progress. My current word count is 20,014. It is the worst novel ever written. I kid you not.

I’ve been writing without actually thinking, which is an interesting thing to do. I’ve pretty much screwed structure and limning and grammar and vocabulary and had spent the last 10 days dumping whatever word or dialogue or parts of the story that I felt relevant into the word processor -- the result is a mish-mash of scenes that don’t make sense holding together a paper thin plot with the stupidest dialogue made by characters who never turned out into what I wanted.

But it is all fun. Great fun, in fact. Only very tiring. I only write nearing midnight and so far I’ve been damned sleepy everyday.

Only 30000 more words to go. My God, I feel that I really want to make it.


Secondly, I’ve been left home alone - literally - for the first time in the 21 years of my life. The father went outstation for work and the mother went on vacation. The brother is in the UK. I was suddenly given unprecedented freedom to do whatever I want whenever I want, over the course of 3 days. What I did was have the guys over to Kajang for lunch and dinner and as much fun as we could handle.

It was not without its problems, though. I had to spend 4 hours of Saturday cleaning up the house and ensuring nothing really died. So far I have only one casualty; the shark-like fish in the deep tank. I flushed it down the drain. So far, so good.


And that’s pretty much it without me having to go into details, and details I would rather try and place into the Nanowrimo novel. I have a 2000 word minimal quota daily.

They say writing is a voyage into the unknown; the majestic beauty and enchantment of it, the shadows and blight and deprivation. Well, Nano is a 50000 mile marathon into it, and I’d tell you, it’s quickly getting very exhausting.

Very, very quickly.