simply scribbled

Long Gone

2012-01-22T12:33:00.000+11:00

The wind and the sundress. Swaying ankles and a twirling straw hat. And a whitewashed wooden fence keeping the road company. These were the things, the things that were, in a dream in a book in a faraway place. And the traveller is long gone, beyond the knolls, valleys and trees. The traveller is long gone, and all longing from him.

Ah... Dentists..

2012-01-06T20:37:00.000+11:00

Going to the dentist is like taking a roller-coaster ride. You know you're in good hands, but you still think you're going to die.

The Very First

2011-12-05T13:44:00.002+11:00

The very first of Emily Erstwind that Simon saw was her boots. They were darkly brown and fashionably worn-out, but more importantly, they were in the way.

Vanishing Thoughts

2011-08-16T11:47:00.008+10:00

When Jimmy woke up on Tuesday morning, he woke up a little more than he usually did. While stretching under the covers, millipeding out of the mess he had rolled into the night before, a live feed of thoughts began to stream. And amongst the stringed images of toothbrushing and buswaiting and webgobbling, a thought flicked by quite casually, saying 'hang on a minute!'. It, however, did not pause for a conversation, but continued on its fervent rush towards an imaginary train station.

Caught off-guard by the rudeness of the thought, Jimmy got upset. Imaginarily, of course. But while he was quietly grumbling, things started to fade away. Jimmy panicked. And in his panic, he started running after the rude, casual thought. He knew he had to. He knew he had to catch up. He had to see it, face to face. He had to know what it was all about. And so he raced on past the crowd, pushing and calling, hoping for it to turn around before the train arrived. And he pushed and pushed, until the crowd converged into a blob of suits and he could go no further. And all hope seemed lost, till a hat, a hat that had never been there before, flew out of the blob and left in it a small, tiny hole. Quickly, Jimmy stuck his hand through the opening, and as luck would have it, caught the thought by a sleeve. And all else vanished in a flutter of raven wings.

And pause.

He saw himself. He saw himself waking up to a gobbling world, a gobbling world of instant noodles, updates and tweets. He saw the mess of lolcats and clicking, and the endless pile of toptenlists. He saw, he saw the horror, the horror of the trap. Jimmy got up, sitting. He sat thinking. And he thank, and he thought. He's late for his life, he thought. He must get up and get out. Out. Out of this burden, this miserable gobbling mess. Out of this hideous mistake, this despicable treachery to himself. Ok. At least he had that figured out. Now, what did he need to do. "It's easy. It should be," he thought. He knew what to do. He knew exactly what to do. Get up. Unplug. And tune in to life. To life! Great! That was the first thing he was going to do. Fantastic! And quickly! Just after a short nap to recharge. Yes! He would do it! Right after the nap! The first moment he opened his eyes. Yes. To life!

The smoothness. The smoothness of the bed's speech eased Jimmy down. With quick persuasion it eased him down, and he liked it. And so, after a few mirthful curls, he went away, alive in a dream.

Adventure

2011-06-16T14:02:00.015+10:00

They met in Autumn. An autumn morning, just out there in the garden. Just like now. Hmm. Or was it spring? It wasn't winter, definitely. The clothes they were wearing. They were spring clothes. Or autumn clothes. She had on her red scarf. She always had it on. At least when it was cold enough anyway. And a black jacket. She was very fashionable, even at that age. And he... he was sporting a brown vest and a cap. Her father was being sworn in, but she had gotten tired. Which was often the case. So she got me, and we went wandering out into the garden. I was behind, of course, calling for her to slow down. But she was very lively, skipping and running around like the little chipmunk she was. It was all very wonderful to her, the butterflies, the swans, the cornflowers and the lilies. And then something caught her eyes. She saw this young boy, staring on at the building, admiring its statues and its arcs. And she went over and said hello. He said hello back. But he was very shy. A quiet boy. Thankfully, she was very good with conversations. After a while, she asked him, if he would like to tag along with her on an adventure. Then she took him by the hand, and they went around the garden. They've been friends ever since. And my, has it been quite an adventure indeed.

It's time.

2011-06-08T19:08:00.002+10:00

The mouse claps the book shut, sips the tea, and rides out in reply to a decision.

On a warm evening

2011-04-29T17:54:00.010+10:00

The Rat went up the mound

and disappeared beyond the knoll.

Maybe he had found

the treacherous Thwitcher Troll.

On a perilous journey bound

gone with nay a sound

the noble travelled down

the path of Overground.

Question

2011-04-11T12:58:00.000+10:00

What do you want to achieve today?

Think of the kids in Africa.

2011-03-02T23:01:00.004+11:00

Assault rifles.
Starvation.
AIDS.
Assault rifles. Shoot some people.
Die young.

Clouds are

2011-03-02T22:42:00.006+11:00

On the train with headphones. Yea. The train with headphones. The train, wearing headphones. The train... the train... wait, what? Wait. I was somewhere. I was... oh, yea. That's right. I'm on a train. I'm on a train, wearing headphones, rumbling along towards home.

It's darkening on the outside. Darkening with clouds gathering for their group therapy session. Should we rain? Should we? John did the splash on Tuesday. He had quite a bit of fun, didn't he? Yea, it's gonna take a while for him to gather together again, though. I hate that part. Don't you? Yea. Yea, I totally agree. All that piss and vomit mixing in. Yea, I know! So, hmmm... maybe we should just take it easy tonight, you know, do a few shots, bump into some planes... moon-hiding, anyone?

LOL. Stupid clouds. They are so random.

OK. I'm about to reach the station that is before the station that is before the station where I'm supposed to get off. Check. Don't fall into a dream within a dream, James. Stay awake. We're almost there. Wow! That is a big forehead! Like, a BIG forehead! Wow! Ok! Focus! Focus, damnit!

***
Some interesting things happened here. Like totally awesome stuff. Like Waiting. Writing and slashing away what I just written. And Getting Off The Train And Waiting For The Bus. Totally interesting stuff. Awesome.
***

So yea, I'm on the bus now, left knee pressed against the seat in front supporting the writing pad while the headphone rests on my neck, doing its best to choke the life out of me. And now the lights go out. Perfect. I'm supposed to say something smart here, I suppose, to end this story, but I am totally empty. We're not going anywhere with this. All I can say is that I had a nice day and I'm headed home now, so that, in a way, is awesome. And I felt like writing. So I did it.

Hey, it really isn't that hard to write in the dark. Wow.

so tired = =

2011-02-04T14:34:00.001+11:00

Scratch scratch.

Reasons Not To Floss: #257

2011-01-20T08:05:00.002+11:00

And they unleashed their fury unto each other, he with his bad breath, and she with her vampire fangs. But little did she know that it was never the garlic that she was allergic to.

Not very nicely

2010-12-04T13:18:00.002+11:00

She slid the plate across the table and did not wait to step away in her flip flops. For a moment, he stared blankly at the lumpy sandwich.

At The Door

2010-11-16T02:03:00.003+11:00

Emily: I think we can procrastinate a little. Keep him waiting.

Simon: Who?

Emily: Hmm?

Simon: Keep who..

Emily: The guy in the hoodie cloak thing. Sickle... scythe.

Simon: Oh! Wow. Yea. Yep. That's the spirit. I guess.

Emily: You think they are brothers? Him and Santa.

Simon: Where did you come up with that?

Emily: I don't know. They do travel a lot in one night. Wonder how they do it.

Simon: Trade secrets. Coffee.

Emily: (Laughs) Yea, but I reckon Santa's got the lead. Like at least a bazillion times over.

Simon: Reindeer Express.

Emily: Yea. Reindeers always beat horses.

Simon: You think he's got a horse? With how the economy is going, maybe he's traded it in for a tricycle or something.

Emily: Yea. Not even a Prius. Imagine his mortgage.

Simon: Imagine his super.

Emily: Ha ha. And no tax cuts for him.

Awesome Quotes: Olive Pendergast

2010-11-06T14:57:00.007+11:00

"Is that how much our imaginary tryst is worth to you? I fake-rocked your world!"

-- from the 2010 movie Easy A

A year without yelling,

2010-11-05T18:12:00.001+11:00

i wonder what that would be like.

Ratcliffe Kittenguard's Awesome Act

2010-10-26T09:44:00.004+11:00

Ratcliffe Kittenguard pops his head into the jellybean jar and stays for a while, savoring the moment in all its glory. Cause he's totally rad.

if today

2010-10-20T13:03:00.004+11:00

if today was just about cleaning up dishes and changing bedsheets and a good shower..

well.

let's start with those then.

clueless john

2010-10-12T10:40:00.001+11:00

Little did he realize that he was about to hit a bump in the road.

The Weary

2010-09-24T20:32:00.008+10:00

As the will slips away from his veins, swift as a waking dream, and the fury from his eyes, Agrebar loosens his grip and rests the hammer's head on the arid earth.

The Nagerian lifts his head in reply. He too, is wasted from the extended battle and the burning sun. But it seems that the opportune moment is at hand. A quick charge and a swift swing. That is how it will end. He turns around and gives the saddle a good tug. The Malghul snorts, as if in frustration. But it keeps its stead as the master seats himself. The weight now drags heavy on its back. The day has taken its toll. But it waits as the master swings his sword. It waits, as he bends his neck and takes his breath. It waits, faithfully, for the kick.

The horse breaks forth, the ground roaring beneath it. Agrebar sighs. There is no strength left in him to oppose the incoming force. The hammer has taken its price. And so he waits.

The swing comes quick and clean, though much of its boldness and rage has dispersed. The Nagerian, unsure of whether he had caught flesh with the strike, rides on past his adversary. But, as he considers to turn around, a deafening sting begins to ring. And in a few hastened breaths, it swallows up the sun's fury. He closes his eyes.

The Malghul keeps its pace, as its master caresses the dagger slyly tucked in his ribs. It continues the gallop, even as he falls off its back onto the unforgiving ground. As the steed disappears into the horizon, Agrebar drops to his knees and lowers his head, his hands still clinging on to the hilt of of the hammer.

Epic Lame

2010-09-21T07:47:00.002+10:00

Richard: Hey man, the sole of my shoe is worn out. Sien. Now I have to go somewhere get it fixed.

James: Oh. Neh, go find James Brown.

Richard: Who's that. Why?

James: Cause he's the Godfather of Soul.

Richard: o_o

James: Soul. Sole.

Richard: o_o"

the eye

2010-09-06T12:59:00.003+10:00

One blade sweeps across,
the other swipes down.
The wind is cut,
the silence sundered
by clashing steel
and a cry,
a human cry,
from the Nordenwalke.
All that,
in the eye
of the spinning wind.

m is for manchester

2010-08-18T22:52:00.002+10:00

"Ahhh~!" the lazy bum said, before falling back onto the cushy mattress that was, like the little bear's, just right.

Tuesday at The Fireplace

2010-08-11T08:50:00.006+10:00

Steam. And coffee. She wakes up. She hovers over the fresh brew. The person in the mug stares back. She rubs her eyes again. She pulls a green notepad out from her red sling bag. An empty page flips open, and Tuesday, Tuesday the pen writes. She rubs her cheeks with her free hand. She rests the pen. She leans forward and licks her lips. She looks down at her interlocked fingers. And out the window she gazes, out the window where the sun is warm. The trees look greener today, greener with a golden glow. The swing is still. She closes her eyes. A while goes by. A smile takes shape.

She took the 9.07 tram to Belgrave St. She sat down, clutching her red pillow bag, and was soon in a dream.

simply

2010-07-29T10:02:00.001+10:00

Last Thursday, she came by for coffee.

A spoonful of powder and sugar each, three fourths hot water, and milk to top it up.

After drinking, smiling and pleasantries, she headed out into the storm, just as simply as she came in.

Just to put things into perspective.

2010-07-23T12:25:00.000+10:00

15 years before I'm 40.

T_T

黑裙子

2010-07-09T23:32:00.004+10:00

there she stood
flower in hand
headphones happiness
swinging
soaring
she swayed
her little black skirt

Smile

2010-07-01T16:46:00.001+10:00

He wants good things for you. And what he wants, he does.

Day 37, Before Sunrise

2010-06-30T12:47:00.011+10:00

They cleaned her up early in the morning. The darkness was still aging away when Johnny and Fin got up. They slipped downstairs unnoticed, crept out the kitchen door, and as soon as their feet left the planks of the porch broke into a run. They crossed the field and found their way into the shed with Jack's torchlight. And there the boys stood, for a moment, silent and wide-eyed. It was magnificent to behold, no matter how many times they had seen it. Then they shared a look of disbelief, laughing out loud at their luck before bursting off into separate directions. Johnny shouted dibs for the cockpit, while Fin took the afterburner. The grime was no match for their youthful overzealousness, and by the time Wendi went out to them with the coffee, the grease had mostly given way. But the sun had yet to set a peek on the horizon.

Puff

2010-06-23T18:46:00.004+10:00

The little one, abandoned and astray, picked it up from the ground, and mimicking the adults, took in a breath.

The Things That Pass

2010-06-19T15:01:00.004+10:00

Books on a train. And white earphones too. And black and grey and milky brown coats. All moving, all silent, towards the city, hustling, hustling. "Now arriving at Yarraville," she says. And the outside slows down to a stop. Doors open, and the contents change. But soon the vessel carries on, hustling, hustling.

The crackling beneath soothens after a while. But as always, the tapping frenzy on iphones continues.

"The crisp fatty skin of roast pork". Mmmm...

Till night comes humming by. Till the pointy-haired boss goes home. That's when we'll ride the rails again. So yes, that's life for us sea urchins. Life of the sleepy heads.

Sleepy heads, sleepy heads. Sloppy elbows, sloppy necks. Wake up. Wake up! The station's coming. We're arriving. At the city, the city that swallows us whole once again.

A Fork In The Road

2010-06-19T12:23:00.002+10:00

At the end, I don't want to say, "I gave all that up for this?"

Embun

2010-06-15T08:19:00.004+10:00

I miss the windows back home. The ones with horizontal tiles layered on top of one another. Like venetian blinds. Except that each tile is wider, so there are less layers. You turn them with a lever by the frame. You probably don't know what I'm talking about. Haven't seen any here.

I miss their creaking, as much as I hated them years ago. And the satisfying click of the levers as they closed shut. It was a good time. The years in middle school. Opening and closing windows, and watching the rain pour outside. It plays like a fairy tale now.

The windows here are much more convenient. The sliding ones. Less magical. But convenient. I've got one in my bedroom. Huge. And not in need of constant dusting. Well, I'm not on a roster anymore.

Hmm. The morning dew frosting my window pane sure makes a habit of conjuring up the sweet, sweet past.

fallen

2010-06-10T22:22:00.002+10:00

strange
this feeling
this coldness
this cut
screaming beneath my skin
laughing
maddeningly loud
deafeningly cold
and with a flaming sting
yes
'tis strange
strange how things have slowed down
how I can hear
the steps so clearly now
sure steps closing in
and my eyes give in
as I watch
the red drops slide
and slip
down the blade
strange
this feeling
and stranger still
this strangeness
how foreign and unfamiliar
it shouldn't be
I've been here before
and done this
many times over
it shouldn't be
not like this
shouldn't
it shouldn't be
but
just this time
just this once
it's dif...

wake me up

2010-06-06T10:44:00.002+10:00

Sunday morning. Milo and cake on the dining table. But it's cold outside. I'd rather keep under my wraps, snug inside pure wooly goodness. Mmmm. Sheep. Sheeeeep. Meeeehhhhhhh. Yea. But kids. Do wake up on a Sunday. Because, hey, Monday's just a blink away. Yea, I'll be a second.

:)

2010-05-13T22:15:00.000+10:00

When life hands you lemonade, drink it with a friend.

=_=

2010-05-04T17:36:00.001+10:00

empty as a corncob

a little frightened

2010-04-27T14:09:00.000+10:00

It's sort of dark in here, isn't it?

Morning

2010-04-14T20:55:00.000+10:00

The green, leafy bowl he cradles in his palms says it's okay, it's okay today.

The Girl Who Came Back

2010-04-14T20:12:00.005+10:00

There was a tree
An old old tree
It was dying, crying and cold
Down by the grassy knoll
Where strangers stroll by without a care
But along came a girl
A little squirrel of a girl
Bright with her fetching smile
And swept the tree away
Hi there, she said
Hello, said the tree
Be free, she said
Water me, replied the tree
And water she did
With a bucket from her father's house
A bucketful in her tiny hands
And listened to the stories of old
From the old old mango tree
And the tree said, water me
And water she did
Night after night abucketful
Up the grassy knoll down the lane
Till she came back with empty hands
And sat down
And stayed a while
Silent and curling
And the tree said, water me
I'm empty, she replied
But why, the tree asked
I'm sick, she answered
Water me and I'll tell you a story
I can't, I can't carry the bucket tonight
Water me, I'm dying
I can't, I'm sorry
And again, the tree demanded
And demanded
And demanded
Till the girl stood up
Water me
She wiped her tears
Goodbye
Good luck
She said
And the tree
The old old tree
Watched the stranger stroll away
Down beyond the knoll

dirty

2010-04-09T16:44:00.006+10:00

I'm a mess under my papers
a roomful of apologies
an unwashed blanket
a plateful of crumbs
I'm free
and empty
and standing
and sitting
and looking
and wondering
and thinking
shall i stay dirty?
I'm here
and I'll be gone
but first
a cup of tea

Tonight, tonight, by candlelight.

2010-03-27T15:04:00.006+11:00

"I gotta feeling.. that tonight's gonna be a good night.. that tonight's gonna be a good night.. that tonight's gonna be a good good btzp...."

Here's one for the Earth. Flick the switch.

snail mail

2010-03-23T10:20:00.006+11:00

Over the course of two years, after having exchanged sixteen letters between the two of them, Daniel Pepperwood has finally gathered enough courage to ask Susan Greeneves out for brunch. It was a lovely Sunday morning. The dry sun had shied away, and the wind was in an easy mood. The sky was blooming with clouds, wavy white locks stirring in the wind. Daniel brought flowers. He was early. While waiting, he has fumbled around with his choices of starting lines and ended up picking "Hi." He has also had the time to skim through the bouquet, tucking everything nicely in place. And just as he was done with the lilies, he noticed a girl approaching from a distance. As she had described, Susan was fair and small in size. Daniel was happy, happy with the way the wind stroked him, and happy with how her smile lit up her face. He cleared his throat, and Susan brushed her eyestalks, as they inched towards each other for the very first time.

The RPG Adventures of Pyron and His Men. And Woman.

2010-03-10T20:34:00.007+11:00

Pyron, a farmer's son, comes of age.
Pyron, with his savings, buys a wooden knife.
Pyron has a sneaking suspicion he has just been duped.
Pyron picks a quest from the quest board.
Pyron sets out on the road to Dur Ethos.
Pyron fights a slime.
Pyron fights a slime.
Pyron fights a slime.
Pyron takes a rest.
Pyron fights a slime.
Pyron wonders where all the slimes come from.
Pyron fights a slime.
Pyron fights another slime.
Pyron is sick of fighting slimes.
Pyron levels up.
Pyron feels different.
Pyron fights a mushroom.
Pyron fights a mushroom.
Pyron fights a mushroom.
Pyron fights a mushroom.
Pyron wonders where all the slimes are.
Pyron fights a mushroom.
Pyron gets a weak potion of healing.
Pyron fights the mushroom boss.
Pyron feels tricked by the weak potion of healing.
Pyron needs to get to a town fast.
Pyron arrives at the city of Evaria.
Pyron spends the night at the local inn.
Pyron wakes up feeling all healed.
Pyron is surprised.
Pyron leaves the inn.
Pyron gathers information and hires a sidekick called Cut Cut.
Cut Cut is a member the barbaric tribe of Narnok of the Ghurimas Highlands.
Cut Cut is a girl.
Rephrase.
Cut Cut is a woman.
Pyron and Cut Cut sets out on the path of Doras.
Pyron meets a strange man.
The strange man kills a wolf with a blast of lightning from his bare hands.
Pyron nods to Cut Cut.
Pyron asks the strange man for his name.
The strange man says his name is Larry.
Pyron asks the strange man for his last name.
The strange man says his last name is Um. Something.
Larry Um Something joins the party.
They cross the river of Zaal.
They arrive at the castle of the dragon from the quest.
Pyron looks at his quest log to reconfirm.
They decided to attack at dawn.
They slept very early.
Pyron forgot to brush his teeth.
They woke up at 4am for tea, sandwiches and hash browns.
There was no meat.
Cut Cut was a bit grumpy.
They charge into the castle.
The party fights a dragon egg.
The party fights a dragon egg.
The party fights a dragon egg.
The party fights a baby dragon.
The party fights a baby dragon.
Everyone levels up.
The party fights a blue dragon.
The party fights a red dragon.
The party fights a purple dragon with pink stripes.
The party finds a chest with loads of armor dragons don't wear and weapons dragons can't use.
The party suits up.
The party finds the boss in his lair.
The party decides to go to a save point.
Whatever that means.
The party comes back to fight the boss dragon.
Cut Cut dies from injuries.
Larry Um Something brings Cut Cut back from the dead.
Pyron dies.
Larry Um Something brings Pyron back from the dead.
Larry Um Something dies.
Pyron looks at Cut Cut.
Cut Cut looks back.
Cut Cut dies.
Pyron drinks a potion.
Pyron cuts the dragon.
Pyron drinks a potion.
Pyron cuts the dragon.
Pyron drinks a potion.
Pyron cuts the dragon.
Two hours pass.
The dragon dies.
Pyron rescues the princess from the castle.
A lot of time flies by, and a lot of unimportant stuff happen.
Pyron kills 500 more slimes.
More unimportant stuff happen.
They arrive in Varecia.
Pyron has completed his quest.
Pyron levels up.
Pyron feels different.
Pyron doesn't ask why.
Pyron meets the king.
The king says a lot of irrelevant stuff.
Pyron gets married to the princess.
Pyron and the princess live happily ever after.
Pyron gets bored of palace life.
Pyron buys a shop.
Pyron buys a farm.
Pyron buys sacks of seed.
Pyron and the princess argue over wallpaper.
Pyron and the princess argue over livestock.
Pyron and the princess argue over her overspending.
Pyron and the princess argue over his income.
Mum pulls the plug.

Friday Night Lights

2010-03-08T20:55:00.003+11:00

He's chill. He's chill when he found her, when he found her by the street. He's chill while he pat her back as she threw up into the bin. He's chill, chill when he wiped the remains from her lips, when she turned up to look, look through her hazy eyes, when she crashed into him with her hands trying to grip, grip onto his shirt. Chill. Chill when he lifted her up. When she rested her dirty shirt and sweaty head on his back. When they went. They were chill. Chill as she said, before she fell asleep, "Erin. Nice to meet you."

Gregory Featherspill

2010-02-28T23:37:00.008+11:00

Having spent the better part of his days missing flights and scurrying between runways, Gregory Featherspill has grown somewhat accustomed to the element of 'miscalculation'. No matter how hard he tries to shake it off, it seems to stick around like the stubborn dirt clinging onto his feet. Some days work out better than others and he gets to waggle in the spray of the wind. Some days, some days are better spent in bed. But he's alright. Oh well, he says. Life is a sigh some times. You miss a couple of digits on the schedule. Or you grab the wrong one. Your flightpass expires. The feather ends are entangled. And some times, things just don't work out no matter how hard you try.

Sergeant Arthurus Lightwing does not do oversights. He has a checkbox for every little detail in his list, and if all but one of them are ticked, sorry bro. Ha. But Greg understands. Sergeant's gotta look out for the squadron. Gotta make sure he has the best flyers in the continent. In a couple of months, they'll be moving into the front lines, carrying coded messages over the strait. There, mistakes tend to be less forgiving. Few come back from slip ups.

So. Greg wonders as he rests his head on the palm of his left wing. He wonders if he'll ever make it. But he knows. Wondering never got anyone off the ground. So he decides to give it another try. And another. And another. Till he gets it just right. Some day, some day he'll make the Sarge proud. Till then, he'll keep adding to his checklist.

To my little cousin

2010-02-22T12:14:00.003+11:00

Please only read posts from the "Kid Friendly" label on the right side. Hope you enjoy it :)

T_T

2010-02-08T22:32:00.002+11:00

someone locked me in the past and swallowed the key...

Sweet Oblivion

2010-02-05T18:38:00.012+11:00

Scribble scribble. Scribble scribble. The mouse. Oblivia the mouse scribbles in her drawing pad. In her apartment, under the light of the matchlamp she scribbles. She writes, with swift strokes and an ever-widening smile. All the nonsense in the world she can think of. All save and free in her magical land of mice and cheese. Ketchup. Swimming in ketchup. Cheese-skating. Tail-tricks. Big, brown buttons. The mystery of the missing leg rest, inspired by a true story. She's still mad about it actually. Where could it have gone? Or more importantly, was there a culprit involved? Who could it have been? Susan from the first floor? "Is she still mad about Alex coming over? They're done. She should move on." Or Minks. He's still living in her shoe, though she has yet to see any of the peanuts he promised. The thought of that vexes her. But no. She won't let those things ruin her day.

On to more interesting stuff. The awesome adventures of Lady Nimbletail and the ever gallant Sir Catrider. Yes. Chapter 11. Onward To Cheese Castle. She scribbles into a frenzy.

The matchlamp goes out. "Darn". She's only got enough left for dinner. She twiddles her fingers. What to do, what to do. She brightens up. She'll write in the garden, she decides. Quick, quick, before the words are gone. And she scurries out, with the pad safely cuddled under her left arm, and the pencil neatly tucked behind her right ear.

Ah! Fresh air! She loves it! The garden is a wonderful, wonderful place. All the roses she can smell. And yes. The perfect place to write her book. She slows down into a wade, a wade in the tall, stemy grass. "Splendid. Simply splendid." She closes her eyes. It's a good feeling, the brush of the wind and the strokes of the grass. She walks, she ambles, on and on, unaware of the shade growing behind her, following her like a good servant, covering her from the prickly rays. Or the loud thumping blaring in her ears. Ignorance is bliss. Happy happy. And just before she opens her eyes, she says to herself, "Hmm, where have I smelt that before?"

Lame Jokes

2010-01-25T11:39:00.001+11:00

What do you call a cross between a deer and a one-eyed pirate?

Shelf Life

2010-01-23T18:58:00.003+11:00

Mustard. Damn you Mustard. Damn you for hiding behind Chilli. You knew what was coming. You knew exactly what would happen. That's why you snuck up behind her, snuck up like a squirming rodent, hiding, hiding. You coward. You knew it was coming. You heard them. The footsteps. Damn you for being the only one left blessed with the sense of hearing. And damn you for your treachery, you weasel. You weren't even close to being emptied, but no, no, you had to save your own sorry ass. Even for just one night. You couldn't stand up for the pact. You couldn't. And of all the bottles you had to hide behind, you chose her. You knew. You knew she was the favourite. You knew it was either her or you. And you couldn't bear the thought of being chosen, even if it meant that she could have just one more night with her young. She was your friend. She stood between many of us and the Outside. She towered over you so that you wouldn't be seen. But you coward. You have let us down once again. And now, now there is no one left to protect you, no one who will stand up in your defense. You will be sorry. You will be sorry.

sh!t life

2010-01-19T17:07:00.001+11:00

"Roll, roll, roll... roll my dung...," said the beetle.

On The Eve

2009-12-31T16:25:00.006+11:00

Kenny left for the store to grab a pack of suds and a reason to live. No sooner had the neighbour uttured the decidedly obligated 'how's it going' than the door swung back. Kenny darted for the toilet. He scrambled for the seat as his insides caved in on him. The pain reminded him of childbirth. Except that he was sure those memories weren't his. Then he lost his certainty as he was punched repeatedly from within the abs. SHIT. He prayed for a swift relief. He breathed. He pushed. He breathed. He pushed. And he did that till he came to terms with the impossibility of the feat. He was trapped. He was cornered. From all sides an army of whitewashed plasterboards stood tall and unflinching. They were there to ensure his downfall. He knew it in his gut. And he gave up. There was no point. They weren't going to move. And he couldn't either. There was only one thing he could do. He puffed out in surrender.

He waited till all feelings of awkwardness disappeared. Then he wandered away, as his mind cut ties with his eyes. White walls. Snow. Christmas. Santa. Damn the XBOX. Modern Warfare. II. The war in Afgan. Then war in Iraq. Obama. Oprah. Letterman. That bald guy leading the band. Mini-Me. Austin Powers. Shaguar, lol. Jaguars. National Geographic. Shark Week. Jon Stewart. Stephen Colbert. Col-bear. Barry Manilow. Can't Hardly Wait. She's All That. Van Wilder. Toilet humor. ... Shit.

There and then he was hit with one of those bathroom epiphanies. He realized how constipated his life had become. The car. The job. The girl. And well, the money. All that's left of it was a roomful of sitcoms, movies and regrets. He couldn't go back to what he left, what he thought he left, and he couldn't make himself go ahead either. He simply couldn't move.

"Get busy living, or get busy dying."

The line flashed right across him. Must have been from one of the rented DVDs. But that doesn't matter. What matters is, at that moment, he knew. He knew exactly what he had to do, whatever that meant. He knew that there was only one way of getting out of this like how a responsible adult should. Responsible adult, whatever that means. And he decided. If there was one thing left he could do, this was it. No point in staying. No point in dreaming of a dream. All that was left to do was to simply do it. The one thing she told him to do the last time they parted. Don't have to be angry anymore. Don't have to worry about what's fair, what's not. Stop holding on to these pointless, pointless..... "Let go".

Sparkle, bitch.

2009-12-30T17:56:00.006+11:00

On summer afternoons, there are no "what ifs". There's the train, the walk, and the spell. Babes. Yea. If your brain is still running fast enough to process those electrical impulses, that is. At this point, light is no longer a friend. We turn to our inner nocturnals in this betrayal, cringing at each exposure to the piercing rays, as the sun sends its volleys against us. Well, serves us right. We made it easy for the newfound enemy. But don't worry about that. A good shower could do now. One good, long shower. Everyone go home and turn on your taps. Let's just solve this, one problem at a time. What's the point in worrying about anything else? We're getting fried here. There's no time to lose, no time to think. Run. Run for the station before the train leaves. Go home. Go home to your waters. We can blame it on the sun tomorrow, because today, today we got the bad end of the vampire deal.

MJ, RIP

2009-12-26T20:03:00.003+11:00

The first thing we say today will not be 'Shit'. And if when we're safely tucked in bed, snug and fading, if then, we are not thinking 'Oh shit', well, then, I think, it would've been a fine day. Merry Christmas, buddy.

rainbows and unicorns

2009-11-26T14:06:00.003+11:00

Morning, muffins and coffee. He stirs in his seat, the spoon tagging along for a ride. He wavers as he checks into the Wave with his phone. What to write? What not to? Right. As if that all matters now. Now now, don't be shy. No need to ask, no need to ask why. Just keep going. And going. And going. Just tap something into the keys, the now primordial clickety physical keys.

"Carrots are for chopping, leeks for brushing, celeries for paddling, paddling in soup. They are not for eating, no, no. Celeries are a lifesaver. If you fall into soup, that is. If you aren't drowning, or being boiled, celeries are awesome. Row, row, row with them. Like the mangy little pirate you are in your bigass green boat. Row."

Yes. Coffee is for drowning. Drown yesterday before you go to work.

Not Too Shabby

2009-11-06T16:51:00.002+11:00

It's empty, but I like it. I like how I can put things in it. I like how I can just.. dream of things to come.. in it. Oh dreams, aren't they a lovely bunch? Things you can have without really having. Fun you can have without having to commit. Hmm. Yea. There are times when things like these are nice to have. Which is why, I'd say, it's empty, but I like it. It's empty, but hey, that's not too shabby.

Random Self-talks

2009-11-01T12:57:00.001+11:00

Okay, what shall we do today? Bounce around.

The Siege

2009-10-30T22:04:00.008+11:00

The gloom came first, before the guise and the grief. The gloom came first, staunch and brooding. It took its time to set up camp, took its time set the traps. It weighed, it weighed, the stones to be cast. It laid, it laid, the tripping rocks. It made its twisting plans. Indeed, it would seem that all was lost in its towering shape. But it was not the gloom who made the charge. No, no.

After it came the guise, who stood smiling, maybe out of triumph, maybe out of pride. Who knows? But the guise did not leave time for questions, did not leave space for doubt. All was certain in its stride, the bold but watchful push. And doom, doom was circling high above as the patient impetus neared the walls. Yet, it was not the guise who rushed on the doors. No, no.

Then came the grief, hasty, hasty. The grief marched, strong and stumbling. On it marched, quick and trembling. Mindless, mindless, the grief came stomping. Burning, burning, the grief went lashing. No mercy, no quarters, no fear, no flight. And the grief, the grief, the grief was the first to reach the walls. The grief was the one who knocked down the doors. The grief, lumbering and burning, was the one to start the assault. Yes, yes, it was the one. The grief called to its brothers, and sure as the roaring drums, the onslaught begun.

Blue Room

2009-10-30T21:17:00.004+11:00

Waiting. Waiting is boring. Waiting is life. Waiting is everything you couldn't stand as a child, every time something new and jumpy springs up uninvited. And waiting is here to stay, because someone upstairs figures it's fun to poke you in the head every once in a while. That just pisses Ian off.

Ian waits. In the blue room, in the blue room with a tiny peephole of a window. He is sick of dying. It's not death that he's afraid of. That, at least he could come to terms with, if not accept. It's the wait. It's the wait that sucks. He's sick of watching those around him take up hope each time they hear news of a cure, only to be dashed upon wave-cut rocks. It's been long enough, and hope is no longer a cheerful thing anymore.

He wish he could just drift away, drift away in the calm before the storm, while they were still praying. Yes, he prayed for death, a swift one. Leave while leaving is still poetic, still freeing. They should be free. They should smile. It's what people were made for, were meant for. All the reasons in the wold to go and yet, he has chosen to stay.

One reason remains. One reason to wake up. One reason to keep waiting. One thing God made more frustrating and rewarding than waiting.

Annie kisses him once on the cheek, once on the lips. She rests her forehead easy on his chest. He could hear her whispers, though they were not meant for him. It's a wonder she still believes. It's a wonder she still fights. It's a wonder, because it doesn't make a difference. Nothing does.

Still. That is reason enough.

This just in..

2009-10-29T07:21:00.001+11:00

You don't get rainbows from sunlight alone.

morning

2009-10-29T07:09:00.002+11:00

I just found this funny. So I had to blog it. Changed the dude's name.

Tom's nick: Tom - Hey Jude....

Houng: don't make it bad

Tom: take a sad song
and make it beter

Houng: remember to let her into your heart

Tom: then you can start

Houng: to make it better

Tom: NA NAANANA NAANANANA
lol
kk
gtg hospital now
ttyl

Turbulence

2009-10-27T23:05:00.003+11:00

I'm sure there's something to laugh about. There's always something to laugh about. The vroom of the plane before liftoff. The eardrum-popping vroom that takes the lights out from the eyes of virgin flyers. The uneasy feeling of distrust, the question riding at the back of your heart: Are we going to make it this time? Even though you know, it would be easier to be struck by lightning. It would be easier, they all say.

Look at the sky. The clear, blue sky. Cloudless. Good. It is a good day. It IS a good day. It is a good day to die. Damn it. What the. Okay. Don't Worry. There's always something to laugh about. Go. Pick up that magazine, that inflight vomit of a read.

Damn. Robert Pattinson is everywhere. Someone's going to frown. No. No she won't. Wait. I don't care. What was I thinking again? Yes, don't die. Wait. Shit. No. Okay. Turn the page. Volvo. Turn. Guy in a suit. Turn. Fat guy in a singlet and blue polka-dotted boxers in an.. nevermind. Flip. Oo. Hot. Ogle. Flip. Ugh. Kristen was hot in Zathura. Too bad they made her into nothing more than frosting between Pattinson and that other new guy. Oh. Plane is shaking. Plane is shaking!

This is so not happening! Okay. Okay. It stopped. Phuu. See? That wasn't so bad now, was it? We will land. Yes. We will land, and I will look back and laugh. O shit! O shit! Shake! Shake shakety stop!! Shit.

cause enough

2009-10-25T23:24:00.010+11:00

We are alive. And because of that we must sing. We must celebrate.

The Calm and the Clatter

2009-10-24T11:39:00.013+11:00

He breathes in. She breathes out. They sigh. They sigh in the morning mist, in the clearing, amongst bamboo stalks. The sly morning sun runs its fingers down the tall green stems, and its intrusion ends the howl.

Swords down. Sun's up.

"Let's go."

The blades swing forward, lighting up streaks of blue and white as sunlight spew forth from clean steel. Neither strikes the other in the first swings. They whirl, sway, and the blades taste brittle wind caught up in their silent rage. They wait in their dance, their swings sharpening, quickening, as they ready themselves for the first clang.

He replies her downward swing onto his shoulder with a cut towards her neck, and the blades meet. The silence that follows breaks their swift exchanges, as they are caught in a bare struggle of brute strength. She hates pauses. She bails, and using the force of her opponent, reels from her stance, laying a blow toward his waist. The strike is stopped short of meeting its mark, her blade caught dead between his fingers. He slashes down with his sword.

Again it catches air. Though this time, the fresh mark above her left eye eases the frustration. The first strike is done, and here follows the strife.

They leap in, twisting like two falling leaves bound to meet, clashing blades and skirting the cutting ends. They are silent except for their breaths, leaving the battle cries to their swords. Their swings are calculated, their forms swift and sure. And with each move, they come closer, closer to reaching their goal and cutting the other.

Tear up.

Swing forth.

Grind.

He leaps back and lands with a grunt. The cut is deep.

Again.

Charge in, cleave. Swing up. Leave.

She springs, spirals.

He lunges.

Their bursts meet in midair, briefly, before their contact is torn apart by the quick flight of time. And they know, as they land. The kill dawns upon them, as blood colors her stripped pajamas pants.

Anything but

2009-10-22T21:12:00.013+11:00

Jake stands. Normally he would have shat himself. Normally he would have ran, quite very fast, quiet very far away. Jake stands. He stands because he knows there's no point in doing anything else, not till this is done.

"Hey."

"So.. so what's up? I'm sorry that's not it I asked you out I don't know why I said that."

"Ok.. No I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm.. I'm good. Yea, I'm great. Well not that I'm great. Not, not that I'm not. You know what I mean."

"So."

Jake has stumbled through many a weird conversation and has grown all too familiar with the phenomenon known as the awkward silence. It's a gun to his head.

"Shit. I'm sorry oh shit I shouldn't have said that."

"What? Shit?"

"Yea. That. I'm sorry I made you say that."

"It's fine. So, why are we here again?"

He stops.

Shit.

"Kay. It's like baseball and and ... ummm, you know. A pitcher. Um, you know like how the pitcher and his um. His baseball. How he. Throws the ball and there's somebody on the other side ready to catch. You know what I mean?"

"No. I'm sorry I don't. But go on," she nods reassuringly.

"I I don't. Ok. That's not what I wanted to say. God."

He stops. All the words in the world jumbled up into a confetti of newspaper cutouts in his head. And yes. God. WHERE ARE YOU!? Okay I'm sorry I don't pray. But I've been to church. Once. But it was Christmas! Damn it help me!

Hot sweat drips down his neck, and it feels like soap on cut skin. It all gathers to him now, his wet palms, his sore knees, and his bursting kidneys. A stampede of thoughts in his head in his head in his head. Shit. This is bad. This is so bad. But oh. Her blue top. Hot. Shit. It's Saturday. It's Saturday. Shit this is bad. Oh. Toilet! I need to get to a toilet fast. Shit I better not be squeezing... Oh shit she can see me! Breathe damnit!

"Are you alright?"

He stops. He stops to jam his thoughts. Transformers. Yes. Transformers. What an awesome film. It's so good. So good. Kiera Knightly. No wait. No. That's not her name. Um. Shit! What the hell!

And just then, while his thoughts were a million buzzing bees aflame, it hits him. And everything else fades away. As if he's put on headphones and snuffed the world out. He stands up straight.

"You know what? I don't know how to, and I don't want to make a speech. I just want to say I like you."

aimless twitchings

2009-10-20T21:48:00.003+11:00

cake

murderous cake

twisting shadows and murderous cake

an assurance

a dry voice hustling in the wind

"cake, yes, cake"

sweet swirling madness

and in a moment

in a moment you're bought

cake

murderous cake

and you have no idea

just some line that popped into my head

2009-10-20T15:40:00.001+11:00

gloat like a butterfly, sing like a bee

when a dog chases his tail

2009-10-20T15:32:00.002+11:00

My head is spinning like a newly-spun top.

mary's kill

2009-10-15T08:12:00.023+11:00

scary scary silent mary

"hook to the head!"

and cut to the thresh

swing of the cleaver

rot to the flesh

dull steel fall

through bones and marrow

slicing and dicing

and eyes aglow

quick hand to the quiver

let fly the arrow

set loose the whizzing

a tempest hissing

a raging reply

the hunter deny

wrath of the ranger

the sudden avenger

let be the frost

in silence wait

let her contend

her final stand

her shots refined

her feet resigned

her fate delayed

not belayed

now rise

time comes

aye

let die

end it

speak

"ah, fresh meat!"

pie in the sky

2009-10-10T09:17:00.028+11:00

She is but a shell. She is but a whitewashed wall against burly winds. Broken bones and high-strung hopes, she declares war, once again, with those battered battle drums.

She is in the open, steering through new grounds in her slinky shapes and her sudden shames. She leaves the wheel and drifts along. She sails forwards, in her shell, in her frilling frock and fleeting fame, and meets furious frustrations and flickering finds. She fights, o she fights, with quick biting fists and angry kicks.

She wish her feet were steadfast always. But she falls, she falls, around unseen corners.

After her curlings, she gets up with raging will and stalwart steps. And on she goes, always, out storming at the teasing sky and the taunting light. And she fires her shots, she fires her shots.

When she's done, she goes home an empty chamber, sipping beer in her bubbly bath. She goes home, and she becomes her chilled, bottled beer, a dream of hers one hot Sunday afternoon.

To the downtrodden

2009-10-07T23:41:00.004+11:00

We should carry on, carry on, carry on, while the sky waits on the sun and the minstrel stealing his light. We should carry on, carry on, carry on, while rivers sing aloud our follies and aimless escapades. We should drift away, drift away, drift away, as we read about withering roses and gilded butterflies. We should stray, stray, stray, from the city and its warm sugary pop of dark, twirling hot chocolate. And we should stay, for a while, and listen, and maybe hear howls of winters past, those lost but not forgotten. And we shall fall away, into a deep deep sleep to drown all worries in a deep blue dream. And thereafter we shall rise again, for the rest is still unwritten, waiting, undone.

How Dare You

2009-10-05T15:07:00.004+11:00

How dare you talk down to me like that. How dare you. Condescending, condemning, you piece of shit. How dare you say it's all my fault. How dare you push it all to me. Fuck you and your standards. Fuck you.

Jack walks out. He walks out burning in his neck and thumping in his chest. But more importantly, he walks out proud. He walks out knowing that he doesn't have to bow down like that anymore. He doesn't have to take shit from anybody anymore.

Jack walks out. Forever.

WTH moments

2009-10-02T09:13:00.000+10:00

What do they mean when they say "cook up a shitstorm"?

The Morning Lights

2009-09-30T19:24:00.008+10:00

Brown brown goes the brown little pair of summer boots sleeping in the box. Brown goes the coffee on the table, the dreamy coffee scent she wears to work. Brown goes her little fingers drumming the wall waiting for the elevator to go 'Ding!' Brown she colours her eyes, now that she remembers. And brown she walks out, into the brown brown streets wondering what could be waiting. She browns out into the open, hanging proudly onto the last of the little breath from her brown little whirl. She smiles and blows out a little whiff of warmth from her squinting lips. She looks up into the misty waking sun, and swinging her bag she walks on, remembering that all these are hers, all igniting, her morning lights.

当我们同在一起

2009-09-28T14:22:00.016+10:00

Do you remember

remember

the blue sky sailing over you

and the clear waves sweeping by your feet?

do you remember

remember

the brown leaves of fall

falling on your shoulders

and leaving afterwards

silently, without goodbyes?

do you remember

remember

those silly days

out in the fields

driving, cycling, running

and stopping for roadside popsicles?

do you

do you remember

remember those evenings

standing, leaning, against the balustrade

roaming the city lights

sipping milk tea and wondering if time could just leave us be?

and do you remember the sun

the sun shining

shining over you

shining over me

on that bright july morning?

Happiness 101: Lesson #1

2009-09-23T14:25:00.004+10:00

Remember not what you have done for others, but what others have done for you.

Right off the bat, we have a pretty hard task to do. Trying to remember what others have done for us is tough enough, considering how forgetful we are. Then again, we can't seem to forget what we've done for others, seeing as how good of a memory we have. Irony, that little bugger. Well, like many things, it usually comes down to focus. I guess if we consider what others have done for us, while accepting that what we have done for others are just natural reactions towards the plight of fellow humans, seeing it as a casual thing even... we might be heading somewhere.

This is a meaningless post. You should know better.

2009-09-22T12:03:00.003+10:00

The daisy winked. The daisy winked at me. The daisy winked blithely, without giving it the slightest thought. There are all the reasons in the world, though it could utter none. Maybe it doesn't have to. There are so many reasons, but maybe, maybe the reason to wink is because... because of nothing really. Maybe there shouldn't be. Winking and smiling and laughing and waving in the wind. Maybe we should just do them. Maybe that simple. I'd like to think that's how the daisy sees it. Just wink.

The Sun, the Breeze, Marinara and Twirls

2009-09-16T23:01:00.004+10:00

"Ah, forget it." I lick around my sprouting moustache watching the sun at play with the boats. This is a long sigh. The fork clangs against the ceramic. A very long sigh. Mousey little me cradling a bowl of creamy pasta, sitting at the edge of the pier watching the water sashay under my dangling feet.

one of those days

2009-09-06T11:27:00.008+10:00

Some things are not ours to lose. Some things were never ours to begin with. But sometimes, we do let them drag us down. Sometimes, we fall behind the crowd, clinging on to these little weights that are not ours. We fall short of whom we are, because we have forgotten in this sea of lights.

And so we sigh. We know we can do better. It’s just that our feet have given up the fight.

So we lay rest our tired bones, and let tomorrow figure it out for itself. We close our eyes, and wait to glide away. But we know. As we look back, we know. Change is a thing that begins in the heart.

We sit up and pray.

We wake up in the birth of the morning. We wake up in the dark. And we smile. We smile because a new day has come, and we are still alive. But maybe more importantly, we should smile because we are not alone in this.

Let's not do too many things today. But there is one thing we must do. Let the past stay behind us. There is so much to live, to celebrate, and we just don’t have time to cry today. Get up and run. It’s one of those days.

What I always tell my housemate

2009-09-02T21:11:00.004+10:00

Hey, Ted, come here.

Yea. What's up?

You suck. Ok. That's all.

(name has been changed)

Life is like an MMORPG

2009-09-02T20:39:00.003+10:00

Computer games destroyed my life. Totally pummeled my hours into nothingness. A level-up here, an upgrade there, a final boss here, a failed subject there. Can't believe it took me this long to get sick of it. Yea, they totally destroyed my life. And now, now I have to wait for the respawn. Sien.

Design 101: God's Sense of Humour

2009-08-25T19:00:00.005+10:00

Why o why, of all the parts on the body, did God make the nose so unbearably itch-able? Why??!! And why did he make it so that we have to scratch it from the inside? Why???!!! Why all this gooey stuff??? And why does the itch get worse every time you try to appease it? WHY?!??!!!

To go away a while

2009-08-16T20:13:00.004+10:00

He slides the headphones warm against the flaps of his ears, guides the mouse in a glide across the table, taps the left-click, and dims the world behind shut eyes.

Something I do

2009-08-14T12:48:00.004+10:00

Once you've taken out the garbage, you'll come back to a home a little different, a little nicer.

All Away

2009-08-09T11:44:00.004+10:00

Rain came and washed it all away, all away. Every little thing I couldn't bring with me, all away. As I ran out and started the engine, and the engine started the wheels, and the wheels started down the road, and the road began on the journey, the rain came swaying. The rain came down and brought it all away.

Screw it.

2009-08-05T15:32:00.013+10:00

He wakes up starving, his eyes red and piercing.

Screw it. I'm going out. So what if the he's still out there? A rat's gotta do what a rat's gotta do, right?

Are yuh crazy? You go out there now, you ain't gonna come back. There's no way in hell you're gonna outrun him dragging the food. Heck, I bet he'd pin you before you even got close enough. You ain't even gonna reach the crumbs on the floor.

So what? Are we just gonna sit around, sit around till the rush has been silenced from our veins, and the light has dimmed from our eyes, and all we could think is "Why didn't we?"

Just hang in there now. We ain't got much to lose waiting till tomorrow. Just one day. Just one more day.

Screw it.

Charlie darts out the fronthole, not wondering, not fearing. Just taking it in. Taking it in. The sweet, sweet smell of sweet summer cheese. That's all he's got in his mind. That and his heartbeat, slowly, slower than the drops drumming the kitchen sink.

Quicker than a mouse on a hunt, quicker than it's twitching nose, than the paws rubbing with thrill, there beyond the cheery cheese and the towering table, whiskers rattle.

Lucky Cows

2009-08-02T22:27:00.012+10:00

Cows grazing in the field. Cows chewing. Cows chewing and thinking, "I gotta hump something. I know I gotta hump something." Yes. It's mating season. And cows are grazing in the field. It's mating season. And men in ties and women in blouses are busy typing away and picking up phones in busy little white offices. Cows have time. People have coffee breaks. And the occasional Facebook page hidden under the piles of Word or Excel windows. Arthur has a couple of those open. Mafia Wars. Pew pew! Restaurant City. Fire a friend. He snickers in his mind, but lets a half-laugh slip in the back of his throat. Oops. He sweeps his eyes. Coast is clear. Phew. Cows have it better. Cows don't have Big Brother breathing down their necks. They wouldn't know. Lucky four-legged bludgers. Cows in the meadows, grazing and thinking whatever the hell they want.

1 minute is a long time to waste.

2009-08-02T21:37:00.008+10:00

wei...

wei wat?

wei... this. cannot la.

y cannot?

CMI la.

ha? how come?

you know la. you know how come.

I do?

ya wad. so obvious.

it is?

ya la. obvious like a fart in an elevator. everybody knows. nobody's gonna say anything. but you know. and the worst thing is you can't escape it. well, you might be able to, if you can hold your breath till the door slides open.

i'm not quite sure where you're going with this. so wat is it? Wat's so obvious?

erm. haiya. you know one la.

ya meh? how come i'm so blur right now?

chhh... you're dumber than dumbo.

emm... i don't get that comparison.

nvm. arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhh. CMI la!!!!!!!

wat oh? wat so CMI?

sigh. GG.

o_0". big problem ah?

yea. sort of.

come tell me. if can help i sure help. can count on me one. i won't say out.

u say one ah.

yea. cross my heart, hope to die.

wah. no need so serious.

so. wat is it?

ok ah. i say liaw ah.

kk. i'm listening.

i think 2 packs of indo mee is not enough.

..........................................

satisfaction guaranteed?

2009-07-31T23:26:00.000+10:00

Life's like a bunch of mixed signals, and sometimes the lights don't even work. Like a sea of darkness where every once in a while, a dim light can be seen in the distance, though more often than not, they're just old, dying fireflies. They light up, for a while, and for a while, they are bright and true. For a while, they shimmer in the night. They light us up, light us up till they vanish for the final time into the sea. And there again, we are lost, feeling tricked by old dying fireflies. *Sigh*. I guess we're just not that good at being satisfied.

yawn

2009-07-25T00:30:00.004+10:00

He covers his mouth. He covers his mouth, but hides none of the tiredness away. He's stalling. Stalling. Stalling behind the dreary bags under his eyes. Stalling behind the aching bones leaning against the wooden stilts. Stalling, even as none of it makes any difference to him anymore. It doesn't matter anymore. Who pulls the trigger first. Who walks away alive. Who takes the bag and whatever's inside. He can't even remember what is wrapped up in it anymore. For all he knows, it could be a couple of notes and in a pile of dirty old flyers. It doesn't matter. Ain't gonna make a difference what's inside the bag. Ain't gonna save him now. And nobody. Nobody's gonna care. That's all he can think of now. Nobody. It doesn't matter. He closes his eyes, he dies. He pulls the trigger, he might die. He waits, who knows? Nobody. It ain't gonna make a difference to nobody. And nobody ain't gonna hear it when they've made their last stand, or puffed their last white puff of smoke, or did their last fair share of the Brotherhood's deeds. But someone did hear. When it rang in the morning mist. Someone did hear, not too far away by the river calmly.

Please don't read this really pointless post

2009-07-21T21:42:00.004+10:00

We are here, and we are standing. We are here, and we have been waiting. We were gone, and we weren't much at all. Weren't much, and didn't care. Didn't care, and didn't matter. We stood by, and we left. We left, and we were just.. We were just pointless. Pointless, pointless little statements. We were a message on a keyboard. From frantic fingers we came about. From frantic minds we were conjured. And we stood. We stood tall and proud. And we are still standing. Here we are. Pointless, but nonetheless, standing.

The Withering: Hmm, should I begin with this?

2009-07-01T21:06:00.003+10:00

I heard. I heard a story once. It was about a boy. And a girl. A particular story, about a boy. And a girl. And a stack of post-its.

明天是自己的

2009-06-28T20:08:00.000+10:00

她眼角里流下了一点点的伤痛一点点的自由。
他什么也没做。

她说：够了。
他什么也没说。

小小闭上了眼呼了一口气就转身离开。
他什么也没说。

because

2009-06-17T22:07:00.002+10:00

A quote from Amelia Earhart in Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian.

For the fun of it. Why else would anyone do anything?

on a cold day

2009-06-17T21:44:00.001+10:00

Sky looks a bit teary, a little bit heavy. It's grey, grey with clouds and a chance of jerking Julia out of her chair scrambling for her recent laundry. It's grey, grey with age and a tinge of what seems to be wisdom. It looks like it has something to say, but the quiet posture holds it back. Over the years, it has developed a reluctance of sorts. It has learnt not to meddle with people and their lies. It is a sad thing to watch. Yes, it is quite unbearable and altogether frustrating. Well, it was. Now, many many ages later, after the winds and storms have calmed, the sky has finally learned a thing or two about patience.

Julia sips her tea. She drinks it slow, her lips joining and parting, while her hands warm themselves around the mug. She knows she can take it slow. Like snowdrops. It doesn't really matter how the day turns out. It doesn't matter anymore. It doesn't matter anymore.

Liv wakes up from the rain in her dream. She wakes warm under her quilt, under her snug little summer blanket under her quilt. Fortified. She tilts her head backwards, against her pillow, and sees the big grey thing outside. She sighs. She sighs and lies there for a while.

Jake turns his eyes away from the window and back onto the box in his hands. "Yea, I'll take this. Could you wrap it up for me?"

the phone alone

2009-06-13T00:22:00.004+10:00

Hey. Hey. Anyone there? Anyone at all? Perhaps a sound? Perhaps the faintest of replies will do? Hey. Hey. Can you hear me? Can you hear me at all? Perhaps just slightly? Perhaps just for a moment? Please? Anyone? Anyone at all? Why? Why wouldn't you answer? Why won't anyone pick up? Why won't anyone say hello? Why? Damn you! Damn all of you! Damn all of you to ... . Shit! Shit, I gotta hang up now. They're coming.

Food for thought.

2009-05-23T14:24:00.000+10:00

"It hurts so much, but I don't mind hurting a little bit more, if you would meet me halfway," I etched into the serviette.

A hand glided past my shoulder, stole the pen from my palm, and crossed the line out.

"That's not gonna happen."

I turned around to face the voice.

"Trust me. Forget him."

I swung my head back to the table. The two clean swipes over my sentence looked confident. In fact, they seemed almost happy, and as such they must have thought they'd have the responsibility and right to cheer every fallen fellow up. What nerves. "Stupid cheery little swaths," I thought. Well, to be fair, I was angry at anyone who was smiling, really. And so I turned back to her, though the bitterness kept me from replying.

"What? No 'easy for you to say' or.. or..'what do you know'? I'm a little bit disappointed. Maybe he should have left. Or made the right call not to... umm.. meet you halfway. Whatever it is."

"No. Umm. Nevermind. Who? Who are you? No. Wait. Is this fun? Barging into a stranger's bubble and assuming you know quite a little bit about her just by looking at a sentence she just wrote on a random piece of serviette?"

"Fun? No. Assuming? NO. People don't write on serviettes unless they need to get something out of their system so bad they don't really care if they RANDOMLY grabbed somebody else's PEN from another table. Well, that or they're on the verge of solving a cosmic equation so profound it's going to change the way everybody thinks for the next hundred years. No offense, but you're not exactly the Nobel type."

"That's your uh pen?"

"And my serviette."

"I'm sorry."

"No worries. Andie."

"K-uhh."

She smiles and holds her hand out.

"Nice to meet you Kate. Now Kate. This is a simple thing really. Not easy, but it is not that hard to see what your choices are. You can either go out there and say it out loud and no matter what happens, see it for what it is and just accept it. Or you could walk away and keep walking, keep walking till one day, one day you see a sign that says Stop! This is your stop. Either way, Kate, you really should stop hurting and writing pointless statements."

A flimsy advice

2009-05-14T14:05:00.001+10:00

If it totally looks like a trap, it is a trap.

Sigh

2009-05-14T12:20:00.001+10:00

When eating becomes a chore, you know lazy has become an understatement.