i have officially confirmed the validity of the marking-point "when sonia knows". it just means when every damn body knows. i'm so blur i can't see jack shit even when it's wearing a bright fluorescent neon pink and green tutu and dancing the can can in front of my eyes.

wake up, sonia, wake up. >.<

you know what would be interesting? opposition contests tanglin and win, and our pm ends up living in an opposition ward.

but that's not happening. although he IS fighting a ward, so that makes for news.

as usual, mm doesnt have to fight. hur. :P

staying late again, hmm-mm-mmmm-mm-hmm (a la donkey in shrek).

i'm STUCK on CODE MONKEY!!! it's damn cute!!!
reminds me of someone :P

oh and i just found out the picture was drawn by jawboneradiodudes. they rule.

and no, the bolded lines don't mean anything. i just love them.

Code Monkey get up get coffee
Code Monkey go to job
Code Monkey have boring meeting
With boring manager Rob

Rob say Code Monkey very diligent
But his output stink
His code not functional or elegant
What do Code Monkey think?

Code Monkey think maybe manager wanna write goddamn login page himself
Code Monkey not say it out loud
Code Monkey not crazy just proud

Code Monkey like Fritos
Code Monkey like Tab and Mountain Dew
Code Monkey very simple man
Big warm fuzzy secret heart
Code Monkey like you
Code Monkey like you

Code Monkey hang around at front desk
Tell you sweater look nice
Code Monkey offer buy you soda
Bring you cup bring you ice

You say no thank you for the soda cuz
Soda make you fat
Anyway you busy with the telephone
No time for chat

Code Monkey have long walk back to cubicle
He sit down pretend to work
Code Monkey not thinking so straight
Code Monkey not feeling so great

Code Monkey like Fritos
Code Monkey like Tab and Mountain Dew
Code Monkey very simple man
Big warm fuzzy secret heart
Code Monkey like you
Code Monkey like you lots

Code Monkey have every reason
To get out this place
Code Monkey just keep on working
See your soft pretty face

Much rather wake up eat a coffee cake
Take bath take nap
This job fulfilling in creative way
Such a load of crap

Code Monkey think some day he have everything even pretty girl like you
Code Monkey just waiting for now
Code Monkey say someday somehow

Code Monkey like Fritos
Code Monkey like Tab and Mountain Dew
Code Monkey very simple man
Big warm fuzzy secret heart
Code Monkey like you
Code Monkey like you

music of the moment - jonathon coulton - code monkey (couldn't you guess.)
mood of the moment - hungryyy.

code monkey! another love :)

have new love: tommy emmanuel. because:
beautiful. i love the chords. and the harmonics near the end...
amazing. watch the right hand picking.

when looking in the fridge for fruits and snacks, i saw a box of what looked like fried cockroaches. turned out to be the strange fried thai shrimp thing that was going for 10 bucks at funorama and we bought from thailand. :\ weird.

with the pond up and the plants in we're being inundated by frogs. the lotus is blooming (beautifully), and the frogs keep going "krrk-krrk-krrk-krrk" repetitively speeded up like so many stutterers and then they stop, uncannily, just stop. and there is silence. for 1 minute.

and there's one who keeps making his way back onto the partition between the upper and lower pond. we have no idea how he gets there. he just does. bizarre.

my aunt put it rather succintly: "every time there's an election, we get lawsuits."

and it's pretty ironic that where i'm working, i get an inside view of the "pap's mouthpiece", and they're almost as anti-establishment as the normal man on the street or your average taxi driver.
and yet, i hear almost daily the diatribes on media control [hur]. not that i'm vituperous or anything. i just find it inherently amusing, for some strange reason. i realise i find many many things amusing, even though they may not be so. ok, ok, maybe more "ironically amusing", to quantify it better.

well, some of the taxi drivers i know and talked to, and the normal [perhaps bourgoise?] man on the street who doesn't have to worry about where his next meal's coming from and can afford to worry about such idea[l]s as truth, justice, and a hard boiled egg [pratchett, for those who didn't get it]. with soldiers.

how inadvertantly apt. and no, i don't know how to spell inadvertantly, like i don't know how to spell bourgoise properly [i needed help for this one]. on a side note, inadverdantly sounds like what you get when you don't tend your garden for a few years.

maybe i should enter that into the washpost invitationals.

remember, you saw it here first.

...such a fine sight to see:
it's a girl my lord
in a flat bed ford
slowing down to take a look at me..

i've always loved those lines Ü

hey babe.
take a walk on the wide side.

mood of the moment - cynically amused
music of the moment - the eagles - take it easy
- lou reed - take a walk on the wild side

go here and do somethingood. GO NOW.

new car! new car! so COOL!! :D

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA TEH WIN!!11 NO WAI!!111one

i have been slowly killing myself (in a good way) thanks to the marvels of the washington post's style invitational archive. some good stuff:

multi-purpose store names:
Optician/cleaners/shoe store: See, Spot, Run (Jennifer Lynch, Waco, Tex.)
Doors at a delousing center/oyster farm: Nit: 1; Pearl: 2 (Chris Doyle)
Singles bar and doughnut shop: A Toroid Affair (Douglas Frank, Crosby, Tex.)

new words:
Occupotion: That afternoon coffee that gets you through the rest of the day. (Michelle Stupak, Ellicott City)
Scienara: A rejection of reason and evidence. "The Kansas Board of Education said scienara to evolution." (Jonathan Guberman, Princeton, N.J.)
Oxymorose: Laughing on the outside, crying on the inside. (Stephen Dudzik, Olney)
Oopsnoxious: Said of someone who "accidentally" bumps into women at a bar. (John Shea, Lansdowne, Pa.)
Oppository: What a Labor Party MP calls a Conservative. (Marty McCullen, Gettysburg, Pa.)
Ostentitious: Having Pamela Anderson-size implants. (Chuck Smith, Woodbridge)
Ovareasy: A very fertile woman. (Jonathan Guberman)
Pachydermine: A fat lady in a fur coat. (Brendan Beary, Great Mills)
Placcid: Soft and limp, but okay about it. (Paul Kocak, Syracuse, N.Y.)
Parsehole: One who constantly interrupts a friend to correct their grammar. Excuse me, his grammar. (Brendan Beary)
Pastriarchy: The upper crust. (John O'Byrne, Dublin)
Punchkins: The little circles you pop out of paper to put it in a binder. (Ben Schwalb, Severna Park)
Perfidiot: Someone who's both a backstabber and a moron. (Brendan Beary)
Rabbinicate: When a Jewish mother lectures. What, you thought she'd be pontificating? (Peter Metrinko, Chantilly) - HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHAHAHA
Ragony: Menstrual cramps. (Tom Witte)
Remedius: The return of a driving salute. (Helen and Paul Stone, Silver Spring) - awyeah
Rectomb: A big soft cushion for parking your butt. (Stephen Dudzik)
Rhinoblasty: A punch in the nose. (Greg Arnold, Herndon)
Sabbratical: What a schoolteacher needs every now and then. (Tom Witte)
Shoddenfreude: The perverse pleasure one gets at seeing someone break a heel of her $400 Manolos in a heating grate. (Chris Doyle)
Sanitarry: To spend too much time in the lavatory. (Douglas Frank, Crosby, Tex.)
Snideways: How one sneers at merlot-drinkers. (Tom Witte)
Stirruptitiously: How a gal got out of trouble before Roe v. Wade. (Steve Fahey, Kensington)
Sudokuku: Addicted to filling in numbers in little grids. (Pam Sweeney, Germantown)
Swain't: An ex-boyfriend. (Tom Witte)

eulogies to:
Elmer Dresslar Jr., voice of the Jolly Green Giant
His ho-ho-hos were said with ease;
It's fitting that he rest in peas.
(Stephen Dudzik, Olney)

Robert Hunter, founder of Greenpeace
Bob Hunter has gone to his final repose;
From cancer his health had been failing.
His passing was marked by his friends and his foes,
Respectively weeping and whaling.
(Brendan Beary, Great Mills)

Robert Moog, pioneer of electronic music and the inventor of the Moog synthesizer
NnnnOOOWWWW
yyyoooouuuu'''rrrrrre
ddddEEEEEaaadddddd.
PITTI-pitti-pitti-pitti-pitti . . .
(Jeff Brechlin)

ahh just go check it out. its hilarious.
sam hates me now, for giggling at my screen and distracting him with stupid messages.

vicarious is such a strange word.

vi·car·i·ous
adj.
1. Felt or undergone as if one were taking part in the experience or feelings of another: e.g. read about mountain climbing and experienced vicarious thrills.
2. Endured or done by one person substituting for another: vicarious punishment.
3.
a. Acting or serving in place of someone or something else; substituted.
b. Committed or entrusted to another, as powers or authority; delegated.
4. Physiology. Occurring in or performed by a part of the body not normally associated with a certain function.

meh?

eeeyah. so i haven't been posting (in a dereliction of duty). just seems like a lack of things to post, so i shall put up LINGS, or links to things.

okay, okay. its a typo. in any case:

haveyouseenthisbunnyitisHUGE
till death do us PWN
REALLY big photoshop
go to the nodwick shirts. i'm in ur base killing ur d00ds. i want.
and the eyechart should be used in singapore. i mean, think of all the sudden decreases in myopia we'd have.

heehee what with all the stuff on taxis i've been doing, we should probably look to the economist for answers.

anyways. not much posts, because me lazy >.< about the few things i can think to post up right now are:
1. i lost and found my favourite pair of jeans. yes, i can lose laundry. rather i found it in my aunts car boot. *boggle* go sotong power.
2. we finally caught the shrew that's been hiding under the washing machine. i dont remember if i've posted this, but we failed to catch it the last time...this time i was eating dinner on wednesday, and suddenly i felt something scrabbling on my pantsleg. so i lift it up. and it goes "scweeek!!". i move it again and it scrabbles again and goes "SCRWEEEK!!".

so i grab my calf and yell for dad. who takes his own sweet time to get upstairs >.< suffice it to say it ran into the small bathroom and my dad pushed me inside, said "throw the towel on it" and shut the door. >.< i think he's scared of the shrew. i spun around trying to catch it so many times i got dizzy. in the end i dropped the dustbin over it.

and then dad had to release it out of the house. the last time us 4 kids did it we went all the way to the foot of the hill to release it near the drain.

dad just stepped out of the side gate and let it go. >.< and he calls us idle.

meh this is the first time in a long while i've not had to chase deadlines...i'm in the blessed state of limbo where i dont need to freak out, work late, or rush stuff. sure, i have work, but i just haven't started them yet so they aren't really hanging over my head.

bleah.

i don't know if you know this, but i never intended for it to happen. at all. it just did, and then it became a case of dealing with the situation, rather than stopping the avalanche. you know why it took so long? it's because i feared something like this would happen. ironic.

so d isn't going to continue with work anymore, because her family thinks she's wasting her time here, her boyfriend thinks she's wasting her time here, her old form teacher gave her a piece of his mind for wasting her time here, her friends think she's wasting her time here..well..i don't know. poor girl. she's too nice. it's bloody hard to do this job already, the hours aren't easy, but it must be so much harder to go to work each day with disapproval at your back, and come home to pieces of minds floating around unsaid.
so this is a hug for her *hugs*

i guess the job's ok. the people make it fun :D don't know how it'll be when we get back, if we get back. things change...i dunno. tufts looks like it's gonna be fun, if our theories are anything to go by. although it would be good to make a clean break from the past, i guess it's not so bad to have people i know, specially if i don't particularly want to break off.

its a good thing i'm not hormonal now. i've had to break off recently. i miss fudge. thursday was just...convenient. i became available. now...ahh. i don't know. i'm resigned to demonisation, gods know i deserve it. there're many things i could explain, but i can't now. you're not listening anyway. its all over, and its so ironic it's ridiculous. most of the irony lies with me i'm afraid. there are so many layers that i couldn't even begin to explain, because there's no starting point. so i'm resigned to this outcome, i'm not surpised, although i hoped. have cake, will eat.
on a side note, working here can screw your mind up badly:
after a phone interview:
"its not just that he's had sex. he was sec 2. and gay."
"i am really really really not listening to you right now." head under jacket, hands over jacket over ears and constantly fiddling with jacket so i really can't hear a thing
my head almost literally exploded. that horrific.

this hurts. i'm in the office, and by now i'd have called you and dragged you from your house and we'd be eating dinner and talking. but i can't.

how'm i supposed to survive august.

have you heard of the gospel of judas? not the damned novel, please. i'm talking about the AD300 one, copied down in coptic. the one that's part of codex tchacos

the one that portrays judas as human.

""In the text, Jesus challenges his disciples to look at him and understand what he really is, though they turn away. In a key passage, he tells Judas that "you will exceed all of them. For you will sacrifice the man that clothes me.' ''


i want to read this gospel. i want to humanise the bible that i see.

so i'm up tonight, it's latelatelate, but as i told the Other Aspect in the depths of my mind, i'm up tonight to get things down, because more should come from my mouth than the mucoid yellow goop and blood and airy fairy blasteds, and things should be set down in pixels.

ironic. it starts in blood, swirls around in blood, and ends in blood. from the journey to my bed yesterday, that i was too tired to put down, to now. for one, i expected more relief when salvation came, but nothing. nothing. just a note, then nothing. a dot, a full stop. maybe because more important things had supplanted it, but.

other things i remembered on the road to my bed:
whenever i leave the office, i have to step out to the lift lobby. one has been shut up the whole day, for ever, and the air conditioning accumulates cold. the other has not been shut up, it's open to the car park, tucked to one side along the corridor from the slumbering autos like a lurking alley that never felt menacig. the air is cold there - something is cold there - and much of my subconscious teeth-gritting and shivering stems from there. and i grit my teeth to stop from coughing, from ripping the back of my throat out (as i do so often these two days), i do it so much i hurt my temples, i throb in mute and enforced repression.
but today, today, i failed, and i wondered at the gob of phlegm spat onto my fingers because i couldn't keep it in my mouth (like a live oyster it felt like). and it looked like a small yellow oyster, nestled between my third finger and second, a jaundiced rajah indicative of how low i'd fallen. too sick, too sick, i say, and it glistens at me in reply as i wash it down the sink almost reverently, never really seeing what colour it is.
and the next day, today, i cought up a bright yellow brain, flecked with blood.

too much bearnaise sauce, too much chicken, just too much. a waste, a waste, a waste screams my mind as the explosion of water blasts the clinging yellow mustard away into cloudy emulsions coating the sink and clogging the greedy drain that surfeits.


and then its the second day, and i wake up to find that blood has been spilt this night. funny how these things work out, no? i take off to take a break, and i merely become available to be the centre of the universe again, the dead, unshakeable centre.
and its tragic. its tragic that after ten years, one fucking aneurysm can stop EVERYTHING. it was supposed to be happy. good.

its not fair. its not fair. i DONT HAVE TO REMEMBER THIS SHIT BUT I DO. ninth of may. sixth of april. it'll push back, and back, and back until i back off the cliff edge, maybe.

i'm not going through it again. i'd take the pain, if i could, but that would make you less human. and hell, who am i to know what to do, to say, to act?

and one of the hardest things to ever say was to her, to tell her i betrayed her. it may not be completely over, but its a start.

perhaps once a month or so i get these poetic, word-dribbling spells. hypersensitive mode. maybe this was brought on by babel tower. its wearing off now though, it could be the sleep i need. i cannot remember what i was going to say.

but before i go, i know two things. one: that i feel again. the frisson, the life that i have been missing. i know i'm alive again, when i breathe and my breath catches, when i turn, and i see you looking at me in that way, when i stop talking because of that shivery cold mercury feeling [and cold mercury is right. its poison, what this feeling is], when feather-touches raise imaginary burns.
this is my religion, the one of three that few believe in, though many believe in its ideal, their idol. hah, i pontificate. but i believe now, i have balloon-wings, i touch the earth lightly, and only you can catch me now.

and leon put out a candle tonight, an almost-votive offering. to him it means something, to me, something else. i wonder: does he know why he put it out? did some sort of telepathy induce him to put it there? in any case, its one small light out there, beyond the glass, and it says more than any word could say about what i want and feel right now.

my words have deserted me. i feel numb.

i have heard it said,
that the coats were red,
so that the blood of wounds should be hidden.

""...because these wings are no longer wings to fly
but merely vans to beat the air..''
-Ash Wednesday, T.S. Eliot

i like his name. its so unpretentious, no double letters, nothing.

i will read this on ash wednesday. not for the religiosity [you (should) know me too well for me to do that], but for the poem, the words. you could create a religion out of words. spread the word, send it round.

it's good for your soul.

and now i leave the office. mindsouldrone,iam.

..because you have the capacity for forgiveness! for empathy! because you don't leave him in the lurch, because he's gone through so much more than you have! that's why you stand and clap and cheer for him, because you pity him. i wonder. how many clap and cheer because they feel sorry, and how many clap and cheer because they're inspired by someone trying to make the best of what he has?

because i remembered pablo neruda.

Sonnet XVII
Pablo Neruda

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

i'm sitting in the office and feeling ebullient, without the happiness. i feel heavy yet detached, the others sitting behind the partition and talking in a varigated liquid murmur of sound do not seem to register. i haven't been registering words. people talk to me, and somehow the words don't register. i hear the rhythm, the pitches, the syllables (if it's a good minute), but i cannot string them together into meaning. maybe i'm too tired. its scary, my brain is degenerating, i think. i don't know what i'm saying any more.

i'm supposed to write articles, but in the mood i'm in i cannot. i doubt they'll appreciate moody, melancholic, sardonic, cavalier writing, the type of broody writing you get when your face is locked into a ground state of blatant bored numbness. i've been grinding my teeth a lot today, inadvertantly.

and i doubt i've been really performing at work recently. i think the supervisors notice. i can't think or concentrate, i can't write, and the nyaa thing yesterday was a blur of pained speech. just now when we were returning from lunch across the road, i had the fingers of my right hand pressed against my forehead, like someone's hand gripping a basketball, to hold my face onto my head. i feel like how i think soumya feels when she writes, the kind of detached observation of the world that she pens.

i feel sick. not totally incapacitated, but just over the edge of wellness. as i yawn i feel like i'm breathing out armies and swarms of germs, just ready to infect others who breathe this recycled office air. air conditioning can kill, it's so cold.

the word "resuscitation" just occurred to me, i don't know why. as did "ambivalence", and "disparation" dropped in on me with the silence from across the white partition and the sudden shrilling of the phone next to me. i talk to people, it's my job.

i've been listing to moody music too much, perhaps. brought some from home, and playing it softlysoftly on the computer. jive bunny glenn miller swing medley didn't help with the mood. maybe it's the angry-girl music we listened to on the way to work, as dawn calls it. for some reason, i'm missing my earworms. i have had no music in my blood, in my mind, in my ears for some time, and it shows, it hurts. i miss piano lessons, even the shrill drilling of my teacher's voice when i don't practice and sometimes even when i do. i miss the caress of the white and black keys, the slow smooth soothingness of polished and varnished wood, the melody that sings from her piano (not mine, i don't have enough echo to smooth out the ends). i wish i could play effortlessly, make music, not play it. but i think making music is harder, much harder, and not as flippant as playing it.

and now it's 2, and almost strangely on cue everyone suddenly floods in, all these people suddenly, at this magic minute when people end lunch and begin work. suddenly, there's noise, there's sound, and the place lives again. phones sound, mercurial murmurs blend and die away, and now it's 2.01.

tonight, i think the world is gonna end. and i'm still waiting for bloody salvation.

lucidfiction is what my random ramblings and rants attempt to emulate, although i didn't know it until now.

and you say they're just words.

few things, i guess, i wanna note:
1. political blogging frowned upon here? at least, no podcasts, videocasts about politics, what with ge coming up and all. wtf. socialism democracy of one man one vote eh? the pm the man, he got the vote yah? not that we can actually have any democratic debate anyways. nothing to debate about.

2. france vs britain, both vs race mm? from some beeb broadcast. like i said earlier, france has screwed up its way of dealing with race. it can't deal with its issues, because it doesn't even acknowledge them in the first place. by claiming "everyone has no race", they're sweeping the whole race issue under the carpet and pretending it's not there. so how do they handle the problem when muslims feel marginalised and excluded and sometimes humiliated? they don't. and you get riots and calls for acceptance go unanswered.

anyways. feel emotionally numb and drained recently. stupid decisions come with Consequences. gods.

i'm waiting for bloody salvation.

well, didn't get amherst. ironic, no? shit lah. anyways, looks like tufts for me, or uva. just annoyed because i think i shouldn't have sent promo and prelim grades, and wondering if its because they didn't send my a level grades that i didn't get it. hate it.

just really, really tired. too much thinking at night really doesn't do well for the next morning.