new year

45 minutes to 2006. I'm in my room blogging, and I can't really think of anything to say. Something melodramatic? It's been, all round, a rather shitty year, and I don't want to dignify it with some pompous soliloquy. People change after having shitty years, and in retrospect this one was a good change, and I think I'm happy about it.

Next year I will be happy more often. That's a resolution.

God Bless,
adam

The "5-question bloggy thing game". Thank you, denise.

1. 90% of the music I listen to dates before 1990.
2. I know 3 other people who share my birthday.
3. I have 2 unrelated surnames!
4. I can play 3 instruments! Piano, violin, guitar. And i'm currently learning the harmonica. thanks to anne. (casually)
5. I like dolphins. Yay!

I want the following 5 people to do this...

Tim swee, anne, joel, jessica, and mark the new guy.
If you've done it already just tag.
merry christmas!
adam

halo

The winter-een-mas celebrations begin early this year.
For information on Winter-Een-Mas, go to www.ctrlaltdel-online.com

Celebrations kicked off with a run-through of the venerable Halo campaign, cooperative with Derrick.
We started at roughly 3.00 pm, blazing through the first two missions in a speedy 30 minutes, and rushed through Truth and Reconciliation. Silent Cartographer and AotCR proved easy missions as we circumvented large portions of both. The good bit, however, comes after these introductory sessions.

343 guilty spark brings back bad memories of my first time on halo - getting lost for hours is not fun at all. This mission set the pace for the next one - run-and-gun up close shotgun action, squabbling over shotgun ammo, and many, many many "oh SHIT" moments when flood combat forms drop in behind you. Nasty.

Following that, everybody's least favourite level. The Library is the product of some twisted mind, with its repetitive corridors, numbing colour scheme, and hordes and hordes of flood. Combine that with a Gargravarr-esque little floating ball of light (follow the humming) and cheesy scenario names (wait, it gets worse!) and it's little wonder that Nobody really wants to play this level. Unfortunately for the purposes of our run through we had to do it, and with grit and sweat we did, hating every moment. Curse you, Bungie!

After the furious up-and-close shotgunning of the last two levels things quickly got tactical in Two Betrayals. Twitch reflexes no longer suffice in this very open mission - often we had to re-play a certain section due to incompetency in the field of tactics. A multitude of different enemies and sometimes three-way-conflicts makes prioritising targets a very strategic affair. Also the large areas mean you are easily outnumbered which makes cover a very important consideration. I think this area counts for the majority of our deaths.

The penultimate level, Keyes, shows a combination of the above two styles of gameplay. It's got several open, tactical sections, and much corridor-crawling blasting action. A slog across kilometres of covenant ship and we escaped for the final mission. But first, dinner. I have a glass of wine and Derrick tells me that I'm not driving the warthog. Bugger.

We excused ourselves early and rushed back for the final mission, the Maw. A frantic finale, this mission returns to the earlier style, diverging from the more cerebral Two Betrayals and Keyes back to corridor crawling. While the style is similar, the action certainly isn't. Even returning to the ship that opened the first mission, we're no longer casually shooting covenant grunts and lobbing grenades to clear out elites. In fact, a testament to Bungie's skill at making games, this level is one of the most horrendous nerve-wrenchingly fast-paced ones, a fantastically satisfying ending. Twenty minutes of up-in-your-face with the flood gives way to the grand final section, a warthog race against the clock across kilometres of exploding ship infested with flood. Derrick drove, of course, and I rode shotgun, and we finished with a minute to spare, ending our run-through of one of the greatest campaigns in gaming history.

A bit on the game itself. Halo is revolutionary because firstly it brought the FPS genre to console gaming, something before considered impractical. Secondly, it introduced the concept of vehicles to FPSs, and indeed has some of the greatest vehicle sequences in any game. While not a pioneer, Halo re-established the credibility of not only the science fiction genre, but the story-telling capability of FPS, of which some earlier ones lacked. (Doom, hehehe. Doom.)

Lastly, the master chief is just badass.

Thus starts Winter-een-mas 2005-2006. Watch this space for more tribute matches and run-throughs of the greatest computer games ever.


adam

from urban dictionary http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=simple+plan&page=1

SIMPLE PLAN

A French Canadian band (French Canada, the worse kind of Canada) that mopes about how hard it is to be white and upper-middle class. Fuelled by teen angst and armed with extremely bad talent.

Simple Plan band member:
"You never understand me mum and dad, im going to play my guitar on the roof."
Dad of Simple Plan band member:
"But it's raining outside."
Simple Plan band member:
"Good!" *runs of sobbing with his hands in the air*

It's monday. Monday feels like breathing with your head under a tap. It's hot and it's fuck-humid. Parents are in KL. Brother's in school.

So I start to think. Thinking makes me feel important, which is better than feeling bored. I feel obliged to feel important.

I think I'm really glad that RI ended when it did. Sure, good memories, good times, yo. In all honesty I was beginning to hate it, and hate the world, a little more and more every morning. Sometimes I still feel persecuted when the world imposes itself so violently on my sweet unconsciousness.

So. Sit on comp. Listen to various shades of angsty music - Tchaikovsky and Nirvana. Dire straits. But dire straits makes me feel happy, and when you're happy you stop feeling important because you STOP THINKING.

Do you know
that if you
listen to something
for too long
you stop liking it?

dadadadadaddadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadadada. __--``---->.

Peace, love, empathy - are you scared now?

Got you there. But RI lasted for as long as it did - you know when people say 'I wish it would last forever' they don't actually mean it because if it ACTUALLY lasted forever they'd fucking hate it and they'd wake up everymorning feeling persecuted because forever imposes itself on you horribly. 4 years is good.

I stopped listening to classical music for a bit. Take a dive into modern stuff. Metal, punk, yo. I just flipped to tchaikovsky's 5th just now, and wow. Stop listening, stop writing, stop reading, stop watching, just sleep, take a break and feel the air. I needed to stop RI. I wish it would've lasted forever.

Everyone should be happy. Everyone should STOP THINKING.

Peace... love, and empathy.


Got you there.


adam

the fundamental interconnectedness of everything

What's left to say. Fake sentimentality has been around longer than fake boobs. Greeting cards, presents, concerts, plays, all coming to an end. I could sit here and smirk (it is tempting), but I have no right to smirk away the four years. I was really there, I felt the wind and the water and the mud, the late nights and early mornings, the last-minute studying, the frantic LAN parties, drinks and potato chips.

At the end of the tunnel, the end of the road, or a million other cliches I could draw to describe the end of four years I was there, I was there. As for sentimentality, I only remember what Mrs. Chandra once said to me:

"Keep it. These are memories."


What's left in cynicism but silicon and a smirk?



- adam

"Mark Knopfler has an extraordinary ability to make a Schecter Custom Stratocaster hoot and sing like angels on a Saturday night, exhausted from being good all week and needing a stiff beer."
- Douglas Adams, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"

On a totally unrelated note, I think I've been taking drugs. The fact that I have no recollection of doing so is obviously a case of drug-induced amnesia. Better check myself into rehab one of these days.

Also, on the word 'fuck'. I have this thing about swearing, which is that i'm fairly liberal about it, unless the other party might be offended or something. I think though, that language should be allowed to evolve... words take on different meanings. 'Fuck' no longer has solely sexual connotations and should not be treated as such. Statements like 'Fuck, Mark Knopfler really sounds old in that track' use the word merely as a statement of surprise. What's new? the word 'Quaint' used to mean vagina, and we use it pretty liberally nowadays.

Fuck it, let's just let the language move on, shall we?


adam

Elections! Whoopee

Prefect board elections are pretty heated this year, and the field has split itself into two camps: "look at me i've got a cool name" prefect candidates and "RIPB sux" Gordon and associates. Both are at each other's throats, limbs, and genitalia. Of course it would be dangerous for me to state any partisan view in a public forum (which this blog is...). Luckily, I don't have one! As far as I'm concerned, both camps should go stick their collective heads in a pig. So this post is mainly here to state my utter, total and complete apathy towards the whole situation and to elucidate the true motives of each camp, as seen by a neutral observer.

The topic of Rafflesian politics is at best a depressing one, bitterly divided, and the highest reason I can find for blogging about this is because I'm bored and slightly aggravated by the sheer level of dingo's-kidneys meaningless conflict that threatens to ruin my morning classroom sleep. So. We have one group of bubbly, energetic, youthful, self-important children aka prefect nominees who see it their holy duty to plaster every square inch of school walls with posters in varying degrees of colour, size, and bad taste. Of course nobody likes this.
On the other hand, we have a collective of mildly anarchic pseudo-liberal freedom-fighters, whom of course find fulfilment in making cynical remarks about everything, and taken away from this pastime will eventually resort to snarly comments about the weather, God, each other, and all of the above. Nobody likes this either.

Despite protests about 'freedom of speech', 'duty to the school', 'right-to-this-and-that', 'responsibility', and 'rafflesian' (whatever that is), the prime reason that anybody goes through the whole shebang is just to feed their own sense of self-importance, telling themselves that they're doing new, wonderful and progressive things, improving the general state of humanity, et cetera. Nobody likes this, and they often say so. What I advocate is that feeding the self-importance of either camp is ultimately going to be an exercise in futility. Just don't do anything! The prefects will ultimately grow out of their juvenile phase, become mature and responsible and snarl at new bubbly self-important candidates, and the freedom-fighters will eventually tire of the whole tirade and go pick on something else. Nothing anybody does or says is ever going to change that.

So let the kids play grown-up.

adam

recommended reading

I just read through Larry Niven's Ringworld in 2 sittings, which would be a personal record if I hadn't finished Neuromancer in one.

It's an undoubtedly fascinating book, hailed by some as one of the greatest works of science fiction. I'm inclined to agree here; the book manages to mix everlasting themes of human relationships with the splendour of an imagined future - a strange cocktail, but one that's defined the sci-fi genre since the early 1900s.

Without giving away too many details - Louis Wu, a 200-year-old veteran space explorer and a little bored with how prosaic his life has become, is invited by a strange (but not altogether surprising) alien on a four-man mission to explore a strange (and mind-bogglingly huge) artifact described rather astutely as "a star with a ring around it". The team (Louis, the human Teela, a felinoid Kzin known as Speaker-to-Animals, and the alien puppeteer Nessus) arrives at the ringworld, and are faced with a series of highly disturbing questions, the answers upon which may depend their own lives.

Larry Niven has managed to construct an epic that involves deeply, with intensely personal and believable characters. Highly recommended reading for science-fiction fans, and all you nonteknischen out there as well.

cheers,
adam

Which peanuts character are you?

You are Schroeder!


Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Now I'm emotional. We've all been through far too much. We are more than people.

I'm sorry for being vague



out,
adam

"the origins of speech lie in song, and the origins of song in the need to fill out with sound the overlarge and rather empty human soul. " - Disgrace, by J.M. Coetzee

!

Forgive me, I've been listening to pop music again. Or whatever you call it, in today's world it's hard to find the right label for anything. I shall call it 'pop' because that's what it was called when I was growing up, now it's probably labeled 'alternative-something-something', which I feel is unjustified and also, ludicrous.

Sixpence None the Richer - breathe your name

Smooth vocals, beautiful lines and a wonderful bass riff which really defines the sound. And I love the lyrics. What's not to like?

basket

Being a basket-case online isn't my idea of fun.

I won't lie; I have my problems. Lots of them, in fact. However I don't feel justified in bitching about them online (except certain ones reserved for online bitching - see the hate list).

Sometimes, however, you just feel so wasted sitting at home and trying to be cool about the state of your life.

Bah.


adam

arguing is a lot like gaming.

1. It's fun if you're better than your opponent at it.
2. Is a major contributing factor in domestic violence.
3. After a certain point x which varies depending on your mood, the amount of chocolate you've had in the past two hours (in kg) and the colour of your left sock (if you're wearing one),
it starts to seem really, really, really pointless.
4. If you continue to do it after said point x, your brain will melt and start to leak slowly out of your ears in what is generally accepted to be a reeeeeaaallly creepy fashion. And then you'll die.

Do you disagree with me?

adam

Writer's Blog

started a new blog at
http://yesitsapun.blogspot.com


for people I know who like (or try) to write, so we can have a space to post writings and get feedback and discussions. If you'd like to join, email me.

adam

wish I was you.

Wish I was you.

You are spirited, always excited by the challenges you seek every day. You recognise that you are your own limit, and your life is a series of goals to be achieved, each in defiance of the last. The knowledge that you are special does not escape you; it is your greatest ally in times of difficulty. You build your solutions out from yourself, relying on others only because you know that they are your extensions, just as you are theirs. You believe you are destined for greatness; this belief is not a prophecy but a mantra in your aspirations, each day pushing to new heights.

adam

wish I was you.

Wish I was you.

You are powerful. You see the world as it is in all its intricacies and you refuse to lose yourself even as you navigate the wash of constantly changing trends. In the toughest of crises you prevail with indomitable strength that will not back down and will not change because you know that you can make it. You are never embarrassed to be different because you understand of all people that you, like everyone, have a power to succeed and you of all people know how to wield it. You are passionate and energetic in everything because you refuse to be held back by expectations and opinions.

adam

wish I was you.

Wish I was you.
You are intelligent. Your success is not the product of some freak accident, but the accumulation of years of dedication. You wrestle with principles, but that makes you strong because nobody can topple what you think is right. Because of that you hold a rare sincerity that means you value everything but refuse to be subverted by the inane, and the unfounded criticism of others. You are one of the few who is constantly bewildered by everything, and you take solace in the fact that you yourself are bewildering, as is the spark of beauty you find in yourself and everyone.

hate no.2

2. Technology
I despise technology with a passion. I hate it with all the sullen fiery-ness that a desert hates water. And yes, contrary to popular belief, deserts do not 'thirst' for water or anything of the sort. They hate it, that's why it's so dry.
Last month during RMUN the IT department (whom I firmly believe are some secret devil-worshipping cult) issued me a centuries-old laptop. It's called a Compaq Armada, in some sad tribute to the resilience that it obviously lacks. The first couldn't start up. Hong Quan made a trip back and demanded a replacement, which promptly crashed after five minutes of work. The third crashed when I plugged my ipod into it to store files on, and grudgingly started up when plugged into a power socket.
Also, it's the only computer i've known to actually lag seriously on microsoft word.
What gives?
But there's more. Within the last year, i've had to get a replacement for my palm (which crashed within 2 weeks of purchase), had to deal with a millenia-old phone which won't register if you press a button more than twice in a second, had to reformat my virus-plagued computer, and finally had to repair my NEW handphone which crashed within two weeks of purchase.
There's more!
The computers and printers in the library have caused me to lose my stored data at least 3 times now, and have forced me to waste $2.50 of my money printing out 5 copies of somebody else's multi-colored social studies report. Also, the internet only works sporadically, with healthy encouragement in the form of good solid thwacks.
Computers are the sort of thing spawned by the twisted minds of centuries of bureaucracy and customer service, built only to make sure you get nothing done, and go bleep when they do so.
You know what else I hate about technology? EVERYTHING. I say go back to good ol' hammer, chisel and tablet. At least they don't go bleep.

-adam

hate list!

Ever had one of those where everything screws up for you and you really start to despise the world, deep down somewhere?
Well, today isn't one of them. However, I've taken the liberty of compiling the lists of the things that pop up on my 'hate' list whenever these days happen.

ahem.

1. Simple Plan
Without offense to the band members, Simple plan is the worst music conceivable to mankind. Simple plan is not just a joke, it is an insult to music, and a pathetic one at that. To those less mathematically inclined, I would like to just point out that there are only three different ways to play chords I, IV and V and no matter how you juggle them it gets nauseating after awhile. And that's just the music.
The lyrics are without doubt the worst lyrics - now I won't say 'in the whole world' because i've definitely heard worse somewhere - to make it into the popular music culture. Drab, whiney, teenage-angst, oh-god-hates-me-life-sucks bad. I'm serious. After listening to some tracks that's about all I can distill from their songs. I starve for adjectives.
Yes, Simple plan in all it's off-tune, unimaginative, angsty-oh-my-life-sucks-so-bad-please-pity-me-by-buying-my-records glory has to make it to the top of my list.
To all you simple plan fans out there, you can damn well go stick your head in a pig or something suitably offensive.

more to come.

adam

words for july

Just started my official batch of words for the month of july, so I won't be posting them here. When the month is over i'll give a link to all of them.

I encourage anybody who's interested to try, though, it's an amazing excercise in discipline and writing.

- adam

June 30th thursday 9.30 pm

My mind won't stop. Even on sleepy evenings, on and on. I listen to music sometimes I take it like a drug sometimes even that won't stop. Covered in blood and shaking slowly, because I'm tired of trying to fix myself trying to wipe the mess. It comes from inside you know? I might cut myself and find I'm wrong on the inside horrible sticky guts and blood it's a mess. The mess - Better try to put it back - IT'S NOT MINE! . I need to stop yelling need to stop myself I need to find him and watch him bleed.

- adam

29th June Wednesday 9.30 pm

He sat there, deafened. The machinations hummed and buzzed around him, the screeching rattle-clack, rattle-clack building to a devastating crescendo. "The derivative,' the lady said ' of x with respect to y..." Clockwork. It was all clockwork. He clenched his teeth with the strain of stopping it all. The gears were in motion, he would be crushed amidst the steady click goddamnit, my pencil click... click... there were tears on his hand crushed amid the gears- slowly, painfully, each bone taking its time to shred and break and all the while, he would stand there, winding, winding, winding, winding.

- adam

MOAN!

Rayner IS right! The more work I have, the more time I spend bitching about it here. Whee. The difference is that I think I've done it this time, even if my maths portfolio IS several weeks overdue and is starting to grow a thin civilisation of sentient mold. Work sucks.

- adam

26th June, 2005 Sunday 9.40 pm

Will I spend my life searching for a feeling? A little piece of this life, a tableau that I can stretch and twist into meaning? No, I say! Throw yourself into the deep end, only because the bottom is real. Why splash about in the shallows, creating ghosts and legends out of mist? Why should life cover me only to my ankles? No. I refuse to spend my time chasing currents while I slowly suffocate. The only reality is action - I move therefore I am. Breathe in the saltwater! We drown eventually. But I moved the ocean, not vice-versa.

June 21 2005 Tuesday 9.50 PM

I'm not profound at night. Maybe a little damp and a little groggy from dinner and pillows and lack of sleep. sitting about trying to be profound brings about the most abject depression. It is also futile. Sometimes I get up and wonder about God for awhile. Or jellyfish. Sometimes He speaks to me in the little noises. Sometimes I just hear things. Sometimes I sprawl about with dripping languor and dream about craters and tunnels of my childhood. That wonderful misty red air. I grip the blankets and am fitful for awhile. Lost in the dream of little stars...

- adam

hundreds

Participate in the 100 words project. (Link is to the left) I've gone and used this as an excuse to force myself to write, so here's my 100 words for the 25th of june. I never edit, hardly ever delete a sentence that's been written, and blatantly flounce all rules of proper grammar and sentence-structure.

25th june, 2005

On the other hand. When you aren't sleepy thoughts become precise. Point one. Point two. Sub-point one point three point seven-six-five-four-two-nine-eight. Short sentences punctuated by anxious punctuating punctuation. It says Lucidity! Clarity! The breath of day is dry and light. Only brighter. Difficult to recede into the mist because there is so little of it. Adjectives, bah. Verbs, bah. Condense! Words are king and queen (and the rest) and never, ever artifically lengthen by using phrases like 'never ever' or allow a little madness to get in the way of short concise writing.

-adam

So long and thanks for all the fish

I am the biggest hypocrite I know. Boys and girls, never, never, EVER post song lyrics on your blogs. At least not without some form of commentary. There's nothing worse than ripping off somebody else's badly-written lyrics to cover your own badly-written posts.
With that, here's the lyrics for so long and thanks for all the fish, OST for the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

So long and thanks for all the fish
So sad that it should come to this
We tried to warn you all but oh dear...

You may not share our intellect
Which might explain your disrespect
For all the natural wonders that grow (around you)

So long, so long, and thanks
for all the fish

The world's about to be destroyed
There's no point getting all annoyed
Lie back and let the planet dissolve (around you)

Despite those nets of tuna fleets
We thought that most of you were sweet
Especially tiny tots and your pregnant women

So long, so long, so long, so long, so long
So long, so long, so long, so long, so long

So long, so long, and thanks for all the fish

If I had just one last wish
I would like a tasty fish

If we could just change one thing
we would all have learnt to sing

Come one and all,
man and mammal,
side by side in life's great gene pool

So long, so long, so long, so long, so long
so long, so long, so long, so long, so long
so long, so long, and THANKS!
for all the fish.

adam

back and bigger.

Whee, I'm back from camp.
I'm back, and I'm still super-high from the success. It wasn't to be unexpected, and it's really a good thing. Sometimes I think happiness is so rare, so I grab at it. Still, i'm not going to feel great forever, things are going to go back to the repetitive humdrum, and I want to remember that I've changed more than a momentary happiness, and feeling good won't solve my struggles.

So I'm writing it here, so if I forget, you all can remind me.

adam

I will be

away for 6 days until sunday, 12th June. Have camps to go to.
don't flood my tagboard!

Cheers, all of you!

- adam

trixie

In honour of my piano teacher's cat, Trixie. It should be illegal to be this adorable.

The languor of a morning nap - she opened her eyes to slits, taking in the sleepy sunshine. The cat lay splayed out on the front porch, tawny limbs tangled amongst the nest of shoes and footwear on the ground. She yawned widely and stretched - extending first one leg, then another, her claws extending as if reaching for some invisible plaything - She seemed to take exquisite pleasure in the act. Then curling back to fiddle with someone's blue pair of slippers, she yawned again, her sides expanding to take in the warm air. It seemed the cat could lie there forever, in the splendid, languid glory of a greek goddess basking in the morning rays, her ears twitching in miniscule movements to the sounds of other people who couldn't appreciate the joys of a morning repose, the tickling of fur against the stone tiles, the music of some distant pianist, and, just standing there watching her, I wished I could too.

technological advancement.

Just went to the comp exhibition-fair-thing at singapore EXPO. (can't remember what it was - but there were a lot of people around selling electronic stuff.)

They happen a couple of times each year, and whenever I go to them I come back loaded with junk. Make no mistake - not junk I actually PAID for, but all sorts of cables, wires, peripherals, cards, brochures, pamphlets, business cards, hands-free sets, screen protectors, and occasionally curry puffs.

This is a rather alarming trend. Last year I came back with a dubiously-acquired desktop replacement computer. This time the free gadget is a mysterious bit of white plastic called an ipod shuffle. Now, this thing confounds me.

Why, I ask, is Apple, capable of fitting 20 gigabytes of memory into a space not much bigger than a deck of cards, unable to place a screen on this device? It's not like I haven't seen smaller devices with screens, because I certainly have. The makers of Digimon did it. Creative did it. It can't be that difficult, especially for a company like Apple. And I'm not even asking for the kind of screen that shows you the song name with all sorts of graphical bells and whistles: volume meters, play time, battery life, graphic equalizers. The ipod shuffle, which looks like a little white stick with a button on top, doesn't even feature a little counter to tell me which track I'm playing. Ten out of ten for style... minus several million for functionality.

Unfortunately, Apple decided to take a revolutionary step, backwards, and market this new screen-less concept. No doubt I am intrigued that at any time I'm completely unable to tell what track is coming up next, oftentimes what track i'm currently listening to, and what other tracks there are, save memorising the order in which I downloaded my mp3s to the ipod.

This is not to say, however, that the thing is completely useless. It isn't - it still features Apple's wonderful itunes technology, allowing seamless synchronisation and uploading of mp3s. It functions as a fairly large USB flash drive. It still features good sound-quality, and most of all it is absolutely tiny, making it extremely portable.
Also, it has this immensely cute LED button at the back which lights up green when you press it if the battery is charged. A major selling point, that.

I can't complain - I got it free. But I wonder if I might've been better off trading my old cd player for a casette walkman... which is five times the size, and only slightly less functional.

-adam

words!

Here's some words for you people to ponder. I just learnt them in the last few months.
1. Partisan. An enthusiastic supporter, or a large pole with an axe blade.
2. Verisimilitude. Similar to reality. adj. versimilitudinous.
3. Corollary. something that results from something else. e.g. 'violence is the inevitable corollary of such a revolutionary change..."
4. Droll. amusing, especially in an unusual way. Anne McCaffrey overuses this word.


Expand your vocabulary.

- adam :D

this is not a poem.

Come to the dark side
resistance is futile- stand down
rule as father and son
what, no hyperspace?
we are the borg - trust in the
there is no spoon
force : mass times acceleration
captain, cruising at warp
Orange trees in the field!
Fire
you were
proton the
chosen
torpedoes! We've been hit
Master! I promise -
Promise me -
structural integrity

I'll train the boy!

falling.

Falling.
Seventy...
beam me tell your sister
You are a child of the universe.
You were right.

bitching abt blogs.

What is it with bloggers?

DISCLAIMER: This is purely my personal opinion on how blogs should be run. It IS ultimately up to you, and I'm not suggesting in any way that you should change your blogging style just to please me. Just realise that it is ridiculous.

rant

Blogging, in my humble opinion, has brought out the very worst in writing (and people as well).

Firstly, on Content. Honestly, who wants to know what you did today? A quick and simple answer would be 'nobody'. Now of course this isn't true, but it certainly is the case for the majority of us. If you absolutely MUST tell me what you did at 3.54:32 this afternoon, please, please make it brief, and explain to me how that is significant. Of course you're entitled to write about something if it was significant to you, but please be interesting.

Coherence! I know you like your pretty ellipsis and semi-colon. It doesn't mean they should be sprinkled like icing all over your entry. It makes you sound stupid. Poetry, unless you happen to be good at it, is also a strict no-no. Bad poetry is... bad. It neither reflects your current mood, current activities, nor aesthetic talent. Avoid it.
If bloggers are exhibitionists, you are running around with your underwear on your head.

EDIT. post-bitch: please be clear when using the second person. Lines like "Why did you do it? Why? Why?" often leave the reader confused as to whether he just unwittingly killed your parents. Unless you are referring to the readership in general, always identify when you use the second person. EDIT-EDIT - Otherwise, just don't bloody post it on your blog! MUST you push the limits of exhibitionism? I really wouldn't terribly like to know if you just had a spat with your girlfriend/boyfriend/pet.

Secondly, on Style. Lyk OMG. Plz lrn some proper speling kae? I mean, aftr over 10 yrs in sch mebbe its abt time you learn proper grammar an spelling and mebbe how to EXPRESS YOURSELF PROPERLY! Yes, I AM a bigoted, elitist bitch. Live with it, and fix your grammar. Appending 'sh' to the end of every other word does not make you cute. It does not make you interesting either. It just makes you sound like an idiot with a lisp.

EDIT - 2 hours later. I've realised I get amazingly pissed at people who love to use italics.
It IS annoying. You know you do it. I know it's all new-age and novelty and all, but for goodness's sakes, it's just a bunch of slanty letters! Get over it! The old-fashioned, obsolete "double inverted commas" often work just as well!
Oh, please save me.

Thirdly, on Strategy. LAYOUT! If you must blog, and I'm not saying you should, maybe make the main text of your blog the MAIN section of your website. As much as you're an interesting, fun-loving, enlightened person, I think most others are tired of reading your elaborate vital statistics while squinting at the narrow column of words that happens to be your latest entry. I don't know, maybe this is some inherent limitation in html coding, which i'm quite honestly useless at.
What's worse than this is refusing to use paragraphs. Paragraph breaks are the heart and soul of legible writing. An already badly thought-out, ungrammatical, badly spelled article which rambles on and on with no hint of reprieve can be quite off-putting. On the other extreme, having a respectable space for you to post your latest entry on, but actually
blogging
like
this
is
kind
of
irritating
don't
you
think?
Maybe not. It IS your blog after all. All I'm saying is that if you blog like that people might not go to your blog, and you might be flamed by me, and my supreme almighty self-righteous anger.

Bloggers were invented to torture people like me. Do me a favour, yeah?

/rant

I feel better now.

-Adam

can't think of another lame title.

I'm listening to the ABRSM recordings of my grade 8 exam pieces. Shit. Compared to this my playing sounds like me trying to play with the middle of my forehead and my two big toes. Most notably, I can't produce a good variation in tone colour... it all sounds kind of wooden. Will work on this.

Webcomics I frequent.

Order of the Stick
Ctrl-Alt-Del
Count your sheep

Just a few things I thought you might like to check out.

- adam!

16! w00tness.

What's so great about being 16? I think it's overrated. I mean, yeah, wow. I can have sex now. It isn't like i'm the sort of person who's really inclined to be having a lot of sex at this age, nor do I know anybody who'd be inclined to be having sex with me. So there isn't anything great about that.
I can watch NC-16 movies. Which is great, but I hardly watch movies anyways. So it isn't likely to affect me. And if I really was that bent on watching a movie I'd have found some way to get in. NC-16 or not.

So yeah, nothing great about being 16. So? We need an excuse to celebrate. There's never enough of that. Do you know that I have been alive for 5844 days? I initially thought it was 5843, but upon inspection I've realised that WHILE years divisible by 100 aren't in fact leap years, those that are also divisible by 400 are. So 2000 was a leap year, and I accidentally subtracted an extra day from my age. 5844 days, man! Soon to be 5845, but that's tomorrow's business.

Yay.

- ADAM!

the land of Cescus.

For we are on a boat, sailing towards the land of Cescus.
There , across the ocean, lies the glory of a years-long voyage, lie a thousand wonders never before seen by the eyes of man, rivers and springs and forests and trees in abundance, and animals new and old, and all wondrous. Yes, we're sailing for Cescus, and the fruit of all our labours.

But what shall the sailors do on the way there?

We Swab Decks.

Because! It is of utmost importance that we swab decks.

So the mighty Captain says (when he isn't throwing up over the stern): We are! My men, on THE most important journey! To! the other side of the world! To! The land of Cescus! Where all things grow! In abundance! And! It is of THE utmost! Importance that when! We get there there isn't going to be ONE! Speck o' dirt left on this deck! We are PIoneers of humanity! And! we better be making a good impression! Grab yer mop, sailor!

Throughout my years on the high seas, I have not seen a stouter man, a finer leader than our captain. We were brave sailors, facing the wind and the rain and the storms, even sneaking an extra hour or two after dusk to scrub the last of the salt and seagull-droppings off the deck.
It's just been a month since we set sail - the sea's begun to take its toll on some of the rookies on board. Had a man, yesterday - swabbed until his hands bled. Poor fellow. But we all know we've got the most important jobs to do. Pioneers of humanity... I like what the Capt. said. Has a nice ring to it. I do hope there're monkeys on Cescus. They'll be impressed how clean this ship is. I can just imagine them, sitting on the shore, munching on their bananas or whatever tropical fruit, chittering and pointing.
Yeah, they'll be impressed.

... with a juicer, a porcupine, and a flowerpot.

S YF's over. Gold with honours for RI. Whoop-de-do and all that. I wish I'd been able to play, though - unfortunately in the past I made a rather large decision that prevented me from doing so by making sure that I was unable to rehearse (or anything like it).

Let me tell you- I'm no pro musician like Zh or Rayner or Shaggy but I could tell there was an energy there, while I watched, the realisation that in the culmination of months of passion and practice there was something larger than the individual they were working for.
In the preparation, during the final tuning, I could tell just by looking that we were all nervous with the reality that the performance was just around the corner, inexorably close. We all had exams coming up. The musicians were in various states of stress, depression, overwork, or sleep-deprivation.
They all had their reasons to do well. For pride, for honour, for love, for whatever. The goal was the same, and the music was there. I held my breath, and when they went on stage and they played...
nevermind if they rushed a little.
nevermind that some entries were slightly off.

They were ensemble.

And that was enough.


- adam

Writing excercise 01

Taking a hint from a website I visited, I wrote this piece with my monitor off. (spelling errors have been fixed, though). Comments are appreciated.


I sheathed my sword, strapped it around my waist and went off in search of Phobos.
The rain came down in sheets; it ws the middle of autumn, and the trees whispered slightly as the rain struck the leaves. Phobos was in that forest, I knew it. I would find Phobos. I clenched the pendant tightly- it was a tuft of orange fur, attached to a ring; tied to a thin golden chain that I wore around my neck. There was blood on the fur... I hope it didn't belong to Phobos. This was Phobos, to me- the tuft of orange fur on a chain. That was him, and I pondered that as I went into the forest in search of him. Lightning struck, thunder. I plunged in, ignoring the wet and the mud and the branches.

Three days into it. I think i'd begun to look a bit emaciated; but even if there were any clear ponds to check that they would've distorted my image. It wasn't important, anyway; I caught a rabbit, skinned it and ate it. There was no fur left on my arm where i'd scraped it on a branch; on a rock where i'd scraped by knee. But my sword was still sharp; and still I looked for Phobos.
No sight and no mind- somewhere in here was phobos. I followed the scent of blood, although I was unsure whether it was my own. It mattered not, anyway. The rain wouldn't stop- I waded through mud knee-deep, sucking at my feet.

Leaves opened to receive the rain - like the pages of a book. Opening up, illuminated by the flashes of lightning, but I couldn't read them. I didn't know the language.

There was sun for a day. It shined down on me, tearing across my exposed body and chilling me even deeper. I was soaked; I shook myself and carried on. The birds chirped in the sun, emerged from their flooded nest-holes. There was a dark cloud on the horizon- but I looked beneath every tree for phobos.
The rains came- another blur of days. Trees after mud-soaked trees. My complexion had turned a rather depressing shade of brown from eons in the wet. Oftentimes I stumbled, and I clutched the pendant for support. It was a pretty thing, that trinket - I'd taken it from a dying man. 'Phobos' he'd said. Rain and branches and mud, and on the fifth day I met the monster.

First it slinked at me from the shadows, unheard beneath the patter of rain drizzling on the leaves. There was a pair of glowing eyes from the bushes, and a black blur that bore me to the ground bleeding from long gashes. My sword came loose, rusty a little (from the days in the wet). I parried left and right, dashing the creature to the ground once. It came again, howling - I tasted blood. I caught a glimpse of feline ears as I blocked several more gashes. A panther, then? But it seemed improbable; it moved too quickly and too surely. I pulled the pendant off my neck, snapping the little chain. I clutched it tightly in my right hand. MY sword came down again, once and twice, slicing off branches and leaves, tearing holes in the carpeted ground. Not a speck of blood on it though... only on the pendant. Another lunge broke my frail parries; I slipped to the side as I felt the bones of my right arm come loose, shredding like moistened paper. The pendant fell to the floor. This seemed to draw some attention off myself (well enough as I was nursing my broken arm). But as it moved to peeer at it, glowing eyes sibilant, I engendered a final blast of strength, lifted my sword, and cut the thing hard with my blade. It flew veritably five feet, landed in the bushes with a tumble of black fur, blood and fleeing squirrels.

There was an explosion. I opened my eyes, expecting a section of charred wasteland- but walking over to the bush, I only saw a figure cut deeply in his side, clad in orange fur.


- adam

anonymous

This is a major part of what inspired my literary pretensions. I found it somewhere, untitled and anonymous, but it struck me. If anybody knows where it came from or who wrote it, please inform me.

You and I, my friend
watched the shades of daylight
darkening to grey, clouds ripening above
until the first droplets plummeted earthward
You and I
unsheltered in your kingdom
let in the whispering rain
within the copse of swaying sycamores
You and I
watched steam rise from our skin
dance and swirl away, ghostly on the breeze
and mingle with the rain
You and I
strayed dangerously close
brushed the rain from one another's face
and with it went our doubts
You and I
fled at last
emerged into a world of warmth and comfort
and heat and light enveloped us
Beside me
you were bedraggled and splendid
shook the rain from your hair with a grin
and warmed my hand in yours


- adam

having your brains beaten out by a slice of lemon...

This has been a screwed up week. I'm tired and overworked. It's like the whole world conspired to place everything important to me in this week.

We're halfway into competition prep. Morale is okay. Team has finally shown some progress in actually writing a coherent case... I'm currently writing my share. Debate's on Friday, against SCGS. I won't say anything here about winning or losing, but you should know that this one's important. 3rd prelim round- given our previous record this match could decide whether or not we break quarters. More important to me as well... if we break quarters i'm dropping out of SYF, and that's one less worry i've got.

Schoolwork is at an all-time low. I haven't done anything since last week. Just realised that I successively threw away 10% of my physics CA, and then probably quite a good portion of my Bio as well. Haven't touched chinese since God-knows-when. Somebody please tell me i've got my priorities wrong before I fuck the rest of the year up.
Give me until april...

Well it looks like i'm not coping with the pressure well. No matter... schoolwork will pick up, and as for everything else... i'm sure we'll come through where it matters. I have faith in that.

- a d a m

go here.

For all skeptics, atheists, agnostics or people questioning the Christian faith in general.
Go to: http://www.whoisjesus-really.com
if intellectual proof is what you're looking for, you'll find it there.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
stop reading this and go click on the link.

- adam

Poetry

Poetry has lost its meaning.

Not all poetry; I'm sure the great classics remaining just as great, and just as classic - but it seems that the art of poetry has been severely demeaned by the later generations.

Poetry is often thought of as the highest form of linguistic expression. I could go on about this, but to be rather brief, it is the condensation of feeling or thought into a short written piece that carries huge amount of insight or meaning. I may be generalising a bit, but that's the gist of it.
Also, poetry is remarkably free in its format; unlike an essay or story which requires a 'statement-elaboration' format or a coherent plot (at least), poetry can take any number of fixed forms or otherwise - as far as poetry is concerned there are very few limits on what you can do.
Unfortunately, very few limits on what you can do doesn't mean very few limits on what is good and meaningful, which is undoubtedly an exceedingly high standard. The general lack of comprehension of this difference leads to an impression that whatever you can slap together with a bunch of words is possibly acceptable - about as far from the truth as you can get.

Couple this with the recent insurgence of abstract, free-form, free verse or experimental poetry - a trend which is steadily moving away from classical poetic forms like the sonnet or haiku.
Yes, free-form expression is well and good, but what it cannot become for budding poets is an excuse to avoid the rigorous thought and composition which is enforced by stricter poetic norms such as rhyme and meter. I firmly believe that such basics of poetry must be established before anyone can move on to writing more abstract pieces. Without rhyme and meter (or otherwise) to govern conciseness and consistency, the general standard of poetry has become sadly degraded and frightfully unclear - poetry is thought to be the easy-way-out of expression to provide the facade of being artistic.

I just think any would-be poets should try and learn from the basics up; poetry is a craft like any other and you really, really can't just make a poem by slapping words together; not any more than you can make a painting by slapping paint on canvas. Please leave poetry with some dignity left.

- adam

frightened little boy

"You're just a frightened little girl in a teenager's body."
I quote from Terence's blog.
Absolutely right. We're all like that in some way or another.It's something which endured from childhood, perhaps slightly more circumspect, but all there. It's make-believe. Honestly deep down inside I'm just a frightened little kid too, and honestly I believe that nobody (my age at least) is fundamentally any different. Sure, we run around and do our studies and go for competitions and projects and war games and pretend that we're all grown up and we're all under control but it really is a facade for somebody who is pretty much as clueless as the next guy about what on earth is going on. And having a higher IQ or being taller or stronger or faster or having more pubic hair isn't really going to change the fact.

Why am I bitching about this? I do all that stuff too. I debate, I do my studies, my projects, go for all sorts of ridiculous competitions, I play in my ensemble, and basically pretend that i'm really important sometimes. Maybe I play too much make-believe as well. In fact I'm pretty sure I do. I'm just tired of people who think that they're anything more than anybody else because they're smarter or know more or whatever. It's fucking stupid.

I wonder where the line is drawn. It must be a thin one or somebody would have noticed it. Where do you stop being a frightened little kid and grow up and learn to be in control of what or who you are? Maybe the whole notion of 'grown-up' doesn't really exist after all... people grow old, they learn more and know more and get better at what they do - but do they ever cross the line to being 'grown-up'? I don't know, but i'm certain some people think they have.

Go ahead and make-believe. It's what's required of you - But don't get any illusions that make-believe is any more than it is. Just because ten thousand other people buy into it doesn't mean it's any more real. You're just a frightened little kid too - I know I am.

- Adam

whee

It's over! It's over, and I didn't do so badly after all. Clean win, and best speaker on top of that! But I'd never have made it through without my team: Aaron & Fahd, Malcolm, and Joon Faii. I'd say it isn't a bad start to our season. It's just the beginning though... must train hard this month.
On the downside of things, my homework is in shambles. Shambles I tell you... after a week of almost obsessive preparation I've got basically every other subject teacher after my skin. To worsen the situation, it's currently Winter-een mas celebrations for me so instead of catching up on my homework I'm gaming like a madman. All you gamers out there, go to www.wintereenmas.com . I guess I'd better get started on things.

- Adam

take deep breaths

What a wreck. It's the night before and I'm already trembling... I can't relax without shaking anymore. Gotta get out of this state before tomorrow. I'm so worried about it, I can't think straight anymore. Take deep breaths. Nothing to worry.
JGs are tomorrow. 8.30, at First Toa Payoh sec. Against St. Nick's. Leader of opp. Take deep breaths. I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.

Two and a half years of training comes to this. It's useless telling myself that, won't make it any better. Just be clear and logical. Clear and logical. I've done all I can this week, at the expense of everything else. No point worrying anymore. Take deep breaths; just say a little prayer and dive in.

Fear is the mind-killer.


adam
Litany against fear taken from Frank Herbert's Dune.

gulp and grimace.

Invited to tea by some unruly gang of stimulant-sipping hooligans. Namely, wang derrick and cheng. Thursday, for several hours at least... I think I might go if I don't crop up some debate stuff. My initial reaction was something along the lines of 'pretentious little fuckers.' Although I didn't really say that. But then again I really should reserve judgement, because I've occasionaly been a pretentious little fucker and hiding it isn't going to make it any better. Besides, who knows? The combined genius of the three aforementioned hooligans might actually have come up with something useful this time.
At LEAST I don't have to suffer that diabolical substance the school serves. 'Gulp and grimace' I call it. It tastes slightly akin to shredded cardboard boiled to a warm soupy consistency, and it feels like having your intestines scooped out with a blunt ice-cream spoon. Which some people might resort to after having too much of it.
Oh my goodness. I've done it again. I wanted to write something on my blog and then it all spiralled out of control and now I'm writing about tea and cardboard and ice-cream spoons and using the phrase 'pretentious little fuckers' and immense run-on-sentences which don't really make sense nor actually get to the point for quite a bit and then proceed to take up more space than is really necessary from the actual post and then I quite forget what I was talking about, maybe I should come back tomorrow
When I'm making more sense.

Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. High Charity/Ghosts of Reach/the Last Spartan.
Martin O'Donnell really is a genius. Some of the most distinctive soundtrack music I've heard since Star Wars. And if you've ever played Halo 2, fits beautifully with the story.
Keep rocking!

TV, my ass.

It was to my consternation that I woke up this morning with a blinding headache and the realisation that the standard of TV is now in a very sorry state.
However, it would currently take too long to bitch about the WHOLE sorry state, so I shall just bitch about American Idol.

There is nothing wrong, in itself, with the concept of American Idol. Nothing wrong. In fact, I would salute whoever came up it for a genius idea that might possibly bring out the never-seen-before talent of various Americans. Unfortunately that only works in theory... the show has degraded into some awful farce that I can scarcely bear to watch.

Nevermind that you can vote twenty-thousand times for the same person as long as you have enough money, and presuming that your handphone doesn't dissolve from beta decay first. Nevermind that the voting process reflects pretty much none of what the American population really wants, and has degraded into some form of state-politics-rivalry thing. As long as it seems to be turning out people who appear to be credible enough, I shan't complain.

No, what I really need to gripe about are the shows. I fear they no longer (perhaps never did?) represent the idea behind American Idol; about finding -talent- amongst americans. I watched the show last night (which undoubtedly contributed to my presently blinding headache); I must report that it has become some kind of 'let's laugh at the losers who didn't make it' thing, which I find tremendously abhorrent.
I don't deny that there are failures. I don't deny that there are people out there who honestly think they can sing, and honestly have no talent whatsoever. The judges can say what they want to them; I think they probably brought it upon themselves. But when the show crosses the point where it's no longer about finding talent, but laughing at the people who have none, I say enough is enough.
So much for tolerance, then. So much for 'societal maturity'. If you're going to have a show that -publicizes- and makes fun of who we perceive to be failures, then I think that your TV shows are destroying the very 'mature society' that you're trying to create in your own country.
Imposing judgement and broadcasting, anybody? Sounds like Hitler, if you ask me.
I say American Idol has to go.

-Adam

Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. In Amber Clad.

blame me for laughing.

I am the sort to think in silly ways
about the sun and moon
and to be thoughtful on some evenings
and frivolous other times

I could hum you a tune
or write poetry to the whispering grasses
I could give darkness a thousand names
and one;

but I'm afraid- and sorely so
of that which is tuneless;
nameless, yet sweet
and kindly giving

but I'd let go of my sunsets
and silly tunes and
useless philosophies;
if only you'd teach me
what's missing.

- adam

Orange

WOoooooooooooooot my blog is now ORANGE!

ORANGE!

Yay.

buttercups

Here's my commonwealth essay for this year... Finally finished the first draft. I hope you like it... one of the better things i've written.

Slow down, we're going too fast
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said to me.
It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see and then invariably waste when you do. I'd taken her by the hand, crashing through the meadow, the grass-stains on our clothing smelling fresh and green - such that even the flowers might've smelled less beautiful, if equally pretty. I'd grabbed a handful of them - buttercups - and flung them playfully towards her, watching as she fumbled to catch them, succeeding only in losing her balance and collapsing the both of us into a grinning heap. There was a large one resting on the grass; I'd picked it up and offered it to her. The laughing stopped - abruptly she'd looked away, almost embarrassed to be caught like this. She'd closed her eyes slowly (I always thought she was cuter that way) and shook her head.
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said. We'd had this conversation before. She was right... but I couldn't help wondering, "Too fast for what?"
"I know." I'd said simply; we were both too smart to get into anything we'd have regretted.
We parted with some understanding -she'd left the meadow quietly. I let her.

All this I thought of as I idly fingered the wasted buttercup. I had taken it impulsively out of the jar of water it sat in. It was dead, the three paper-thin, dried-brown petals crunching silently between my fingers - two were missing. The stem was hard and brittle and I knew it would snap if I bent it just that much. I sat on my bed, chewing my lip thoughtfully as I pondered this. "Too fast for what?" I queried the empty air. The buttercup didn't answer.

We were sitting in the cafe, sipping tea. I could almost perceive, just sitting on my bed, the trickle of people going in-and out, making noncommittal greeting noises as they rushed to some place. The tea was too sweet, and there was too much milk in it. There'd been a sort of awkward silence hovering in the air between us expectantly; I'd opened my mouth and said nothing at all. A waiter approached the adjacent table, exchanging bills and inane pleasantries. I sighed and gave up on speaking ; she giggled as I reached over to get something out of my bag. It was the buttercup - I'd taken it home and placed it in a jar of water, and it seemed even more sprightly this time, if anything.
The sight of it seemed to do something to her - was that a blush? But when she looked at me I could hear the words before they reached me.
Oh my gosh... I can't really take this. We're- we're going too fast. You know it - we're just sixteen. I've got things to do, and you've got things to do... It's not that I don't like you, but maybe this isn't the time...
She never said any of that, but I knew it. We'd had this conversation before. The passing of a breeze brought a pained look to her features, shifting her hair quietly as she sat motionless, eyes fixed on the little yellow flower. She tried to smile - and then the breeze died off. She left the cafe quietly, leaving me with the buttercup, whose petals seemed to be drying out somewhat. I considered placing it in the thin porcelain vase that adorned the table with other sorts of flowers.
The cafe was playing some muzak. It was terrible, but I pretended to listen to it. She was right and I knew it. I wasn't bitter - we were both too smart to regret anything. I paid the bill and left, pocketing the buttercup.

I stared, hunched over the flower, slumping on the edge of my bed. If I cry, could you use the water? I stared, as if that would make words sprout from it. Fast enough for what? I could just hear the whisper of what she would've said. It won't work. Not in this time. Maybe not ever - who knows? But I've got things to do, and you've got things to do. Me... I'm just not ready. We're going too fast, I've got a future to build! Maybe... sometime after. Who knows? A little ghostly face somewhere gave me a plaintive look, somewhat awkward on its stoic, yet somehow beautiful features, as if begging me to understand. I think she wouldn't have known either.
Who knows? But the buttercup won't answer me.

We were outside the restaurant. "Thanks for dinner." she said. She'd agreed shyly when asked - I know she still had reservations but I was happy she'd come. It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see. The air was crisp when I breathed it in, crisp and strangely refreshing... There were small silvery highlights on her blue shirt, and on the rims of her spectacles (she wore hers this time) cast by the full moon. We stood by the roadside, ankle-deep in grass. Cars could be seen approaching in the distance; they'd pass us by, getting to somewhere else. It seemed for a moment that we were still in the vast ocean of frantic movement...
There was a soft rustle as she shifted her weight awkwardly. "I... uh, I should... you know. Go. It's late." It was dark but I could see her smile a little. I grabbed something from my pocket and pressed it into her palm. I heard her gasp. I turned away. "Good night" I said. At that point something tugged on the shoulder of my jacket. It pressed something into my hand, closing my fist over it, trembled a tiny hesitation ... and departed.
In my palm was a buttercup with three petals... just three. I smiled a little. For real or not, there was something wonderfully raw here... something new and fresh that I didn't quite understand fully. It was good, though, in my heart of hearts I knew that. If she hadn't left we'd have shared a sober nod... it was good.

But that was two days ago. Two petals out of five, two days out of five - I knew what it meant. We're going too fast. Too fast for what, I wonder? It was a start, but too late. That was her last word to me; she died yesterday. Car accident - broke her spine. She was rushed straight to a hospital, but she never stood a chance. I can almost smell the irony of it... she was killed for going too fast. I found out this morning and the tears haven't come yet. I sense it's futile.
I would tell you that I can't encompass my grief, but I'd be lying. It's something else, something raw and painfully fresh that I don't understand. She left the world quietly. She was right, and I know it - we were going too fast. But sometimes when I'm alone I wonder...
Too fast for what?

I'd flung the buttercup against my cupboard door, cursing against tears that would never come and never be used. The buttercup was dead; it wouldn't grow on crocodile's tears. I'd picked the frail thing up gently... almost afraid that I'd hurt it. I'd gritted my teeth and pulled out the last three petals, hearing the brittle things snap quietly.
Maybe I'll never know.


-Cheeeers!
EDIT: Latest version as of tuesday 8.21 PM. This will be the final version, unless somebody finds a huge flaw and points it out before I retire.

thinking about feelings.

Been thinking about stuff.
Feelings are somethings I rarely understand. I seldom tell anybody how I feel, because more often than not I'm just confused about it. For me it always smacked of fluffly things from fairy tales... which is probably wrong, but it sure seems that way. I hide away, never quite trusting, but sometimes bound to feel a certain way.
I'm sure it seems that i'm just cold sometimes, but really when it comes to these things I'm... afraid?

I shan't say anymore. Nobody likes a basket-case.

- Adam

First day of school.

It wasn't that bad, for all the cringing and hoping I wouldn't die today. I didn't, as seems pretty evident, but for those slack-brained amongst you I shall spell it out.
On a good note, I've dropped all my advanced modules except one, being Chemistry, which I hate, but I never liked advanced physics and maths any better.
Had a rehearsal straight after school, which is really a bummer on the first day... but it wasn't so bad because 1) Our conductor wasn't there to scream at me for not practicing, and 2) we're actually practicing for the Raffles Trail, which is this big event where we advertise our CCAs to the little sec 1s, shortly after which we devour them. I mean, recruit the interested parties. We're playing some hideous monstrosity of "Glory Days' from The Incredibles soundtrack arranged by Goh Zhaohan. (I'm sorry Zh.) AND i'm being made to play second violin principal. But all the same it was fun... can't say I didn't enjoy screaming at people to read the key-signature.

Now that i'm writing this I'm wondering what I always wonder when I read peoples' blogs...
Who the fuck wants to know about my life? I mean, seriously! Don't you have more enlightening things to be reading? Well all the same I'm an entertaining person and my life must be exceptionally entertaining, so I guess it's alright.

Oh yes. Go to www.100words.net ... the best idea some half-drunk bunch of crazed witless nerds have come up with this side of the century.

-Adam
Listening to: Bits and pieces of various music going through my head. Tchaikovsky Serenade! And that obscene Incredibles thingie.

New year

Another new year. Time really starts to zip around your head when you're not paying attention, and then one more year's over and you're left wondering where your past 12 months really went. Well, mostly it was crap, trying to do too many things at once and frantically zipping around, but fun.

I guess another year would mean ... further responsibilities, further things that I don't know how to deal with, further assorted mayhem... all of which is incredibly vague. To tell the truth, I just don't knows, but I've decided to stop worrying about all the shit that's headed my way next year.
After all, even I'm not immune to a little new year cheer. I guess there's only so much you can sit around and worry, and then you just have to dive in.

'05 won't know what hit it.

Cheers,
Adam

Listening to: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Take that, Rayner!