Sentrosi's Advent :: Etrinoss

NaNo's beginning. I'm writing and then not. It's quite frustrating, really, because I want to write and I have all these ideas but I have all these distractions and it gets tough when there're many ways you can go through with it and you're caught it what isn't really an impasse, but quite the opposite, and you can't decide, leaving you with a fine block. Sometimes I think the planning in October should be done, but crackfic really is quite fun nonetheless.

And I don't have friends-locked posts because it seems such a shame to be so exclusive when all I do is put crap nothing on this page anyway. Here's an idea, though: I'll start writing completely meaningless crap and actually make this experience something fun instead of trying to make it a catharsis in and of itself, simply because deviance from a norm is something emo( tional?) people go to the trouble of trying to be only end up not.

There aren't many words that can express how one feels in any given situation; after all, the lexicon of human words doesn't go beyond the lexicon of human emotions, if one could express them in a dictionary. Mood rings are so convenient allowing people to categorize your moods into one of several dozen little colours so you could put on a Happy one and go around smiling with only a fractionally smaller proportion of the Singaporean population finding you crazy. Smiling all the time is apparently creepy because it identifies you as 1) a pervert of some sort or 2) an escapee from Woodbridge. This is quite sad. I would smile all the time if not for the fact that it hurts my face. It's a lot less mainstream, anyway, than one might expect. The whole world isn't happy, and everyone hopes to be less happy than their fellow man because they suppose it easier to be than happier; of course, that's not true at all since it's been established that the whole world isn't happy.

There are a few ways to throw a stone such that it doesn't hurt any birds. There aren't as many to prevent them from hurting the stone. It's lucky that stones are forgiving. I have a friend whose parents are stones. As far as I know he hasn't had any traumatic experiences during his childhood, so perhaps it's better that way. It doesn't make so much of a difference the stone they're made of, I guess, but shale usually denotes a lineage from the upper crust, so to speak. It's all a matter of Geography, which is better not taken when exams are postponed for a week and no one has any idea what the biggest bird is, anyway. It's fairly difficult to kill a roc with a pebble; even in the eye it'd just cry on you and drown you in its salty tears. Season you for a snack, maybe. Although I'm not sure exactly what rocs eat. Sinbads, possibly.
 

I killed the one who wasn't me:
If he'd been close,
He might have loved
However temporarily.

I wondered if he could not like,
Or love, or may-
Be just for fun
Not feel what he once thought I might.

I wrote a word for him, how brief:
Like postcards sent
From places gone
To winter out the poignant grief.

I can't recall when we were friends,
And lived in dreams;
Now my nightmares
Keep me awake to make amends.

I killed the one who wasn't me
He was once close,
And I once loved.
However, temporarily.

I'll be able to remember this year as the year I witnessed Singapore clinch an Olympic medal after almost fifty years.

... If not for other things which I hope to remember as fondly.

They're a tribute, in a way, to everything.

But especially to that which I once could've had, if only I had once been what I could've been, once.

... Just not the way they mean.

They (who) write words – not sentences which

                        hang; not really going (anywhere)

                                    (in                    forward

backward        between)

why the

  awkward       (brackets)                    pauses

                                    which seem                 like

(words)             without catching a breath;     breathing.

 

                        Pause.

 

End—STOP                (a)        in         (play)

            (on) words, and maybe not even then

                                    (quiet)

And then an (outburst) of c o l o u r

       (rude)       like a                (giant!)            footstep

                       

            Or a poet        (–struggling—) with Tourette’s

 

                                                                        STOP(end)

 

 

 

 

 

... Seriously, though; what's with that?

Narcissu-esque moment today when I actually had to fight back tears (something I haven't had to do in a long time since I trained my tear glands on intensive Disney marathons); I'm not sure what struck me the most, but I think it was how magnificent his death was that made me feel like it shouldn't have ended, although that could have been his only conclusion.

It's amazing how much life that one death created.

I spent the ten-minute walk home singing Nobody Knows and The Gift, among other sentimental love ballads. Maybe it's from that one time a long time ago when I thought I felt something that felt like that which I haven't felt in forever that I have never felt again; I haven't run from it, but it still sits there, patently out of reach, while my conception of the image leaves it so grand that the real truth is that maybe I've forgotten how to recognize it.

And what it once meant; maybe.

I have an uncle Bob and an uncle Shaun. The former is dead and the latter currently living with my grandmother. Before he died, uncle Bob wrote a book which my parents gave me when I was in secondary school. I read it again today and I realized what he might've meant when he created that crossroads: two men standing at a two-way fork. They both know they have to go right to salvation, but the sign pointing to the left fork says 'right' and the one to the right fork says 'left'. Probably not the first one to use that, but it's effective, and strangely ironic.

I don't know which road I'd take.

The black cat is growing white fur and I wonder if it's stress or if perhaps it's just always been there and I've never seen it but when I saw it lying on the path today with no one to play with I decided to pet it for a while and it liked it so much that it crawled around me and tried to crawl onto me but then it seemed to realize I didn't like its claws on my thigh so it came down again and wound between my legs instead mewing loudly but when I tried to leave it chased after me and barred my way with its body until I had to walk around it and walk up to the steps and leave it behind and wave goodbye as it looked solemnly maybe forlornly after me and I wondered why I was so afraid was it the fact that I couldn't feed it or the fact that I couldn't stay with it but I think that's why I can't ever commit to anything.

.

Well, that was an experience I quite enjoyed, and will probably never forget. I really like everyone in choir.

And I am mildly annoyed that I can't transfer the pictures to my computer.

Goodbye, badbye,
Happybye, sadbye,
Butterfly,
Flutter by
When I return.

Let's try,
Don't die.
Nothing else to go by.
Through all of this I
Won't be alone.

Have you ever sat down at your computer one day and realized that while you'd been typing a sentence, two weeks had gone by, and yet no one had noticed you were gone?

... Quite.

I just thought of the most phenomenal gameshow. Questions like "Do you actually enjoy working in your current job?", "How much money do you earn a year?", and "How much sex do you get a week?" might be asked, to hilarious effect. Expect much breaking down and crying by many of the male participants. Besides being a platform through which people can re-examine their career priorities and possibly earn some money, the show also provides everything essential in a reality gameshow, namely:

• Degrading humour
• Young and sexy harlots
• Prizes that can never be won
• Young and sexy harlots
• An opportunity for the audience to laugh at themselves
• Young and sexy harlots

Of course, to prevent the show from becoming stale, new hookers will be found every week. Additionally, as with the original gameshow in this franchise, participants must be carefully selected to prevent too high a win rate. For that reason, the pool of contestants will be limited to male civil servants. A special episode featuring lesbian cashiers may be one highlight of the season.

I am sure it will be a hit.

... Then there could never be regret.

 But I've got work to do.

... So much for being assertive.

For anyone who believes that I have no reason to be saying this, it doesn't apply to you. To anyone else who sees any significance in an apology from me, please accept the sentiment.

Sincerely; truly.