vata

2001-10-22T08:00:00.000-07:00

i think fifteen minutes has been over for a long time. i'm still woozy, and i wish i could cuss, but words like that escape my current state of mind because they're hard and sharp and stuff, you know? woozy is a word that feels like my state of mind. soft, cottony, coming apart, vague, stuffing, and spongey. i think i wasn't supposed to write here anymore, but comfort, y'know? stupid stupid stupid when nobody i actually want to comfort me is here right now.

*cries a little, from fear of permanent brain damage and see above*

*hugs self*

2001-10-22T07:56:00.000-07:00

yowch.

i just hit my head really bad on the wooden floor of my room. i was mouthing along to "death of gavroche" on the les miz soundtrack, and man, that kid's really pititful. i think he was the best member out of all the cast members. cause he isn't damn self-absorbed and wallowing in 1) unrequited love 2) bloodlust or 3) pathetique sonatas about how they've killed people. oh, him and thenardier. thenardier rocks, but i like the other guy who sang him.

and gavroche actually choked and started crying in his song. he's a real kid, and you could tell. i was mouthing along, kneeling on the floor to pack my bag, which was on the bed. and suddenly he just cuts off his words and there's this thumping sound, which is presumably his body hitting the floor, and it just seems utterly natural that i just thump along with him. so i kind of fell and hit my head hard on the floor. there was this thump sound and everything and everything became less, not clear, but i got kind of confused and disoriented. like, i just hit my head on the floor... hm... ow! i still have that sort of vague feeling now, and there's this thumping sound like a mini headache in my head, which could be a full headache if i could concentrate on it.

then i suddenly wondered about head trauma, and possible brain damage and got scared. paranoid me, that's me. so i went on the net and checked for symptoms. i have some of them, but if they leave in fifteen minutes that's almost up, i'm supposedly okay. i suppose. i got that from a kid's health site, because all the adult ones used words like cereberal cortex that i didn't understand.

just checking motor skills. they seem to be okay. not up to par, and i keep on mistyping and noticing things, but mostly okay. since babe's not here, i s'pose i hafta go turn to invisibles for some semblance of comfort. i wish somebody who's here with me now actually cares -- my mum just shrugged and said somewhat irritatedly, "so how? just rub it!" okay, my brother asked if i was okay, but hey, my brother's like that. all talk and balking at an actual answer that requires him to actually do stuff, like touch people.

i feel somewhat disoriented. but at least my vocabulary isn't failing me. and i remember the important stuff about me, like you know, i'm rox's and my telephone number and full name and stuff. all that stuff's important.

man, i feel woozy. my head's all fogged up. i feel like crying from the confusion.

2001-10-21T01:26:00.000-07:00

an official announcement

ahem. well. this is zhi ying here, you know? the girl whom you've been reading the woes of for the past few months?

i, that is, zhi ying, am officially closing this blog. why? well, it hasn't got much of a reason. probably because i wanted to, and because i'm kind of stuck at what to write. the words don't come that easily when i blog here, y'see?

of course, i'll still be blogging [zod knows my writing skills need to manifest themselves somewhere before they crumble and die], but at an undisclosed location. it is highly probable that i will not reveal this to anyone.

why? well, because i've come to the conclusion that blogs, which are diaries, are useless if everybody's gonna know about them. it takes all the fun out of getting to know people through normal conversation. and also, in several blogs, people mostly come off as...
- twisted
-bitchy
-pretentious
-depressed
-holier-than-thou
-self-absorbed
-whiny
-conceited
... as well as just plain stupid. and i realize, to my profound horror, that i am guilty of all these things. and you're probably guilty of them as well, to any blogger reading this.

this is not the image i would like to project to the world. maybe i'll take this statement back when i'm feeling less... gee, i dunno, whatever... i'll take this statement back. however! nelly furtado is telling me, in her strange little stilted high-low voice, that it'll be cold in hell, it'll be cold in hell, it'll be cold in hell, before they put me in that chamber. well. that doesn't make much sense, but it's spurring me to do this.

if you want to know more about me, etc. i will be setting up a website sometime in mid november to december. i will disclose the address of it when it is up on this blog.

but for now, adios, and thanks for all the fish.

2001-10-18T02:05:00.000-07:00

immaturity and people so do not go

i am going to start an ankh collection. it has occurred to me yesterday that now ankhs are suddenly everywhere -- you find at least one ankh necklace or pendant in a jewellry store. boo. they're trendy now. i liked it better when they were obscure mildly pagan-looking symbols.

i'd bet an arm they're only popular because they're pagan-looking. everybody wants to be fashionably cool trendoid rebels.

people are only goth now because it occurs to them that hey, black is, like, cool, and goths wear black, like, all the time, and they're, like, rebellious and in, so, like, wow, i'm gonna be goth too! *hisses*

and on the other side, people are doing that too, but for diff reasons. that go somewhat along the lines of "i have angst, i write angst, i angst, i wallow in it, hey, i can be goth too!" boos to you too, little missy look-at-me-i'm-an-angsty-mature-sophisticate-who-happens-to-be-thirteen.

nobody's mature. you might be mature beyond your allotted age, but please, that proves jackshit. everybody's immature, we all throw hissy fits, we're all selfish in some way or the other, we all think we're better and deserve better and should do better, but what are you going to do about it?

that's the only question that matters, really.

it's not any of you who're reading the blog now. especially not you, sheryl. but it's just the general mentality, yah?

[also people wearing ankhs that are mine, mine, mine! bahahahahahaha! die, trendoid preppies!]

[see? i'm immature. but at least i admit it. and enjoy it. sometimes. XD]

2001-10-13T23:44:00.000-07:00

there is no spoon: ficcism

when i was in kindergarten, i used to read the berenstein bears. i loved their life. they ate oatmeal and porridge out of earth-tone bowls with metal spoons without brand names engraved in them. and when they ate apple sauce (and this blew my five-year old mind), their spoons left holes in the apple sauce! as if the apple sauce was mashed potato, and not some kind of runny, sickly-sweet goo.

and they made their own furniture. they lived in a tree. there entire life was organic, returning to earth without any fuss or muss. they were slicked-back nature, personified into animals that could rip my head off and eat my spine. they could slide into any world. nature, the city. and over again, transitional deities of flight.

huginn and muninn, the ravens of the gallows god. they fly on the backs of these bears, documenting the lives of the people who are entranced by this secret world of wonderland. where spoons make holes in apple sauces, where there is a moral to every story. september always heralds red leaves and piles of them, where brother bear and sister bear could leap into.

the bears could fobb off any adversary. they were the world. they were their world, and i could never enter it. no applesauce. i've never eaten applesauce from spoons without brand names engraved in them, or nicked from aeroplane flights.

i think that my family must be the sole reason why airlines spend over a million dollars replacing stolen cutlery. the spoons tasted metallic and bitter in my mouth, the feeling of an executive, harrassed beyond all reason about the cutlery, placing a gun in his mouth.

huginn and muninn watch as i close my eyes and put the spoon in my mouth.

2001-10-13T01:50:00.000-07:00

unexplainable incoherent delirium-joy bubbles

*makes subsequent incoherent noises, which follow as:*hnnnnnhhh! hnnnnnnnhhhh! *waves arms around frantically*

oh my god. he looks like a male kate moss! damn it, he has got a complexion like thora birch! all pale and tinted! i want that sort of skin.

[i also want him. if you'd like to make trin very very happy, God (see, i even gave you a capital just for you), feel free to drop him into my lap.]

*collapses back into incoherentness* nyyyyrrrgh! nyyyyyyrrrrrrgh!

2001-10-09T03:07:00.000-07:00

don't be sad. or mad. or feel bad.

*hugs*

2001-10-06T06:35:00.000-07:00

witchee [ficcism]

I am in in-between zones, in the small periods of time that don’t define anything or anyone in your life right now.

There is nobody here for anyone to define. I’m sitting by the window of the dorm, and looking out over the grounds. Somewhere, a dark shape lumbers around the edges of the lake. Hagrid. He looks small enough for me to pinch between my index finger and thumb.

Transitory states of mind are not the best of places to be when you’re studying for your OWLs. Or at least, trying to study for your OWLs. For one thing, you tend to talk to yourself a lot, and refer to yourself in the third person.

I am idly wondering what exactly would happen if I went into the Transfiguration exam on Monday with no preparation at all. Would they make an exception for the Boy Who Lived, say, “Never mind. He’s a figurehead of power, let him be. His actual intelligence and skill don’t matter, only the fact that he’s there.”

I imagine my heart leaping up into my throat as I try to remember the spell that makes a dead frog turn into a black cat, tail swishing and eyes flashing, and back again. I always wondered if the cat was angry because it had the scent of frog all over itself, and it didn’t know whether to attack itself, or listen to the dull froggy instinct that croaked for it to hide in the nearest clump of reeds.

Oh. I remember it now. Herpetium Felinious.

I suppose I will be alright. But that’s only one spell, among the multitudes of others. And I need to remember how to do so many things...

Like how to brew a Ralonique Sludge.

Like what to do when a Lamia stares into my eyes.

Like how to act, and how to react to the people I love, and the people I hate, and the people I love-hate...

Actually. The person I love-hate.

He’s probably currently down in his dorm as well, easily digesting book after book after book, spell after spell after spell. He probably knows how to brew a Ralonique Sludge, and exactly how many grams of crushed betel-stick-insects to be thrown into the cauldron and what kind of hand gestures needed to throw them in without your hand contracting third-degree burns. Bastard.

I was wrong about there being nobody in the dorm. Seamus is on his bed, all spiked sand-hair and bright eyes, reading Defence Against Commonly-Found Demons out loud. He claims that doing that helps him remember, but it just helps him to irk people who prefer utter silence when studying.

I don’t prefer much of anything. If anything, I’d prefer not studying, thank you very much.

“... Veelas are the subspecies of Lamias, which reside in caves in Eastern Europe, specifically around the mountains of Russia. Lamias are half-human, half-snake, with a body mass of about--”

I blank out Seamus’ thick Irish brogue, which often manifests itself when Seamus is unaware.

“.... stares at you in the eyes, the effect is not unlike that of the Imperius curse -- the victim’s will is rendered subservient to that of the Lamia. However, unlike the Imperius curse, you can break the gaze of the Lamia by gathering remnants of your self-control and making your left toe draw the Wichiitaa symbol in the ground. The Wichiitaa symbol, a more specific spell-breaking symbol of the Winula genus, consists of a circle and--”

So there. So now I know what to do when a Lamia stares me in the eyes.

Now, what about when Malfoy does that?

He should be in a book like the one Seamus is reading now. Draconis Malfoynium. Subspecies >Sexyium Bastardis.

Humanoid, yet leaves the impression that a vital component of being human is missing -- namely, humanity. The Draco Malfoy has a strange, mystical ability to come off like a complete arsehole whilst being unbelievably desirable at the same time.

The Draco Malfoy has white-blonde hair and a pale complexion, indications that he may be of human and Veela blood. He has seemingly nondescript grey eyes, but beware -- he has a paralysing gaze not unlike that of the Lamia. This gaze cannot be broken or defended against, regardless of whatever bloody Wiitchii symbol or spell you use. The only possible option is to go along with the Draco Malfoy’s intentions and pray to your deity or god of choice that the Draco Malfoy is not feeling particularly vicious.

The Draco Malfoy’s body mass is around... around...

Don’t go there, Harry. Do not go there. That place involves many pleasa-- unpleasant thoughts.

“Harry?” Seamus calls out, thick Irish accent now reduced to a thin lining around his perfect English. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve just been punched in the stomach.”

“No, I’m fine,” I say. Maybe I should just attach a mirror in front of my face so that I can observe my facial expressions when I think about Malfoy. I’m sure that one day, I’ll look back on this, and laugh.

And I’ll say to my grandchildren, “I was a dumb teenager. You kids make sure you never moon over an unattainable boy like that, alright?” and they would all nod their little blonde heads.

... blonde heads?

You are going mad, Harry. You are obviously not in in-between zones. You are in the well-visited land of sexual frustration. Maybe Snape’s here, it would explain why he’s such a wanker. You might as well forget about trying to study. You might as well flop on your bed and watch yourself having sex with Malfoy in your head.

Although, the next time he tries to fix me with his paralysing come-to-bed/ you-are-such-a-moron/ I-am-a sexy-little-thing-and-I-know-it stare, maybe I will try and regain some semblance of self-control and make my left toe draw the Witchee thing symbol into the ground.

No harm trying, is there?

2001-10-02T04:59:00.000-07:00

cheesecake

i can practically taste the cheesecake rox is having. key word: practically. as in "it's on the tip of the tongue, all it needs now is solidity." and makes me feel like bungeing [yes, i made that up] my tongue forward and poking at the air in the hope that it might have dispersed cheesecake molecules. screw pineapple. it could have bits of oscar the grouch in it for all i are, as long as it's nice.

and she's just told me it's made of philedelphia [sp?] cream cheese. so now i feel this need to lick at things. also in the hope that it might have remnants of cheesecake past on it. as if i would go around with a piece of cheesecake and slime the walls with it so future me could eat it off in case of
emergency. stupid, bad past me.

XD

am highly amused by this post. next thing you know, the self-amusement could stem to self-involvement then i start to juggle under my legs. which was, incidentally, highly amusing. i'd got quite good at it in the hour i practised. so there. XP

with all the emoticons, i feel like i should be on south park. my tag line would be "yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!" and then i would hit somebody. probably kyle.

i think i stole that from somewhere. never mind. savage garden reminds me of wesley, from angel. it's all whiny and... uhm... wesley probably features in slash songfics with savage garden lyrics in them. wesley x angel!

am still highly amused by this post. i'm in a good mood today. i drew a chicken on the whiteboard in class and the chinese teacher laughed at it. and then she indirectly, grudgingly complimented me because i didn't get a single chinese word wrong for her spelling [probably only because carmen, god bless the screaming little prefect, said i was really smart and didn't get any wrong]. and ching, my partner-in-classroom-crime, made up a song. ahem.

i fluck you, you fluck me,
we are flucking family,
with a great big fluck
and i kick you out the door,
no more flucking dinosaurs!

[ching resolved a week ago to substitute damn with darn, shit with shoot and fuck with fluck.]

also, rox made a very nice blog. it makes me smile. come to think of it, almost everything she does makes me smile. heh heh heh, whaddya know. she also flamed ze ying's, the hitler youth prefect who had something either crawl up her butt and die, or get spawned in it and is thriving away, and is currently settling down and raising some kids, blog. love you, rox. *kisses and huggles*

2001-09-30T00:20:00.000-07:00

dream blog

i dreamt that diagon alley was a japanese supermarket with no magic and a stupid logo. i was shopping there with my brother for instant noodles.

i dreamt that i was naked, in a valley too small and cramped for me, so i had to sit with my legs drawn up to my chin. there was a small grate behind me, in the wall against my back. i had an aquarium of clear water in my lap. i emptied it out, and the water flowed and flowed and didn't stop, the grate was blocked.

when the water reached my chin, i climbed out.

no fuss, no muss.

my skin was either glassy blue or glass. the entire of me.

*shakes head violently* i will not read siriusxseamus until 12 am ever again. especially when people get the crucio spell cast on them repeatedly.

once i remember being in a house, with things after a group of people and i. i don't know how i knew there were things after us, i just did. i didn't even see the things, let alone them killing or savaging one of us. so i ran. and in the end, i lost the group of people i was with and ran out of the house. i was so terrified. but once i was out of the place, it didn't seem to matter. people were probably being killed by the things, so what? the more i thought about the monsters in that place, the less real it seemed.

so me, being utterly moronic, went back inside. front door opening... nothing. went down the whitewashed corridors... nothing. opened a door in the corridor, something leapt at me. i don't know what, it had claws, and my heart just ripped itself apart in fear. and soon afterwards, it got ripped physically by the monster in the dream.

the claws were so sharp.

but when i woke up, heavy breathing and all, no pain. no fear at all. oddness.

2001-09-29T07:19:00.000-07:00

you know who you are, this is for you

previous episodes: [to anybody who came close] no don’t touch me it hurts it hurts it HURTS don’t touch me leave me alone don’t move closer you’re breaking the barriers you’re breaking the barriers you’re tearing them down defend defend DEFEND...

now, on this episode: where have all the defences gone?

you draw me in your arms and they’re gone. i don’t understand. where are they? they’ve melted like cotton candy in the heat of a mouth, swirled away to trickles of sweet pink that stay in my mouth, doesn't go stale, twined away to my mind.

ice cycles

icicles

popsicles

of artificial flavouring

small fake sweetness manufactured

and the ice of tainted tap water

trickles down the sides of mountains

to pool at your feet.

to soar up to be plucked by the aching sun

to form baubles of frozen on branches

that you pluck and delicately consume

in a foreign, frozen wasteland.

flaring up the trashdump

like a crimson fire -- i told you pheonix

as an symbol for my rebirths, but

i meant the cycle of ice

deviant from the hydrological

since it never melted.

until you.

2001-09-28T00:13:00.000-07:00
tom ripley:
i always thought it was better to be a fake somebody than a real nobody.

2001-09-28T00:12:00.000-07:00
they're going to tire of me, and then they leave. they always get tired. either in general, or of me. if they haven't yet, they will.

i love you.

2001-09-28T00:07:00.000-07:00
peter smith-kingsley:
can you imagine, if dickie did kill freddie, what must that be like? to wake up every morning, how can you? just wake up and be a person, drink a coffee...?
tom ripley:
whatever you do, however terrible, however hurtful - it all makes sense, doesn't it? inside your head. you never meet anybody who thinks they're a bad person or that they're cruel.
peter smith-kingsley:
but you're still tormented, you must be, you've killed somebody...
tom ripley:
don't you put the past in a room, in the cellar, and lock the door and just never go in there? because that's what i do.
peter smith-kingsley:
probably. in my case it's probably a whole building.
tom ripley:
then you meet someone special and all you want to do is toss them the key, say open up, step inside, but you can't because it's dark and there are demons and if anybody saw how ugly it was...
peter smith-kingsley:
that's the music talking. harder to be bleak if you're playing knees up mother brown.
tom ripley:
i keep wanting to do that - fling open the door - let the light in, clean everything out. if i could get a huge eraser and rub everything out... starting with myself... the thing, is peter, if...

2001-09-28T00:01:00.000-07:00

to me from me

don't bother saying sorry
why don't you come in?
smoke all my cigarettes - again.
everytime i get no further
how long has it been?
come on in now
wipe your feet on my dreams.

you take up my time
like some cheap magazine
when i could have been
learning something
well, you know what i mean.

i've done this before
and will do it again
c'mon and kill me baby
whilst you smile like a friend
and i'll come running
just to do it again.

i can't believe it
that this is still going on
just how stupid can one person be?
just how stupid and wrong

you are the last drink i never should have drunk
you are the body hidden in the trunk
you are the habit i can't seem to kick
you are my secrets on the front page every week.
you are the car i never should have bought
you are the train i never should have caught
you are the cut that makes me hide my face
you are the party that makes me feel my age.

like a car crash i can see but i just can't aboid
like a plane i've been told i never should board
like a film that's so bad but
i've just got to stay til the end
let me tell you -
it's lucky for you that we're friends.
--pulp

2001-09-27T23:54:00.000-07:00
what a horrendous way to end your birthday schoolweek. with your chinese teacher giving out your ca marks and you found out you a) failed, and b) got the lowest in class.
i don't fucking get why people think that i'll do so well. they only see the ca marks, and i don't fucking need them to moon over their results (viz. which they haven't got back yet) and fling handfuls of slime at themselves, because they're under the impression that somehow, thanks to whatever godawful psychic ability they have, that they're going to fail, and "oh my god, this is so sucky, i'm so sucky, i hate you for getting so high!!!!!"

i do not fucking need that.

i'm sorry to whoever is reading this, since you're probably going to be one of those people. i'm sorry for ranting, but i. cannot. take. this.

i can't let you touch me because the voices are screaming too, too loud that all your sympathy is based on the presumed assumption that i'm just throwing a fit because i'm just a brat being anal about results, it's just this little thing that zhiying has and they're so much worse off but they have to pretend to and the voices are screaming over and over and over and over that they're going to want to hurt you, they want to deceive you that they care for real and everything's been a grand charade, a trick orchestrated by them because they don't care, they push me in the face out of the way and leave me to bleed in the pei hwa library, staring fixedly at a page in the book because i'm willing myself to kill the tears, and only leave when the library closes to find them gone and my bag, previously on the bench, on the floor.

because they don't care. they never wanted to care. you're just a toy, a thing to be used and discarded like your own fucking bag across the floor, blackened by the flaking cement, unable to pick itself up. and the library's locked up and the librarian who practically grinned her face open when somebody finally came in and read in earnest has gone and the sound of her court shoes has faded out ages ago and you're all alone in a school you never really liked anyway.

so, the voices say, i have to hurt them back.

and the anger and the hate and the betrayal and the fucking sadness of all those moments just condense into one [where you find out they really don't care about you, all those times you waved to them they only waved back out of decorum, and the realization they never waved first to you] and you just need to lash out at somebody, anybody but you can't. and that just crawls up your throat so you can't breathe, can't do anything, can't think, can't touch, can't move, can't feel, can't see.

because once you let them touch you, once you let them get under your skin and stay there, they're going to whip out the knife they've been hiding all along and carve your heart out again. and my heart, it's so tired of being put back, of being held in my hand because i need to find someone to put it back, i can't do it myself, would someone help me? would someone love me?

and i know there are people who'd do that, and there are people who do, but i'm filled with doubt i know is stupid and useless and redundant because they say they do but voices they're just voices just like the voices in my head and saying words, just words and one of them is lying but i can't tell which one because i'm too confused, too confused, i can't do anything anymore, breathing is a problem, let alone thinking straight. but the voices don't care for me either, they're out to save themselves, to radiate from me and seep into other people's minds and slowly kill them too [you're giving off bad vibes], they're too loud, they drown out everything and everything else is too loud too sharp too bitter too salty too grainy too loud too much and i feel like i'm going to explode.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

2001-09-25T04:12:00.000-07:00

theakeaston thirteen

[yes, i did make that up. it makes me feel that i should be in a subway leaning against something and watching the cars pass by in flashes of luminescent orange and yellow, like on late-night television traffic news, on the way to... uhm, somewhere. quiet and peaceful and fast and going places and flashy all at once. a paradox within a contradictory paradox. because a) i would never be allowed to go on the subway at night alone, and b) there is no subway in SG, just the MRT with it's stupid boring name. but i would gladly settle for being on the MRT at night leaning against rox. i would settle for anything nice involving rox. *grins*]

*bellows* it's my birthday, and i've got nopartytocryin, gotnopartyto cry in, gotnopartyto cry in, you would cry too if you didn'thaveone too! [damn those exa-a-a-ams!]

so i'm thirteen. woo. i'm still too young to drive, drink, have sex, buy cigarrettes, buy a car, buy an apartment. HOWEVER, i'm officially an official teenager.

I HAVE A LISCENCE TO ANGST! i'm LEGAL!

*laughs*

rox made this incredibly, incredibly sweet post at her blog. oh god... whenever i think about that post i think i'm going to burst out in happy tears or start uncontrollably grinning happily. either way, it makes me really really really happy. it makes the fact that i can't go out on my own birthday tolerable.

*hugs rox* love you. you, you make it all worthwhile.

*skips out, grinning*

2001-09-24T04:52:00.000-07:00
ooohh... rox called me her baby.

i like that.

::grins madly::

today was nice. i actually learnt how to prime factorize and i think i got it in my head at last -- after eight months struggling with it you'd think i'd learn, but nooooo... but i got it now. and also i had a few blissful moments of superiority when my fellow tuition-mates couldn't get the answer, but i could. then they went "ohhhhh" and then shot ahead of me by light-years in understanding, and proceeded to understand reverse formulae-thingys. hey, it was good while it lasted.

and my tuition teacher does not get why i must snicker hysterically when charmaine puts a plastic candy box over her lips and sucks her mouth out. little brain of hers. cannot comprehend the complex emotions i go through.

and rox called me her baby. did i mention that?

::face cracks from grinning::

2001-09-24T01:51:00.000-07:00
bleargh. chinese oral tomorrow. i have to converse with the teacher intelligently, in mandarin, like she's a normal human being...

somebody get out the vogon poetry now.

2001-09-24T01:32:00.000-07:00
ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh maaaannnnnn...

if i had that right now, i think i'd go all tingly and glowy -- like after sex.

unfortunately, Dairy Queen has moved out of wonderful ol' SG... and now there are NO MORE OUTLETS IN THIS HELLHOLE!!!

if the morons who lived here had any conception of how wonderful that place was... grrrr.

somewhere in america, a kid has got the one thing i would gnaw my little finger off for in his hand and the little nimrod is licking it and thinking, i like fundae's better.

DIE!!!

2001-09-24T01:29:00.000-07:00

i want candy

no, not really. but what i reeeeeeeeaaaaaaally want is that ol' Dairy Queen wonder-of-all-things-sinful Delight... the soft vanilla cone that they would dispense out of a tube in swirls of snowy white... and then they would grab it by the cone and dunk it in a vat of hot fudge chocolate!

*shrieks*

and then it would dry... and oh god, you would have the most horribly sweet thing on this side of the crustal plate... SOFT VANILLA ICE CREAM IN A SHELL OF CRUNCHY CHOCOLATE!!!

oh my god...

*whimpers*

2001-09-22T05:23:00.000-07:00
no, i don't wanna know you; i don't really care who you; just gotta get something in between, to help me carry on; first time round; and i'm okay, cause i feel happier this way...

*a plotbunny peeks out from foliage, in search of opportunity to manifest itself*

*it quietly hops out and nibbles on the grass of trin's author mind*

*a mountain of textbooks, notes, and index cards fall on it*

plotbunny: *makes helpless, pitiful mewling sound from beneath rubble* meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeepp...

a moment of silence, please, for the death of inspiration. trin has retired herself from writing temporarily due to examinations.

come to think of it, trin should not even be writing this at all. she should be studying. goodbye, trin.

adios, amiga. may the force be with you.

*trin sobs quietly to herself as violin music plays*

*the plotbunny makes a pathetic gurgling noise and with a whimper and a sigh, dies*

*somewhere in the corner, slash!draco whimpers from lack of attention and hugs himself from the cold of forced isolation from slash!harry*

*a clown cries*

*a baby drops his lollipop*

... i never did like kids.

2001-09-21T07:33:00.000-07:00
i didn't study at all today. poetry doesn't make me in a study-type mood. hence the title. thought i might explain that.

(always needlessly explaining, that's me.)

and: another newbie, shiree (sp?) hates boybands. she reckons a1 are gay1.

dude. i like these people already.

2001-09-21T07:31:00.000-07:00

no time

walk in the rain with me, and we might feel the mist from the pounding water rise against our skin.

i like t.s. elliot. i think i might use him for my sacab drama assessment, even at the risk of sounding like a pretentious asshole. there is this girl, jeanette, she's nice. i think she likes sarah michelle gellar, hopefully the buffy sarah michelle gellar, so we can gleefully babble on about buffy and related indicia. i think she's like me. mwahaha. young, precocious, pseudo-worldly-wise, funny and with a strange accent. also, she has classy style that looks like she put it together herself. rectangular emerald fractured pendant, not a lot of people can pull off. respect. see, now i feel like an inferior, olded, wrinkly version 1.0 of me with bad taste in clothing.

unfortunately, i mistook her for a secondary 1 when she was in primary 6, and she is goddamn pretty. prettier than me. damn. and she has great hair. i want hair like that. muuuuuum... (i must cut my hair tomorrow. i quiver.)

hah! more people with misplaced, migrant accents are at friday club!

now we shall commence to rock your world, uneducated heathen spawn!

2001-09-17T06:10:00.000-07:00
see, now she's even beginning to make me feel really, really bad inside.

2001-09-17T06:08:00.000-07:00
so, yeah. mostly it's just her being silly again.

honestly. girlfriends just ruin your happy moods by demanding to go into self-destruction mode because they're bored and they've got nothing better to do.

i've got a list of better things here that you could do, sista. only, see, i'm not with you, so you could probably cross about three-quarters of the list off. i wish i could make you feel better and give you something to look forward to.

only, i'm not that good at that sort of thing, so... daamn. ::runs hand through hair:: i could just say idiotic things to make up for it and make a prat out of myself.

::sigh:: that's how much i love you. honestly. you great, big silly. you ought to be on obi-wan kenobi's 'happy pills' [tm].

love. love is nice. love is stomping doc marten-sized boot prints over my heart.

i do believe it's flamenco dancing. a sort of sad, alone, slow flamenco dancey thing.

dance with me?

2001-09-17T05:35:00.000-07:00

placebo: worship

i have forgotten how fun it is to stomp up and down my room in black lycra sport clothes and groove to music.

i think i have forgotten that i can get most happy from doing that. and i have the happiest smile on my face from that. it must have gone into hiding or something.

i wish i had a black spanish skirt with a flamenco train. then, dread children, you can see me tango with the night!

icaramba! ::snaps fingers in air, clomps heeled shoes::

bahahahaha!

placebo rocks, dudes and dudettes. you can dance flamenco to it, of course it rocks.

XD

2001-09-16T05:28:00.000-07:00
i feel contented. i wish i had somebody to wrap my arms around and hold. maybe we could share hot chocolate -- or coffee, if one wanted -- and watch the fire in the fireplace flicker and burn.

and oh, the entire night glides into my mind like smooth chocolate, rippling and slithering like a snake across the grass, like liquid quicksilver, mercury...

2001-09-16T05:27:00.000-07:00

[ficcism]

two boys tramp madly in the snow, mad whirl of heavily lifted and plunked down boots into soft, relenting snow.

they seem to be doing something involving much shrieking and throwing of handfuls of messily collected snow. very badly aimed, if one asks.

still, one manages to clock the black-haired boy's left cheek -- with barely enough force to injure, let alone hurt -- but still. a victory is a victory. so the blonde boy laughs, the breath coming out of him in puffs of cotton-candy wisps.

the sky above them is blue -- a hypodermic, freezing-water blue. the clouds float gently in them, not touching the sky, not touching the land.

a bundle of harry leaps up and grabs draco around the waist -- draco shouts out, eyes widening in surprise.

"you're goin' down, sucka, " harry says, in a deep pseudo-yankee voice.

draco goes down, arms flailing. his head feels like it is too full of things to function normally -- too full of the quiet world filled with harry, too full of the overwhelming white, too full of the sharp blue sky. too full of harry's eyes now, as they compromise his world, fill them up.

draco stares for a moment. harry slides off draco, shakily laughing, shaking fingers which have lost their feeling from the cold.

he slowly reaches out and takes harry's hand, puts it to his mouth. he blows warm air onto them.

harry is suprised. he never expected draco to be so full of warmth. but then again, he never expected this entire day.

2001-09-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

the British Punk Community

i wanna join! i wanna join! it sounds like a bunch of british people sit around in overstuffed leather armchairs, sip milky tea, nibble crumpets, and are very careful not to poke each others' eyes out with the hair!

the british stiff upper lip is very nice. i like it. restrained, wacky british!

i learn about you in history! the trade war you had going on with the dutch rocked, dudes! it was like star wars, only with sailing ships and lots of formal letter attacks instead of lightsaber duels!

AND you FOUNDED my country! YOU KICK ASS!

[feels slightly high from overdosing on studying]

2001-09-12T07:49:00.000-07:00

question it [ficcism]

the area in which we occupy never seems to be quite our own. it moves and it shifts, and with us shifts a million opinions, a thousand curious glaring eyes and the minds that accompany it.

when i touch you, the entire world seems to be holding its breath. it waits. will he? will he not? the question becomes redundant.

last night, as i watched you sleeping, it occured to me that the question never existed at all -- surely, there was no question in the first place. i would always do it.

the night was so still. sometimes i think that in this space between times, between the clearly drawn lines between night and dawn, something could happen, would happen, that would change this. make it go some place, somewhere beyond and uncaring of the eyes of others.

but that will never happen, will it? perhaps it never will, and then another question will become useless and discarded accordingly.

i will love you anyway.

2001-09-12T07:42:00.000-07:00

still.

it's that time of the night when everything's very still. i've switched off the air-conditioning in my room so the air doesn't seem to move at all, and it seems like sacrilege to make loud, sweeping gestures. everything's so quiet. i can hear the television from downstairs. the world seems to be like on a television screen, distant and lethargic, watched through bleary eyes.

2001-09-12T01:06:00.000-07:00

people are being dumb

This is not a religious act. This is an act of war.

the person who wrote that... was commenting on an australian newspaper site on the tragedy. no, he was not a terrorist. don't worry.

the fact is, i don't want world war III to happen. because you can hide behind all the unhappiness, grief and righteous anger you want, America, but you cannot "bomb them back". you cannot use the death of innocent people to justify what you are considering as an option.

please. as a child. as a pre-adult. as someone who doesn't bloody understand the need for this hatred on either sides (or is it just one side, the side for violence and blood?) because maybe she's too naive or too young or too untainted.

don't do this.

please, you must have learnt something from everything that happened before. you can't retaliate with violence. you just can't, that just begets it, and on and on and on... thus the vicious cycle begins, or continues, or goes onto hyper-speed. we want justice, not revenge.

Make no mistake. We, the nations of the civilized world, are now at war. At war with whom we do not know yet, but we will know soon enough.

shit. already the laymen are hoisting the war flags.

2001-09-11T07:38:00.000-07:00
and my mother has just come in and told me terrorists have bombed two planes and drove them straight into the world trade centre, and bombed the pentagon, and the twin peak towers have just collapsed.

wonderful. the rest of the world sucks it as well. good. we can all fucking choke together.

but people have died. and i'm still bitching. they died while i was bitching. how the fuck can people just kill each other like that?

the little girl inside of me, the one who sneaked in on her brother and cousin discussing the biblical apocalypse when she was eight or nine, the one who used to run back into a room and straighten something crooked, the one who believes in the fucking chaos theory, is crying now.

i hope the guys behind those monstrousities just fucking choke on their victory drink.

2001-09-11T07:32:00.000-07:00
or i may be just overreacting, but travis is on the player now and fran healy is singing about how it's followed him to la and mexico and how it came it through the back door and how he just needs it/him/her, he just needs that... isn't there some music that just makes you not overreact? i think there is, of one guy just saying stuff, and once i read somewhere that that was the guy who directed moulin rouge but i disbelive it. shit it.

in gymnastics, andrea said: life's like a vacuum cleaner. it sucks.

you hear that? you hear that? vrrrrrrrrroooooooooooooooooooooooooooooom.

2001-09-09T05:13:00.000-07:00
arggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

sorry. i just needed to get that out.

2001-09-09T05:12:00.000-07:00
shit. i really, really, really don't want to go to school tomorrow morning. oh man. it's not going to be a very good week.

screw that, it's not going to be a very good rest of the year.

2001-09-09T05:07:00.000-07:00

complainte de la butte

i don't know what that means, and the entire song is in french with the exception of a few english words. i really like it. it's by rufus wainwright. the stairways up to la butte can make the wretched sigh, where the wings of the moulin shelter you and i...

those are the only words i can make out that're in english. and yes, it's off the moulin rouge soundtrack. i wish i could escape there, the place to song provokes in my mind: france, the countryside, vineyards and soft breezes and tame birds you can feed with breadcrumbs. iron-wrought tables and chairs with curlicues and whorls in the architecture, a blue blue sky and the grape vineyard below, twirling greenery and beads of violet.

i want to go there. i want to run there and bury my head in the entire place and wrap it around me like the quilt i lost when i was a child. i want to look up into the sky and see nothing but sky without buildings infringing on it. i just want to run away.

i do not want to go back to school tomorrow, and face the mindless crowds and the claustrophobia that accompanies. i do not need the condescending voices of teachers who presume too much and too little. i don't need to hear all the voices, all the voices all joined together in a discordant symphony of brain-tumor-inducing screaming to get out, out, out, of how bad the test went, of what to eat for recess, of whatever godforsaken shopping centre they're going to after school.

oh, france, anywhere. i want to go to beautiful places. and when they stop being beautiful, i will go to another. and so on and so on. the stair to wonderland beckons, but i can't go, i'm so sorry, lewis carrol, i'm so sorry, alice, i'm so sorry, white rabbit, i can't join you.

and tomorrow my voice will join all of theirs: oh someone save me, someone save me.

well, the song was french sung to a solo piano and violin. that does things to my head.

2001-09-08T04:44:00.000-07:00
or at least, i'll try.

2001-09-08T04:33:00.000-07:00

somewhere in the equation

i finished reading i capture the castle, afore-mentioned JK recommended book. i think the only reason i like it is because it's like an older enid blyton famous five or the rest of its ilk, only with sex, marriage, liasons, characters who are actually not pre-pubescent and love. now that i look back on it, it actually seems like quite a big difference.

(not typing in uppercase when needed because fingers are lazy to hit the shift key. this happens a lot. get used to it. i only use uppercase when being particularly anal or bitchy or whiny or all three [points above] )

the ending sticks in my head, because in the beginning i got bored and skipped ahead --

only the margin left to write in now. i love you, i love you, i love you.

i suppose that that's the only vaguely oblique sentence in the entire book. even her metaphors are sharp and cold like knives. heaven knows that's what love can do to you.

i love you, i love you, i love you.

it's amazing how justified things seem to you after you see it actually written, printed and published by an author JK recommended.

what follows below was not in the book:

until i can't put the feelings into words because i'm afraid they're crumple and turn to dust.

when i grow up, i'll be more stable, i swear.

2001-09-08T00:24:00.000-07:00

bad day approaching, shields are down

After having a phone conversation with Rox, you feel so horribly inadequate. She gets to throw around money for Bulgari and misc. branded objects and sound so blissfully unattached to solid reality: read: chinese tests. I want very badly to get into her class next year -- god knows I need to get away from the nimrods in mind (not to say that they're stupid, they're in the second best class after all; but they're so incredibly superficial it's a wonder their heads don't explode from their fluffiness). Not to say that my friends aren't fluffy -- it's a special, insane kind of fluffiness that I like that requires you to be able to, say, speak in high squeaky Alvin Chipmunk voices and sleep with your 12 inch Zell figurine at night.

Zell fell off Rynde's bed. We found this highly hilarious.

But Rox's oblivion makes draws you into that web of hysterical worrying over your own grades. Oh my god, she's not worrying, she'll only start studying for the test the day before it comes, what the fuck am I doing? She's doing worthwhile shopping at places I could never dream of stepping into without being told to go away with less warmth and good humour than somebody telling me to fuck off and die, and I'm snacking listlessly on spring onion crisps and light coke and reading a book I only bought because JK Rowling reviewed it. God, I have no life. Even when other people slack off, they slack off with more poise and dignity than I do! Shit!

My mother would probably take this moment to say that life's not fair. But that ranks top on her list of Favourite Things for Parents to Say right before "What do you mean, your allowance ran out in its first week?"

I need to study for two tests two days before they're due, try to memorize all the lines for a play to be performed publicly on Tuesday, and finish a book report that has to be a minimum of 200 chinese characters long. It will be a bad day.

On the bright side, there's Whose Line is it Anyway? tonight. That makes up for, hmmm, let's see, one-eighteenth of the pain, humiliation and torture usually associated with work connected to chinese. Thank god the play is in english.