King of Kings, Queen of Queens

It was hanging there one fine day.

Throughout the entire examination period I'd been having utterly random thoughts and dreams, and it didn't feel appropriate to go about updating blogs during the exam period. So I wrote everything down in my word pad.

I dreamt of MacDonald's, of Tian Meng (a secondary schoolmate I've never spoken to in my entire life), of zombies, of being given a pencil to defend my self, of interchangeable shaft covers, of pretty weird stuff, but mostly dark images.

What if one day you fall in love with Death? What if one day you realise you don't have much time left? (I was watching Meet Joe Black at the time, and it was interesting the way they portrayed Death to be innocent and all, not to mention hot.)

Confined to my own thoughts, I toss in bed, drift off and wake up without feeling rested. I eat, simply allowing the throat muscles to push the food down, without any enjoyment whatsoever. I almost throw up when I swallow the salmon.

My parents are the cutest people on earth. My sister is the third cutest person.

The view from the kitchen window. It's what I have grown to rely on for random moments of serenity.

And then a friend said,
"Mean it when you cuss! That's what makes it satisfying!
That or don't do it at all."
And I thought it sounded like a catchy tagline for a cussing advert

Hanging there for its dear life.

Cold Clothes.

Sun rays never fail to amaze.

Today is one of the coldest days ever.

I recall how it's the same every end of the year, where the roads in Orchard are decked out in fancy lights in anticipation of Christmas day. There I'd be in the bus, my hands being freezed off by the jets of cold air blowing out from the aircon outlets. You know how the furthest those little nozzles can be adjusted is such that the cold air blows directly on your lap, and when you're travelling in a bus, there's no better place for you to position your hands except on your lap? Of course by the end of the journey my hands would usually be under my butt, which would be the only part of my body which remains warm.

Bloody freezing I tell you. But the decorations somehow always seem to make it better. I like looking at the lights out of the bus windows condensed with water droplets.

While I was at IMM tonight I momentarily became a Magnet for All the Bad Vibes There Possibly Could Be Floating About in the Air. My mind blanked out and started filling up with all of those thoughts meant to get you down. And they did. They got me, right in the head, and straight to the heart.


It kept playing, "knock, knock, knocking on heaven's door..."



I saw without seeing, I heard without listening, and I spoke without thinking. I saw people without faces. I heard voices without sources. I said things which had no meaning. I must have been unreal just for that moment.




I scanned the crowd.
I thought of my happy friend.
I love my happy friend.

Insolent Involuntary Insomnia

Last night I revisited The Girl with the Flaxen hair and realised that I don't like it as much as I did when I was thirteen.

The pencil is a precious instrument.

Dear now just hold me tight
As we lie in bed tonight
Tell me it will all be right
As long as we are one tonight

That you've effectively killed the past
The past that hinges on one word, Lust
I'll hold you tight now if I must
And tell you Sweet, in you I trust

Dear now just hold me close
As we lay in bed, morose
The ceiling spins from overdose
Don't forget now, I need you most



(My enigma, I wish I never see
Past you, the one who screams intrigue
To keep you shrouded in mystery
Strangers, I'm afraid, we must be.)

Bleed Heart, Bleed.

The dull of my thudding heart tells me something's not quite right.
I knew I shouldn't have succumbed to the lull of the text.

All at once you see more, you hear more, you feel more. You think you understand, but really, you don't. All of the longing he speaks of, all of the loving he writes of, all of the darkness he equates himself to; it pulls you down, it drags you inside like a dog does a bone. You're helpless in his myriad of shadows.
No light, no light, we need some light in here. What shadows? There are no shadows, only smoke, and you will be engulfed in the smoke from his cigarettes.
Cut it out.
Cut It Out.
CUT IT OUT.
CUT OUT A PIECE OF ME AND
(please don't) BLEED ME TO THE BRIM
till I overflow and spill out onto the walls of this existence.

You see parts of his life flash by. You don't fancy it you say. How much more better off are you. You can't leave this.
You have effectively crawled your way into that small room in the floor and locked yourself in and thrown away the key. You're stuck. Only now you realise that you're stuck.
Stop it.
Stop It.
STOP IT I SAY BEFORE YOU ARE ENTANGLED IN HIS DECEIT.

What?
No second chances?

I'm hungry it's dinner time.

Fillial Ophelia

Well nope, actually in the context of Shakespeare's plays, the one known for fillial piety is Cordelia in King Lear.

Bright White Lights are out.
Yellow Mellow Lights are in.
At least in my life.
So, one of the greater obssessions in the life of Vanessa (one of which is obssessing over the obssession with homework, but not actually getting anything done) is now yellow lights. Her room had just been fitted with a yellow ceiling light. Warm light, as the lighting people call it. And she is currently sitting in front of the computer screen basking in the warm yellow glow from the hall wall lights. Ha don't you just love rhymes?

Gosh what am I doing I'm supposed to be working on an assignment, but I guess a break now and then doesn't harm anyone right?

My teeth are brushed and my face is washed, and I have drunk two glasses of water since. This is one of those times when I'm feeling slightly sedated by time and the lateness of it all, which is a feeling equivalent to a subtle kind of high. Is that how I should put it... Nope, it's more like a subtle kind of consciousness that you're alive, that your senses are more than slightly awake yet asleep. Everything is quiet except for the stupid bunch of screaming youths who just drove past on the road outside. The side of my knee itches. I scratch at the itch mindlessly. Cough cough. (Oh I just realised that my music has stopped playing. And that I spelled occasional the first time correctly and the second time wrongly in the previous entry. I must have some sort of spelling disorder. Or you could simply call it carelessness.)

What a waste of Internet connection time this entry is. Yes I do not have unlimited Internet connection time. I scratch my ear lobe. And sneeze. I swallow and my throat feels sore and I smell that phlegmy smell. The noisy vehicle has just moved off noisily. My other knee itches and I scratch it. I look at the clock and it says 3 o'clock. I think it's time for me to go back to my assignment.

I swear I need a life. I shall upload pictures! If I ever learn how to. And if I ever get to upload the pictures into my computer first. AAARGH. Everything is so pointless. My knee itches.

I Was An Unwilling Party.

About forty eight minutes ago--

I am taking a break from my assignment. The room window looks so tempting I cannot help but stick my head out of it. The last time I recall such a beautiful night was probably around December of 2006. The sky is a luminous red and moderate winds are blowing. It smells deliciously of rain. There are no stars tonight. There are no cars on the road except for the occasional taxi. The units on the block opposite are all dark. It feels like no one else is awake except for me and the streetlights and the ocassional taxi drivers. I have not felt such great peace and calm in ages. The feeling is so overwhelming that I get goosebumps on my legs. I take in the winds and the rainy smell and the lights and all of the clouds in the sky.



About thirteen minutes ago--

I have completed the assignment. The room window still looks tempting. Again I stick my head out of the window. I see a man on a bicycle and start fantasising about having a motorbike and riding on the road at night. I see two ah bengs ride past on bikes. I look up at the sky and it looks like it is going to rain.

And then I recall.

And then I unwittingly recall.

I recall the month of December in the year of Two Thousand And Six and the time when we had our annual starwatching expedition. I recall when I waited at the bus stop across the road.
It was drizzling.

I no longer am recalling.

I am watching it happen.

It was raining when we ran across the road. It was raining when we sat in the bus. It was raining when we walked in the mall. I think the rain must have washed the traces of body soap off your hand onto mine. I could smell your soap on my palm afterwards.
And then I remember.

I remember.

Why do I remember.