Today's Muse : Dough-Cat-in-a-Jar

Someone asked if the poem "Green/Red" was in reference to the girls who fantasised about my little brother.

Um, no. Geez.

It is disturbing to think about, but... I don't. Not really. Occasionally I put on the obligatory show of shock/horror/outrage to amuse and entice giggles. But the entire issue is moot, really. These girls will move on to dreaming about other people.

The poem is a undisciplined, confusing mess. When I write poems I don't think, which is the problem, to me. I just aim to purge whatever feelings I have at the time in as few words as possible.

Because of that, stupid me, I told someone I didn't write it. Ach.

What is the poem about?

The empty space in the centre of a chestnut.

Well, you learn something new everyday.

Earlier I was struggling (And Sundays are not struggling days) to pull the doopik from the whatchamacallit using the Blah-thingy-thing and smoosh em onto CD.
In other words, extract audio from video and convert that to listenables for conventional CD-players.

At the end of it all, I gleefully waited as the CD-player whirred and hummed and... died.

Today I learnt: CD-players cannot play CD-rewritables, stoopid. Wasting all that time.

I also learnt that not many people like Gamecube. Wooja.

Reading: Treehouse
Listening: click-click-click went sole against wood

Green/Red

Is it so hard? Apathy is the name of the game.
To roll the die, move past Go
Flip the cards, and then you'll know
Press the button, move your chip
Kill your foe, don't let slip
your grasp on reality with
no lights and Re-starts.

Apathy is the name of the Game.

So you know his name.
You don't know him.
You know his birth.
You don't know him.

You know he likes Skittles (especially the green ones)
You know all his puns (especially the bad ones)
You have his pictures
scoured from hundreds of places.
Stolen.
You can rattle off his works
You know the joke behind "spork!"
You know his mind (at least the one on display)
You know he thinks he's immortal.

You don't know him.

You may come to know his death
You may come to know his dearth

But you will never know him.

Apathy is the name of the game.

Stop trying with sweat and tears and
never blood
You don't know him.

Half-hearted goodness brought to you by Delusions Ltd.

By a dream dreamt so lovely but will never ever be.

In response to a query: Yes, I am in the middle of my preliminary examinations.
No, I will not, as you say, "bitch" about them online.
Glad we cleared that up.

On to more pleasant things.

I've been dreaming a lot recently - or perhaps I remember my dreams more often these days. When I was younger I hated dreaming; they were always so vivid, and when I woke I was always exhausted. Not to say that they were not pleasant. I was just vaguely annoyed.

So, one night I asked the sky to stop the dreams.

Sounds romantic, but it was more like "Dear Buddha- er God- um, someone out there..." while sticking my seven-year-old neck out the window of our apartment.

So, for about nine years I slept without dreams. More or less.

Then they came back. They no longer irritate me - they disturb, yes. But they became a sort of comfort. Dull sense of contentment.

I love this site. Where were you all my pain-filled years of fanfic agony?

http://www.godawful.net/forums/index.php

I thank thee. I know I am not alone.

Reading: Daredevil: Yellow
Listening: A Perfect Circle, which is conveniently stuck in my head.

Good grief.

I thought such childish bickering was regaled to the playground.

It appears, that in any online conflict, at least one (who am I kidding? Just one?) person will fall back upon tired cliches and stereotypes - "All Singaporeans are brainwashed by their government" ; " All Malaysians are uncouth" etc. , etc. , etc.

I am referring, to the furor generated over a certain "XiaXue" (Rather vulgar sometimes, IMO, but an interesting experiment). More specifically, a post on said girl's blog on a recent trip to KL, Malaysia.

Just my humble two-cents ( Hell, I don't even know if I'll publish this)~

It seems to me several angry comments came from people who had not read the post thoroughly - and I'm not just referring to "XiaXue"s post, but other blogs which responded. Most, very simply, took the post(s) as personal insults and/or an excuse (apologies, not excuse, blight) to go up in arms (we all get bored from time to time, ne?). Most of the comments smacked of not thinking. Brainless, fueled by overrated emotions.

Perhaps, (but I wade too deep) using this to re-direct fustration at something else; an outlet. What better place than the internet, where anonymity protects you?

Secondly, "XiaXue" should have expected the backlash - and I believe she did - and, perhaps gone about complaining about her holiday a different way. Yes, it is her blog and she is free to do what she wants, its a free country and all that.
Democracy, freedom of speech - all useless unless tempered with sense. Although they champion the rights of the individual, a society cannot function if one follows these ideals rigidly. One must, must take into account the others - they and one are the society.

Anyway, in a girl such as "XiaXue" (of exceeding sense) one cannot help but wonder if the backlash was, for lack of a better word, welcomed. I tread on delicate ground here - after all, "XiaXue" has been proven to revel in attention, good and bad (though, in this case, it might have been too extreme - the comments). Another piece of evidence is her tendency to devote postings to rebut comments - if she truly did not care, was sure that she made herself clear in the original post, would she do so? All of us care about how others percive us, it is a trait very few of us can shrug off.

Another note- the language used was (I do apologise, and I know some will use the wearing-a-short-skirt-in-Geylang-but-molesting-is-still-a-crime argument. The two are different, friends, despite the disclaimer in that post. Or the two might be parallels but - another day) already dangerously provoking. Calling the city names. Good grief.

But some of the comments weren't any better. Name-calling, and out came the Barney Bag of old, tired, insults. But it will never end, even as new postings replace current ones, and new issues take over.

I was born in Singapore. I spent the best bit of my childhood in Malaysia. My father is Singaporean, my mother hails from Malaysia. I have older brothers and sisters born and bred from both sides of the causeway.

I dream of both.

Good grief. Emotion : There are more important things to worry about, people. Like new Orleans. Or South Africa. Or people suffering in your own backyard, whom anyone can help. ANYONE.

Rationale: Oh, Missy, you won't change a thing. Let the people swearing and calling each other names play. Stupid girl, there are more important things to worry about.