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.
Sunday, September 25, 2005
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.
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.
Monday, September 19, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, September 18, 2005
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.
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.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
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.
http://www.godawful.net/forums/index.php
I thank thee. I know I am not alone.
Sunday, September 04, 2005
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.
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.
Sunday, August 28, 2005
I once told someone that blogs were a waste of time, created to express a wish for others to understand their intentions without them actually having to confront said others, which ultimately belied a sense of insecurity.
Said someone nodded sagely, then set off to create one for me.
Well, not for me persay. He made one for near everyone in the group, and posted posing as them. For mine, he drew upon my letters (he was the old penpal mentioned somewhere below). To his credit, he never posted anything too personal. To his un-credit, he tried to use it to "solve" some issues I had at the time... kiddy angst crap he actually took seriously.
Stupid beyond stupid. Using other people's conflict so as to run from his own. Hmph.
In many cases I see adolescents using online diaries to aim their fustration at someone - stemming from an unwillingness? fear? of confronting them in person. Not that it is easy, of course. But the whole thing reeks of... something stinky.
Anyways, he gave the blog to me. After fiddling with the address I settled on the original one he gave it : clove-dom. The name itself arose from some RPG with them all...
I found myself tearing the other day for no good reason. I was walking home, and I stopped at the spot just under the tree at the corner. A vehemently large spider had taken up there, and its web was about two metres tall, and about a metre wide. Day after day, no matter how vicious the weather, I always found it there, clinging.
But that day the rain had been particularly heavy.
And, stupid stupid girl, I stood there in my school uniform with my heavy-assed bag and glasses askew, and actually teared. I had told myself everyday I had seen it that it would eventually disappear - nothing can last forever. Over and over, it will soon be gone.
I don't really know why I did that. Perhaps it just triggered something. Thought of Sarah. Why I don't really want to establish contact again.
Sarah was my best friend at St. Christopher's in Peneng. Warm memories, with muted colours, bit soft around the edges... that's what I remember. Of course there were the moment when I felt like a heel and the more exicting moments (like the motorcycle slamming into the car - woo). Partners in crime - we'd conspire to steal more chocolate under our mom's noses; late-night confessions - I had been carrying around the guilt of stealing crotons from the salad bar (croutons, for crying out loud); playing house using the SCS bushes - Sarah would pray and I'd recite. (in the church/temple/Sunday place)
Then we moved - Sarah back to France, I to Singapore. We wrote to each other, but as we grew older the letters stopped coming and going. But I don't really want to change this. I'm afraid that things would have changed too much, nothing like the old friendship. I don't really want the memories to be marred. We both grew up in different worlds - and I fear that we may have changed far too much for each other.
Just like the others.
Of course, if I did get ahold of her e-mail or sumfink, or if she messaged me, no way I'd pass it up. A bit of an oxymoron.
I'm just a little afraid, that all.
Nostalgia is such is soft word.
Saturday, August 27, 2005
Abe came while I was in the pool.
Baby Lizzy was visiting, and Kim, being the useless lump he was, refused to strip down to his shorts to take her swimming. (self-conscious, aint he?) So I ended up holding the baby while she trashed about. Had the time of her short life.
Then the package arrived.
WHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!11!!
I couldn't open the damn plastic cover thing, so out came the scissors. Multilated the plastic, but who cares? But when I pulled Abe out from the unyielding plastic I nearly screamed.
HE. HAD. NO. HEAD.
It was still stuck in there, but for a long minute I stared stupidly at headless Abe, wondering what I could do to sue. Ach. Right now he's watching me type this out.
Made my day, really. Hum hummy hum...
Hungry.
I emailed someone just now :
ABE'S HERE!!
And the reply:
"Oooo, when's abey comin?"
I swear, I almost smashed the keyboard.
Dooby doo wap.
Baby Lizzy was visiting, and Kim, being the useless lump he was, refused to strip down to his shorts to take her swimming. (self-conscious, aint he?) So I ended up holding the baby while she trashed about. Had the time of her short life.
Then the package arrived.
WHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!11!!
I couldn't open the damn plastic cover thing, so out came the scissors. Multilated the plastic, but who cares? But when I pulled Abe out from the unyielding plastic I nearly screamed.
HE. HAD. NO. HEAD.
It was still stuck in there, but for a long minute I stared stupidly at headless Abe, wondering what I could do to sue. Ach. Right now he's watching me type this out.
Made my day, really. Hum hummy hum...
Hungry.
I emailed someone just now :
ABE'S HERE!!
And the reply:
"Oooo, when's abey comin?"
I swear, I almost smashed the keyboard.
Dooby doo wap.
Saturday, August 13, 2005
Hm. I finally told my dad.
It was about half-past nine on Friday night, and I was still waiting for the post to arrive with my package. I took out "B.P.R.D. : Plague of Frogs" TPB to pass the time and whined about the mail system in general... so my dad looked up from his book and asked what was arriving.
So that led to an summarisation of entire Mike Mignola, Hellboy and B.P.R.D. universe, and him flipping through my two B.P.R.D. TPBs...
"That's Johann, he was a German psychic, you know, connect with the dead and all that? Yeah, he was out of his body when it was burnt to bits, so he's not dead persay. Just doesn't have a body.
Flip, flip.
"Hm. Who's that?"
"That's Johann, Dad."
And:
"So this is Abe Sapien?"
"No Dad. That's Johann. Abe is this guy, the fish-man."
"Oh. Ugh. Ugly."
But he was really interested. He did get a little worried about the paranormal aspect ("You... don't get nightmares?"), but that's Dad.
He reads stuff on Afterlife theories and Nostradamus and quantam physics. Not that Dad is a nut-freak about this stuff. In fact, he's pretty much the opposite, a pretty quiet guy who likes his Chinese teapots and stays away from crowds. He... hoards things, including infomation, useless bits of miscelly. I get that from him.
We both like to think we can use all that junk someday.
My Mum was nearby listening, and contributing a snort or two in her amused motherly fashion. I kept talking, even when Dad got up and brushed his teeth, and lay down, and closed his eyes...
Later, I overheard Mum and Dad speaking:
"So that's what she's been doing with her time. So complicated. They don't have simple stories anymore, like when we were children."
"Well, uh, it's okay. It's like science fiction, you know... *snore*"
At this point I stuck my head round the door and said:
"Um, by the way, I'd like to marry this Abe Sapien."
Dad nodded, and Mum, without looking up from her book:
"Well, if you find him and bring him home first, than you can do what you want.
And don't step on your brother on the way out."
Thursday, August 11, 2005
I wish I was allowed to just stay home and study. No school commitments, no blasted tip-toeing about, no just sitting there doing something bloody useless.
Let me have my life back, please, so I can make proper use of it.
Ach. On to other things.
Imagine, if you will, a house. A house with white-washed walls, with mismatched furniture (but a very handsome dining table), with every available surface cluttered with brick-and-brack : a memento from the late ex-president, photographs of all but one, baking tins, feathered balls, terracotta teapots, books on everything from Mao to corn, newspapers, and a hundred little pieces waiting to be put into place.
Imagine, if you will, all the windows opened as far as they will go. Beyond them are clothes, bright, clinging to their bamboo poles. Beyond that, an acid-green wire fence bent and beaten. Beyond that, a field, with trees twisted and gnarled reaching for the clouds, with a clump of bamboo in a corner, leaves a-dancing in the sharp wind.
Imagine, if you will, sitting on the back veranda, with the hose at your side like the faithful canine, the battered washing machine at your elbow, grumbling with it's load. You're balanced - precariously - on the weathered railing, toes gripping the bars, watching the wind slap at the wet clothes, while the chimes tinkle above your head.
Imagine, if you will, a bundle of black and white just barely squeezing under the fence, then leaping out into the open space. His body responds naturally to the ground beneath his paws, and he runs, with a grace and economy you can only admire, as the tags "fat" and "lazy" melt away along with the sound of his collars bell.
Imagine, if you will, the unmistakable scent of spice in your head, coming from the simmering pot on the stove in the kitchen just behind you. You hear your mother doing mother-like things - her nagging to get down from there before you break your back just washes over you like a warm wave, a reminder of her comfortable presence. Your father is tinkering with yet another antique - is that the 'ping!' of the typewriter you hear?
Imagine, if you will, the sun warm on your legs, while flies go bz-bz-bz around, and you slap at your skin with practiced boredom. Now and then you squash one, your blood red on your palm, and you squash too your glee and mumble a prayer for the mozzie's soul.
Imagine, if you will.
And that sums up why I love Sundays.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
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Sunday, August 07, 2005
listening to: Gravity
Gorillaz
Oooooh... I love fuzzbutt. 'cause he's blue 'n fuzzy.
The thing is, this isn't very accurate. Hm hm. Nightcrawler (Real name: Kurt Wagner - pronounced "VAG-ner" - first appearance: Giant X-Men #1 ; Powers: Teleportation, trained acrobat, can scale sheer walls, see in the dark, Olympic-level fencer. Fervent Catholic. Idolises Robin Hood and Zorro. Tries to play the ladies man. Prehensile tail strong enough to take his weight. Dark indigo fur, allows him to blend into the shadows. Bitch to read, I know. I swear I wrote this entirely from memory.) is the eternal optimist, the one who appears to not take life seriously. He believes in and fears the unknown (read: monsters under the bed) and is strongly religious. He is honest to a fault. Not me.
I need evidence. I hoard infomation. If I am presented with tales of spirits and such, I have to research it extensively before I will be satisfied. Kurt rides on faith; I on evidence.
There are other things; honesty, relationships, attitudes. Too personal to delve in here. In short, Kurt is someone I would like to be, to be seen as. But he and I, too different at core.
On to another facet: There was one question, something about working in groups and solitude. Before, I was firmly grounded in the belief that I was best off by myself. I disliked working with others, I preferred silence to socialising - if I was with other people, I made sure the others enjoyed my company, and to all apperances, I theirs.
Yet today, I find myself seeking company more and more often. Not that now I actively shun solitude. I still crave moments to myself (and still get pissed when people interrupt me) but I seemed to have reached an equalibrim. Both have their merits.
One thing about solitude - I don't mean physically isolated. I can be sitting at my desk while the others chatter on. Bit like swimming in a river - rest a bit on the bank, getting your bearings, before you splash back into the thick of things and get swept away.
Annnoying are those who insist you are unhappy if you are silent. I myself am guilty of such.
So, at that question, I felt a bit like I was fibbing when I chose I did enjoy working in a team. Old habits die hard.
Well, on to other things.
Started thinking (read: worrying) seriously about my post 'O'-Level plans. I've thought about it since I started Secondary school - and I still haven't got a proper answer. I never really decided what I wanted to do after school.
It seems as though these these days might last forever. That's the flavour of the day. For me. For once, in Singapore, I am truly happy where I am. But change must come, he who shows neither mercy nor compassion for those in in path. Bit like a gardener, you know, with a lawnmower and such (now theres an idea... foregoing the poetic marlarkey.)
But now to bed. Anon!
PS: I started this blog to fill a void vacated by my corrospondence with someone. He and I use to write long, childish letters to each other chronicling everything from his latest piano fiasco (his mom use to try and make him perform for guests...) and my own encounter with the feral cats (feral? Noooo, they just try to eat widdle girls for fun...).
I miss 'im.
So, in the spirit of things, I say to you,
Love,
Missy V
Queen (is she?) of Victoria's Head
PS2: I would be interested in a penpal. Go ahead, leave a comment.
Gorillaz
 | You scored as Nightcrawler. Nightcrawler is a very symbolic X-Man. He is persecuted by society because of his devilish looks, but it is his faith in God that gives him strength. He is a very gentle x-man but he does know how to fight and he enjoys fencing. Powers: Teleportation
Most Comprehensive X-Men Personality Quiz 2.0 created with QuizFarm.com |
Oooooh... I love fuzzbutt. 'cause he's blue 'n fuzzy.
The thing is, this isn't very accurate. Hm hm. Nightcrawler (Real name: Kurt Wagner - pronounced "VAG-ner" - first appearance: Giant X-Men #1 ; Powers: Teleportation, trained acrobat, can scale sheer walls, see in the dark, Olympic-level fencer. Fervent Catholic. Idolises Robin Hood and Zorro. Tries to play the ladies man. Prehensile tail strong enough to take his weight. Dark indigo fur, allows him to blend into the shadows. Bitch to read, I know. I swear I wrote this entirely from memory.) is the eternal optimist, the one who appears to not take life seriously. He believes in and fears the unknown (read: monsters under the bed) and is strongly religious. He is honest to a fault. Not me.
I need evidence. I hoard infomation. If I am presented with tales of spirits and such, I have to research it extensively before I will be satisfied. Kurt rides on faith; I on evidence.
There are other things; honesty, relationships, attitudes. Too personal to delve in here. In short, Kurt is someone I would like to be, to be seen as. But he and I, too different at core.
On to another facet: There was one question, something about working in groups and solitude. Before, I was firmly grounded in the belief that I was best off by myself. I disliked working with others, I preferred silence to socialising - if I was with other people, I made sure the others enjoyed my company, and to all apperances, I theirs.
Yet today, I find myself seeking company more and more often. Not that now I actively shun solitude. I still crave moments to myself (and still get pissed when people interrupt me) but I seemed to have reached an equalibrim. Both have their merits.
One thing about solitude - I don't mean physically isolated. I can be sitting at my desk while the others chatter on. Bit like swimming in a river - rest a bit on the bank, getting your bearings, before you splash back into the thick of things and get swept away.
Annnoying are those who insist you are unhappy if you are silent. I myself am guilty of such.
So, at that question, I felt a bit like I was fibbing when I chose I did enjoy working in a team. Old habits die hard.
Well, on to other things.
Started thinking (read: worrying) seriously about my post 'O'-Level plans. I've thought about it since I started Secondary school - and I still haven't got a proper answer. I never really decided what I wanted to do after school.
It seems as though these these days might last forever. That's the flavour of the day. For me. For once, in Singapore, I am truly happy where I am. But change must come, he who shows neither mercy nor compassion for those in in path. Bit like a gardener, you know, with a lawnmower and such (now theres an idea... foregoing the poetic marlarkey.)
But now to bed. Anon!
PS: I started this blog to fill a void vacated by my corrospondence with someone. He and I use to write long, childish letters to each other chronicling everything from his latest piano fiasco (his mom use to try and make him perform for guests...) and my own encounter with the feral cats (feral? Noooo, they just try to eat widdle girls for fun...).
I miss 'im.
So, in the spirit of things, I say to you,
Love,
Missy V
Queen (is she?) of Victoria's Head
PS2: I would be interested in a penpal. Go ahead, leave a comment.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
w00t. Work almost done.
Going to the new library after tomorrow's career fair. I'd live there if they'd let me...
i'd like to thank the creator of this skin. Go! Fly, fly to thee!
i'm still locked out of Deviantart. But with the recent upheaval...
Prelim exams in about a month. Rush rush rush.
Good night.
Going to the new library after tomorrow's career fair. I'd live there if they'd let me...
i'd like to thank the creator of this skin. Go! Fly, fly to thee!
i'm still locked out of Deviantart. But with the recent upheaval...
Prelim exams in about a month. Rush rush rush.
Good night.
Friday, June 17, 2005
1. What a day.
2. I am very pleased and rather content with my nest.
3. I have that great empty space in my chest again, but my Queen Nala makes a comfortable, if temporary filler.
4. Why all the hate on the Gorillaz MessageBoard? Most don't even talk about the Gorillaz. It pales in comparison to the Unofficial forums.
5. I have concluded that I do tend to try and turn mental anguish into physical pain ie. aching back.
6. Revision needs a rousing kick. Or sumfink.
7. Trying to spend less time on the Internet. Hence the point format.
8. I cannot stop listening to Demon Days. I can remember band biographies, song discography and other shite but cannot remember the rules of dy/dx.
9. I have achieved nine unrelated points. *claps*
Good night.
'I love you...
But what are we going to do?'
Every Planet We Reach is Dead
Gorillaz
2. I am very pleased and rather content with my nest.
3. I have that great empty space in my chest again, but my Queen Nala makes a comfortable, if temporary filler.
4. Why all the hate on the Gorillaz MessageBoard? Most don't even talk about the Gorillaz. It pales in comparison to the Unofficial forums.
5. I have concluded that I do tend to try and turn mental anguish into physical pain ie. aching back.
6. Revision needs a rousing kick. Or sumfink.
7. Trying to spend less time on the Internet. Hence the point format.
8. I cannot stop listening to Demon Days. I can remember band biographies, song discography and other shite but cannot remember the rules of dy/dx.
9. I have achieved nine unrelated points. *claps*
Good night.
'I love you...
But what are we going to do?'
Every Planet We Reach is Dead
Gorillaz
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
We all strive to be happy, no?
When I was younger my train of thought went something like this :
If I got into an accident, everything would be alright. I won't have to take Chinese, and Mummy won't punish me, and I won't have to go to school and they'll be sorry and
Typical nosh.
Yet, today I found myself thinking like that again. Falling into a trap of self-pity and the need for petty vengeance.
I have been struggling with several difficult decisions for a long time now. My usual response is to not do anything, to try and remain in a comfortable spot instead of dashing out into the unknown and damn scary (yes, I know I am the one who allows them to frighten me).
How do you respond to an attacker when you are bound by moral ambiguity? The benefit of doubt - ill, stuck in bed, pent-up fustration, only worried about your welfare, damnit, it's probably your fault anyway...
Still, it was a cheap shot.
It hurt.
I had to restrain myself; stop myself from flying at her and tearing into her. I wanted so badly to make her pay - make her feel the fustration I felt, drege up all the things she did that she accused me of hypocrite! doing. All I could do was keep my face stone. But my eyes, traitorous things. She saw it in my eyes and flew at me.
I tire of this.
I'm sick of living in a world of masks. I'm tired of dancing around people' images, tired of translating what people don't really mean. Peoples' games. Friends, comrades, family, enemies. Too many masks, not enough plain speak.
I am exhausted.
But it is my own fault.
I live in a world of escape. Comics, music, books, dreams. I thought I lived in the present now, after a stint of living for the past. No. I only moved from one shell to another.
I caught me at it again: I wish I had bigger problems, so I don't have to worry about this.
Enough pity.
To work. I will publish this, to remind myself of how stupid it is to indulge in, in, this.
To work.
To work.
To...
head hurts like coconut
When I was younger my train of thought went something like this :
If I got into an accident, everything would be alright. I won't have to take Chinese, and Mummy won't punish me, and I won't have to go to school and they'll be sorry and
Typical nosh.
Yet, today I found myself thinking like that again. Falling into a trap of self-pity and the need for petty vengeance.
I have been struggling with several difficult decisions for a long time now. My usual response is to not do anything, to try and remain in a comfortable spot instead of dashing out into the unknown and damn scary (yes, I know I am the one who allows them to frighten me).
How do you respond to an attacker when you are bound by moral ambiguity? The benefit of doubt - ill, stuck in bed, pent-up fustration, only worried about your welfare, damnit, it's probably your fault anyway...
Still, it was a cheap shot.
It hurt.
I had to restrain myself; stop myself from flying at her and tearing into her. I wanted so badly to make her pay - make her feel the fustration I felt, drege up all the things she did that she accused me of hypocrite! doing. All I could do was keep my face stone. But my eyes, traitorous things. She saw it in my eyes and flew at me.
I tire of this.
I'm sick of living in a world of masks. I'm tired of dancing around people' images, tired of translating what people don't really mean. Peoples' games. Friends, comrades, family, enemies. Too many masks, not enough plain speak.
I am exhausted.
But it is my own fault.
I live in a world of escape. Comics, music, books, dreams. I thought I lived in the present now, after a stint of living for the past. No. I only moved from one shell to another.
I caught me at it again: I wish I had bigger problems, so I don't have to worry about this.
Enough pity.
To work. I will publish this, to remind myself of how stupid it is to indulge in, in, this.
To work.
To work.
To...
head hurts like coconut
Sunday, June 12, 2005
Ach.
One word that sums up my state of mind right now.
Somehow I convinced my parents to let me set up the old laptop in my room, so I could work undisturbed during the remainder of the June vacation. ALL MINE!
But.
The CD-drive won't detect CDs, the wireless connection keeps popping, the sound card is semi-fried (Only two volumes : Inaudible and EARDRUMS GO BOOM!), the mouse is wonky, and I just spent the past hour and a half struggling to configure this thing and SQUASH every single bug in here. All four thousand, one hundred and sixteen of them. Exact number.
And it's slow. Slow enough for me to wash the dishes and come back to see it still loading a page.
Ach.
On another note:
I dislike forms and portfolios.
Very.
Very.
Much.
Need to bite something. Hard.
One word that sums up my state of mind right now.
Somehow I convinced my parents to let me set up the old laptop in my room, so I could work undisturbed during the remainder of the June vacation. ALL MINE!
But.
The CD-drive won't detect CDs, the wireless connection keeps popping, the sound card is semi-fried (Only two volumes : Inaudible and EARDRUMS GO BOOM!), the mouse is wonky, and I just spent the past hour and a half struggling to configure this thing and SQUASH every single bug in here. All four thousand, one hundred and sixteen of them. Exact number.
And it's slow. Slow enough for me to wash the dishes and come back to see it still loading a page.
Ach.
On another note:
I dislike forms and portfolios.
Very.
Very.
Much.
Need to bite something. Hard.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Is there anything wrong with writing Mary-Sues?
In my opinion, not really. There is however, something wrong with posting them on the Internet and expecting no flames. Unrealistic, really.
For the uninitiated, a Mary-Sue is a story/fanfiction where an Original Character (as to how "original" he/she is, is another story) is introduced. The Mary-Sue in question usually is well-liked or wins over everyone, and has the main character falling desperately in love with him/her. Usually has tragic past.
These stories are also often occompanied by events out of canon, Unlikely behaviour in characters (think Ash from Pokemon suddenly going all girly and SNAG-like) and just plain nonsense.
That said, I do indulge in writing Mary-Sues once in a while. It can be good therapy - one starts scribbling unspoken wishes and thoughts, and there is always the occasional good idea to use in another piece. I just don't post them.
I once read something that proudly proclaimed itself to be a Mary-Sue - and turned out to be a most enjoyable ride. Yes, there was the Original Character, and the main char in the story fell for her, but it somehow wasn't annoying. The writing was fantastic, and it wasn't one of those love-at-first-sight or hate-at first-sight-turned-to-love-later. It was, persay... realistic? Ironic, considering it was a fanfiction for a comic.
Mary-Sues can be vastly annoying... but you can tell a lot about the writer from it.
And you don't have to read them, you know.
Itchy.
In my opinion, not really. There is however, something wrong with posting them on the Internet and expecting no flames. Unrealistic, really.
For the uninitiated, a Mary-Sue is a story/fanfiction where an Original Character (as to how "original" he/she is, is another story) is introduced. The Mary-Sue in question usually is well-liked or wins over everyone, and has the main character falling desperately in love with him/her. Usually has tragic past.
These stories are also often occompanied by events out of canon, Unlikely behaviour in characters (think Ash from Pokemon suddenly going all girly and SNAG-like) and just plain nonsense.
That said, I do indulge in writing Mary-Sues once in a while. It can be good therapy - one starts scribbling unspoken wishes and thoughts, and there is always the occasional good idea to use in another piece. I just don't post them.
I once read something that proudly proclaimed itself to be a Mary-Sue - and turned out to be a most enjoyable ride. Yes, there was the Original Character, and the main char in the story fell for her, but it somehow wasn't annoying. The writing was fantastic, and it wasn't one of those love-at-first-sight or hate-at first-sight-turned-to-love-later. It was, persay... realistic? Ironic, considering it was a fanfiction for a comic.
Mary-Sues can be vastly annoying... but you can tell a lot about the writer from it.
And you don't have to read them, you know.
Itchy.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
I have decided to be glad about the situation.
Let me explain (or not, you can just skip this, but then again you have made the decision to read something created by a child by coming here, or it could have been by accident and I'll shut up now) :
I cannot find any decent Gorillaz fanfiction. Or, rather, there is simply a lack of fanficition.
Which can be a good thing. No section at FF.net means no easy way for fics to be posted. Fics that usually fall into these catergories:
Murdoc/2D Slash
Russel/Murdoc Slash
Russel/2D Slash
Murdoc/Russel/2D Slash
2D/Mary-Sue
Murdoc/Mary-Sue
Russel/Mary-Sue
Murdoc/2D/Russel/Noodle self-multilation
Sick Noodle Stuff (SNS) such as tragic past (usually equates rape)
2D/suddenly-grown-up-Noodle
Girly-2D
Plain Out Of Character (OOC) behaviour
and the list goes on.
One word: Ew.
And the worst is when these patterns repeat. With every other series or something it always leads to this. Yes, there gems out there, but after sifting through all of the above one usually feels too ill to continue.
So, I will treat the lack of fanficition as a good thing.
I have a random plot in my head involving hearing aids, snakes native to the UK and migraines. Will not be a fanfiction.
Chew.
Let me explain (or not, you can just skip this, but then again you have made the decision to read something created by a child by coming here, or it could have been by accident and I'll shut up now) :
I cannot find any decent Gorillaz fanfiction. Or, rather, there is simply a lack of fanficition.
Which can be a good thing. No section at FF.net means no easy way for fics to be posted. Fics that usually fall into these catergories:
Murdoc/2D Slash
Russel/Murdoc Slash
Russel/2D Slash
Murdoc/Russel/2D Slash
2D/Mary-Sue
Murdoc/Mary-Sue
Russel/Mary-Sue
Murdoc/2D/Russel/Noodle self-multilation
Sick Noodle Stuff (SNS) such as tragic past (usually equates rape)
2D/suddenly-grown-up-Noodle
Girly-2D
Plain Out Of Character (OOC) behaviour
and the list goes on.
One word: Ew.
And the worst is when these patterns repeat. With every other series or something it always leads to this. Yes, there gems out there, but after sifting through all of the above one usually feels too ill to continue.
So, I will treat the lack of fanficition as a good thing.
I have a random plot in my head involving hearing aids, snakes native to the UK and migraines. Will not be a fanfiction.
Chew.