- If you can't make your mind up, we'll never get started -

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

The Macro assignment made its way back into my hands at long last. May have just scraped through, but at least the previous one brings this into stark relief. 'twas sweet respite from dealing with the reproving hand of Ailness himself (the recrudescence of the flu bug at the LSE was not a welcome one). In my insalubrious state, I managed to muster enough strength to drag myself to school. That's commendable enough, I think. Genuflect before me!

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

So now another of my good friends over here has decided to hitch a ride on the weather-beaten ol' bandwagon back to Singapore. Which leaves me in a quandary. Watching the frissons jolt through her as we plotted the surreptitious ways in which she could stun her friends when she returns aroused a paroxysm of loneliness within me.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

I'll be going back in July!
I'll be there for 3 months!
I need to study!
After 2 weeks I'll be back here agin anyway!
I can't study back home!
My mum will bring me out and stuff me all day!
I'll need the countenance of the higher-uppers
Yet, after these sanctimonious platitudes...

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps

Jie will be there, the family will be reunited for the last time over the next year
There'll be no one here, nothing to do
No one to go touring with, no one to call and chat with
Nothing to eat
Good ol' 4L are organising that chalet in March

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps?

- Mum said tv would turn my brains to mush -

Just because you didn't hear them fight doesn't mean they were happy

... but we're strong people, and we don't cry about our problems. We find ways to fix them.

Those are the most interesting ones, those stories that we never tell anyone...

People by their very nature are always on the lookout for intruders: trying to prevent those on the outside from getting in. But there will always be those who force their way into our lives, just as there will be those we invite in. But the most troubling of all, will be the ones who stand on the outside looking in... the ones we never truly get to know.

- At 9, I was learning about fractions -

http://members.home.nl/nplompen/jean_carlos.wmv

- You're playing like KFC -

As is my nature, I have managed to sneak little puns (mostly unwelcome) into the emails I've sent to my football team over the past year, warranting requests that I work for the makers of carambar, a French sweet which has jokes on its wrapping paper.

To your chagrin, here's a sample.

Before our outing to Poland: "Poland may have been through many battles in its time, but I don't care what the War Saw. Let's get properly pissed and -polish- up the ladies."

Also: "Yeah my mate asked me if I wanted to go do something next Wednesday cos it's the end of term. I told him I Warsaw-ry but I'd be in Poland."

After missing one match: " I'm coming Right Back on to the scene."

- The "Save Our Children" Campaign -

For years, Tan Shen roamed the streets unfettered by the trvialities of the world, suavely throwing caution to the wind as he swept aside all in his way.
But secretly he felt uncomfortable, as he longed for the days of yore, when he'd been shackled by the constraints of time and space. Tough days, but at least this sense of complacency didn't hang over him like the Sword of Damocles.
Then one day, as he went about his business as usual, anvils crashed down upon him from the sky, catching him unawares, crushing him. And as is the normal response of all in such a position, he struggled and wriggled to break free. But to a certain extent, he was relieved, for he felt secure in his insecurity.

- I was born in Dusseldorf
That is why they call me Rolf -

When can you absolutely massacre the (neo-nazi) Germans, (queer as snow in spring) French and (hopelessly bimbotic) Svedish, and take the piss out of Marilyn Monroe, the Village People, Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill and Hitler -- and get away with it?
It could only happen when you're a Producer.

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone 

Behind the smiles: 

- The father, the son and the hole -

He was up again this weekend, his usual dark yet amusing and distinctly caring self. He struggled with a suitcase, a trolley-bag, a laptop and a huge styrofoam box, the last of which contained the fruits of her labour, all of it painstakingly separated into bags, each containing enough for precisely one meal.

He was up for a mere 2 days, yet he was fussing up and down the room, washing the plates and heating up the dumplings and slicing the guavas and handing me my ang pow. He was absolutely knackered from the flight, and yet I kept him up importuning him to regale me with tales of him and her, just because I could.

I ditched him and went for my match the next day, while he single-handedly brought everything from Gloucester to Farringdon over 2 or 3 trips, and somehow found some way to entertain himself for the afternoon. Later, I returned home and there he was, pottering about, whipping up a storm as usual.

He was due to leave London only at 8 on Sunday, yet I left the Millenium at 11, citing work as my excuse. Yet when I returned I did nought but perfunctorily flip through some exercises before going online. I tried my hardest to give him a call or to text him that afternoon, but the constraints of the beast that is technology just cannot be breached when you most need to.

There are times I simply loath the things he says or does. To be fair, I cannot understand some decisions the both of them make, or stand the things that they do. They can make me absolutely pissed off, until I quell my anger for a second and stop to think about the little things they do for me, the sacrifices they make sometimes. He cooks his own rice when he's overseas, scrimping and saving so he can spend the allowance on us, his profligate scions. She has had to endure a lot for us, much more than you could imagine. Then I realise that I'd never have made it here if not for them -- heck, they've done one helluva job. And all of a sudden there's nothing they're culpable for; they immediately become absolved of all blame.

So to quote, "I believe your parents knew the best job they knew how to do". They can be unreasonable and overbearing at times and not make much sense (and those times you have every reason to be irritated), but noone's perfect. Would you trade yours?

- The world is my oyster: A badly written story -

On the bottom of the seabed there lived an oyster. He was a bright, spritely little oyster, the kind whose definition of a glorious death would be to land himself a spot as hors d'oeuvres on a connoisseur's dinner menu.

Oyster got along well with everyone in the ocean, from the barnacles clinging to the pier to the eels slithering through the caves; he counted among his best friends a tortoise, a starfish, a tuna and the corals.

One day something the reefs had done irked Oyster significantly; he wasn't coralling with them, but it was all causing him much distress. He tried not to think about it, but the more he kept it all to himself, the more he felt like a bloated puffer fish. And so at the risk of being called a wimpy shrimp, he decided to tell his friends.

First, he turned to Tortoise, but then he saw that she was already carrying tons of those pesky barnacles on her back, and he decided against weighing her down further. He went in search of Starfish, but when he found him, he remembered that Starfish had just lost a limb and was busy growing it back -- and learning about Oyster's problem would only impede his recovery. So then he thought he could seek solace in Tuna, but she was nowhere to be found. Much later, he learnt from a mutual salmon friend that Tuna had learnt a new route for the Great Transatlantic Migration in the winter, and was busy fine-Tuning it. And for obvious reasons he couldn't turn to the coral reefs.

Only then did it dawn upon him that all his friends had their own problems, and although he was more than happy to listen to them and see what he could do to help, beleaguering them with his little problem just didn't seem fair. And so Oyster decided to clam up, and from then on, in an effort to prevent his problems from becoming those of some other marine animal, he kept some things to himself, and eventually began shrinking further and further into his shell, which, with time, began to cast a shadow on his form.

The other fish noticed that he had become a little more cynical and recondite, and urged him to make them privy to his inner thoughts. But not wishing to affect their moods in any way, he didn't; for this he was even labelled "shellfish" by a diving bird he later befriended - but although it did dampen his spirits considerably, he figured he could live with that.

- This thermometer needs calibrating -

None of it was planned

Take me by the hand

Just don't try and understand

~

Did you ever will you know?

Kick the soapbox and lose the pose

Keep on trying don't let go

Life's a trail there's more to show

~

想笑 来伪装掉下的眼泪

点点头 承认自己会怕黑

我只求 能借一点的时间来陪

你却连同情都不给　

想哭 来试探自己麻痹了没

全世界 好像只有我疲惫

无所谓 反正难过就敷衍走一回

但愿绝望和无奈远走高飞

天灰灰 会不会 让我忘了你是谁

夜越黑 梦违背 难追难回味

我的世界将被摧毁 也许事与愿违　

累不累 睡不睡 单影无人相依偎

夜越黑 梦违背 有谁肯安慰

我的世界将被摧毁 或许颓废也是一种美

天灰灰 会不会 让我入睡

夜越黑 梦违背 有谁安慰

- Priceless -

~Sticks and stones may break my bones
But words will never hurt me~

Not when you haven't done shit.

- Entry pulled -

Rumour has it that a new blog entry was pulled from this site at 2320h GMT on Monday, January 17. The reasons for the retraction of the entry are unclear, although it is widely believed that censorship rules forbade the entry and the editors of this blog feared the possible repercussions of its posting.

An eyewitness who stole a glimpse of the entry told this tabloid that it involved the ancient lands of Scythia and Sarmatia, but refused to furnish us with more details.

Members of the cyberpublic who bore witness to this bizarre event are encouraged to come forth and provide the police with valuable advice and evidence.

- Scythia and Sarmatia -

452 A.D.

Sandwiched between the feared waters of Cruz del Rey and Engel lay the decimated but legendary cavalry of Sarmatia. Reeling from setbacks inflicted upon them by the heinous yet perspicacious Romans, what remained of the Sarmatians quickly regrouped in an attempt to protect their sovereignty. Granted a stay of execution by the Romans, who had admired their bravery and horsemanship, the tall and proud yet recondite Sarmatian warriors swore off battle and drink -- until, upon the dawn of a new era, their commander Artorius chanced upon the pallid but pulchritudinous land of Scythia.

Countless times the gallant Sarmatians laid siege to the fortified citadel of Scythia where they'd heard the streets were paved with gold, where the barley trees rose to meet the sun in its waking moments, where culinary delights took precedence over many other issues and where they knew they could start new lives, and that entry into Scythia would be the best thing that could happen to any of them.

Relentlessly they hammered and hammered away, and yet they were constantly frustrated, the defence put up by the Scythians simply too much for the perseverent Sarmatians, who had far too much interest in the welfare of the Scythians to hurt them. They knew that food was a major concern to the Scythians, and employed the services of their associates to transport the best epicurean treats from the furthest ends of the world. Realising that the torrential winds were causing havoc within the imposing Scythian walls, they formed a blanket of soldiers, each holding a different shield, and wrapped themselves around Scythia in a myriad of colours. They sent a cartographic parchment into the city to ensure that not a Scythian would lose his direction.

But then the Sarmatians realised that no matter what they did and however hard they tried, there was no breaking into the guarded city of Scythia - the walls would have to come down themselves, and letting people into the citadel was purely within the sovereign autonomy of Scythia. And Scythia had no wish to allow intruders into their fair land.

- OK, I was wrong -

So good stuff does happen in London after all.
I had to get up at 8, and pay 3.30 to take a train all the way to New Malden (Zone 3), but it was all worth it.
Many thanks to the good staff at KFC for hanging on to my boots.

mis botas son perdido; soy ensimismado.
qué haciendo? no sé.

- it never rains -

whenever you're all happy and you think things are going well for you, bear this in mind: it won't last, and soon enough you'll be brought crashing right back down.

A lot's happened in a time as short as the past week, although I have myself to blame for most of it. And then this morning I received news that a friend's just broken up - which makes me more upset than you could possibly imagine. So after that I trudged off to Berrylands for my match, collected my 2nd win of the season, and then went and left my boots lying somewhere.

20 quid would get me another pair, you say, but that's NOT THE POINT. Not when the boots were a special gift. Not when the bag's been with me since I was 12. Not when I'm not one who loses things.

Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. I am messed up beyond words. What has become of me, I wonder.

- Miscreant -

You were probably right. Twat. It's closer to 90%, really.
And 4h a week isn't an accurate gauge. Gimme some credit. 10 hours a week? Slightly more.

- Gems -

Why is there always so much month left at the end of the money?

They say that money talks. All it ever says to me is 'goodbye'.

It's better to have something to remember than nothing to regret.

Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.

Everyone should believe in something. I believe I'll have another drink.

- Let's play Match The Subject! -

Conventional wisdom dictates that for the benefit of my long-suffering audience, expressions of my feelings and thoughts (over-effusiveness?) are restricted to the odd appearance on this blog. I don't explicitly write messages to people either, so here's a game: each of the following notes is meant for a different individual. Can you match the note to the subject? (If you can, it's time to reflect on how you're wasting your life on inane activities)

I think it would be cool if we did, cos they'd be surprised to see us. But we've both got other priorities and June's always just as good a time, no?

Seems I didn't quite answer your question that night, huh? Apparently I don't need to any more.

She told you you're lucky to have a friend like me. Know what? It works both ways. I feel really bad that I keep calling you out when I'm down or I need to talk, yet you hardly ever divulge any of your problems. Perhaps you have her for that purpose. But thanks, really, I will not forget this. And I hope it's not too big.

Yeah, it's all good for now, thanks for asking. I just try to stay out of their way these days. Sorry about the sleep-depriving shocker I delivered, it seems unreasonably early in the term for such a measure. But I'm in the soup as well, as you can see from the previous entry. Hope you're not so homesick anymore, and it's heartening to see you've cheered up considerably now that the gang's back.

What you're doing's right. Emotions should always be kept where they ought to be - firmly bottled up. Confiding in someone (geographically) close to you often turns out to be a bad idea, and talking too much about how you feel only serves to make you vulnerable. -rest of message deleted-

Chill out, life's harsh, but get used to it. I thought you'd be much tougher than that by now. Show me what you're made of. Hell, it's only a bunch (stream, perhaps?) of guys anyway. Chin up!

- Pandora's Box? No, Stephanie's notes -

So it was that I found myself once again deprived of the internet - not entirely a bad thing, I must qualify, seeing how much work I managed to get done. A cursory glance at my foodpile brought to my attention that the huge stack of notes I'd inherited from Steph The Brain was lying fallow. For years it had loomed like a towering mausoleum, dark and imposing, keeping watch over all whose lackadaisical attempts at studying ought be punished. Yet how this Mighty had fallen, its previously inflated importance now playing second fiddle to Hobnobs (delectable), Country Cheese (unopened) and Almond Cookies (bin-bound).

It came naturally to me that I should relieve it of its ignominy and seek redress for the grave injustice it had suffered. It seemed that the time had finally come to reorganise her notes -- and not a moment too soon, for what greeted me when I lifted the Golden (black, incidentally) File and peered in was nothing short of a stone-cold stunner. The amount of work completed by this person within a year is simply astonishing.

And here's the wake-up call: if year-end results are always commensurate with the amount of effort put into swotting, then it's likely that 3rds await me. For Steph got only two 1sts last year.
The panicking has begun, officially.

~Something Pretty~ Patrick Park

I could have died from being boring.

As for loneliness,

She greets me every morning.

At the most I’m a glare,

I’m the hopeless son who’s hardly there.

I’m the open sign that’s always busted.

I’m the friend you need, but can’t be trusted

- The OC: Episode 27 -

Maybe I'm Amazed - Jem
(Disclaimer: doesn't apply to me)

Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Love Me All The Time
Maybe I'm Afraid Of The Way I Love You
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Pulled Me Out Of Time
And Hung Me On A Line
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way I Really Need You

Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe I'm A Lonely Girl
Who's In The Middle Of Something
That She Doesn't Really Understand

Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe You're The Only Man
Who Could Ever Have Me
Baby Won't You Help Me Understand

Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe I'm A Lonely Girl
Who's In The Middle Of Something
That She Doesn't Really Understand
Maybe I'm A Girl And Maybe You're The Only Man
Who Could Ever Have Me
Baby Won't You Help Me Understand

Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You're With Me All The Time
Maybe I'm Afraid Of The Way I Need You
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way You Help Me Sing My Song
Right Me When I'm Wrong
Maybe I'm Amazed At The Way I Really Need You

- Just like ol' times -

It's back to the way it was, it's all gone back, it's all gone back, it's all gone back now...

There are days when you do work. And then there are days like these.

- Flatliners: A non sequiter -

Following a conversation about apartments:

nolly says:
yea exactly! haha eh find one more for me

.JB. a la yo yo says:
hahaha

.JB. a la yo yo says:
can, if you find me kate beckinsale

nolly says:
her twin?

.JB. a la yo yo says:
will do too.

nolly says:
ok shall attempt that on ebay or sth hahaha

.JB. a la yo yo says:
no no have tried that. they deliver one of those inflatable doll things. dead ringer for her, though, I must admit.

nolly says:
YOU've really tried it?!?

.JB. a la yo yo says:
er. no, noelle.

nolly says:
with you jon. anything is possible

JB. a la yo yo says:
yes nolly. with me, anything is possible. join me, and we shall strive forward.

.JB. a la yo yo says:
*appears in a hooded cloak*

nolly says:
hahahaha!!!!

nolly says:
you never fail to amuse

- *Clap of thunder* It's aliiiive!!!!! -

Now here's an interesting experiment. Go to Google or Yahoo or any of them newfangled search engines they have these days. Try typing in anything related to this blog, run a search and see if you can find this blog right here.

I tried this out on a friend who thought he*'d done enough to hide his blog far from the madding crowd, to escape the attention of prying eyes. I ran a search of 3 words for the blog on Yahoo, and it was the 2nd site on the list. I tried another 3 words, and bang, there it was again.

So we did the same for my blog, and eagerly awaited the results. Nothing. Zilch. Nada.
Try it, and amaze me with your intelligence. First person who can do find my blog on a search engine gets a kiss. No, wait, it ought to be an incentive. Ok, first person doesn't get kissed.

*Gender altered to protect the innocent

- Requiem for the living -

It could have been his attempt at an apology on behalf of the both of them. But food hardly ever makes a difference to me. Perhaps he was trying to make up for it. Here's a tip: when you're in the wrong, come out and apologise, rather than extend the olive branch with what you presume to be a reasonable peace offering.

Or blissful oblivion is something they revel in. We will never know.

- funny ol' world innit -

1200 Leave Hall of Residence for home
1230 Arrive home to pleasant surprise - internet access now up and running. Immediately begin exploiting cyberspace
0145 Shut down computer and attempt to sleep
0200 Awaken to polyphonic ring of O2 X2, commence dialogue in a state of semi-sobriety
0215 Restart computer and go online

WHY? Haha.

- take it as it comes -

Common parlance cannot describe the relative luxury that dinnertime in all its sanctity affords me. It is a magical period of time when all is tranquil, the stars are aligned and I seem to exist in a bubble with halcyon atmosphere.
In the unspeakable, calamitous event, however, that anyone should be overcome with so strong a desire for the termination of his very existence as to deem it wise to disturb me in my moment of peace, I shall take it upon myself to see to it that his insolence will not go unnoticed.
In the shining example of Messrs Jekyll and Hyde, an incorrigibly fractious and implacable young man shall stand in my stead, ceaselessly assailing whoever it was that executed this direct affront to my very being.

And now I have degenerated into writing about dinnertime. What next? Toadstools?

- So much for the sombre mood -

Cowell, Chapter 6: A Simple Economy (page 136)

"Purists will note that I should have called B the 'at-least-as-good-as-x' set or the 'not-worse-than-x'; but purists will have to put up with this nomenclature for the sake of linguistic euphony."

Verpiss dich. Only I am licensed to write like that, and only on my blog. Keep this up and no one will have any idea what you're trying to communicate.