2:39 a.m. - 2007-08-18
reposts
reposts
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/031120_25.html
on a sleepless night,
the old man climbed out of bed and
walked towards a computer hooked up
to the internet,
"sometimes there is no one to blame but ourselves."
after having typed that, he resolved not to be upset and went back to bed.
i can't tell this to anyone.
only you. ok.
come closer.
remember.
"marlboro's chinese name is wan-bao-lu."
heh heh.
his father got lung cancer.
he got throat cancer.
he can't tell this to anyone.
only you. ok.
go farther.
forget.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/040404_69.html
IIna
saturday sunday
bt hollywood Ina
groove coverage on the radio
a car going down the shrouded road
cramped in
trying not to get her hair in my face
fingers got crushed by the door
luckily it was not serious and not us
clinging
moist
playful
maboed
the last glance as i closed the door
and cheered yeh at last i am free
and fell onto the bed
but like an enrique iglesias corny song
i should have gotten up and chased after her at the lift landing
maybe it was all a dream
"like a moonlight shadow passing through the night"
pontianaks and stories of a person's life
of a call from hometown telling you your boyfriend is dead
he does not drink or take drugs
he just died, that is fate,
in that phonecall,
whats lost in translation
hopefully can be made up for by the kind of feelings that cling when you realise what was gone, means more than it did.
u wanted a panda.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/050129_94.html
"you will live the rest of your life in this condition"
cherry said that in gantz vol 188.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/040506_98.html
11:04 p.m. - 2004-05-06
talented mr ripley
the robot has suicidal thoughts
meanwhile the politicians do their jobs
the neurotic people sitting in silence
the bored girl wishes for violence
they look at each other's eyes and smiled
the kid played with her plastic water bottle
i took a walk and enjoyed it
and then i went back
things were not that simple
i had thoughts in my head
burn and scratch
why is it so?
i think its a habit.
to sit down and think sad.
you had trouble communicating
excommunicate the spirits
scream fuck fuck fuck
we are all types.
she looks like that but behaves like a type.
i am a type.
forgive me.
sorry.
i'll make you guys happy.
the dissappointment is big.
the hopes are dashed.
the time is gone.
all is not lost.
a packet of atoms
walked
tetris blocks in www.mega64.com
i hate writing crap like this.
but disorganised.
i made a shirt today. and wanted to make beads for colleagues but no.
i made a shirt today and realised why people buy shirts in the first place.
stupid homemade shirts.
they make you cry.
family gatherings.
everyone.
you.
facade.
talented mr ripley.
they gave me the thumbs up.
while someone is trapped in the basement.
they opened the door and looked inside.
mr. bones!
i was a hypocrite.
a robot programmed to be nice.
mr crowley!
song lyrics of rock bands
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/031226_3.html
10:55 p.m. - 2003-12-26
2 books
borrowed some books today:
1. kureishi's my son the fanatic. finished reading it, good book.
2. jack gantos' hole in my life.
haven't read yet. but good quote by oscar wilde in front:
"i have learned this:
it is not what one does that is wrong
but what one becomes
as a consequence of it."
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/031112_97.html
10:33 a.m. - 2003-11-13
what happened.
i think about what happened.
what was hopeful
what was fun
what was spontaneous
what was forced
what was silent
what was gone.
11:19 p.m. - 2003-11-13
a snake
a snake
there was one green snake sliding along the ground of the jungle, he has no legs and no hands. he darts his tongue out swiftly. he dunno what to do. night falls. he hasn't reached the destination. he is losing sleep and the moon is high up in the sky already. theres nothing he can do. he never felt so alone suddenly, but thankful for the owl's hoots, maybe it will swoop down and capture him.
snake snake for god's sake
take a break.
for god's sake where have you been.
some words are better left unsaid.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/030403_82.html
the angel of aids
the angel of death,
(the anti-aids campaign calls her that)
but can i call her sweet charity?
but she asked,
"have you paid?"
i nod my head,
and then got
laid.
like a virgin for the very first time.
like cupid stabbing lovers with a knife.
i remember being very happy and being very sad.
touched by angels like the suffering diseased, are you happy to be touched or sad to be diseased.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/021227_21.html
3:31 p.m. - 2002-12-27
the first time we met
the lonely souls
there was this line from a book which goes something like:
"you are beautiful...and believe me, i am the only one in this world who knows that."--haruki murakami. (south of the border, west of the sun).
looking at her, sometimes remind me of this line. she was not what you would think of as pretty, with its associated youthfulness and breeming energy, like a spotted leopard, slim and dangerous.
but somehow, when i first met her, though i cringed a little, it occurred to me, she does look cute, with her fine hair falling over her eyes and her strange mouth and manner of speaking.
she said i looked stressed. i wonder if i looked like that all the time. uptight and high wound like a spring. i hope my brows did not furrow.
she had a black cardigan draped over her shoulders. she is bigger sized than me. i wonder how it feels to hug her. i think it would be a warm fuzzy feeling. like the woollen cardigan.
we made conversation on the upper deck of the bus. The sky was gloomy and overcast with big grey clouds. i stared at the road ahead with the smaller cars and motorists. i was torn between feelings. she is not pretty. but i feel drawn to her. is it because i am just a lonely soul?
i feel both flattered and sad, as i stared at her smooth powdered cheeks and nose and realised she was wearing make-up. she looked cute in make-up, i must say.
the bus rumbled on... we whispered and talked about our siblings, our previous schools, her present job at the mental asylum, how we lost our handphones, clubbings, so on...
i dunno what she feels about me. but i am sure it isn't hunky or charming.
i think i could have looked like i had a lost soul. i didn't crack more than one joke.
the end.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/021223_25.html
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/020722_76.html
9:33 p.m. - 2002-07-22
monologues of the ------- first section.
the ugly swan thing speaks in humor about herself
have you heard of the ugly duckling story? my story is the opposite...i am the story of the swan who grew up into an ugly swan thing. This kind of thing is quite uncommon but the animal scientists never say it shall never occur....was it the chemicals they were pouring into the ponds and eco-systems earlier that altered my genetic DNA? well, i dunno and i've too much things on my mind alreadi...
anyway, yea...do you know how it feels to be dissappointed and angry and sad that you become a freak...its like the higher you climb the harder you fall. All the other swans reach maturity and they dance and sing gracefully in the pond making swirls and gentle ripples in the water. Sometimes they call out to me to join them, but my ruffled untidy greyish spotted feathers and freakish look of gaucheness made me think i am more of a fool, an unknowing pompous swag.
a swag is what we swans call "swans" that look like and are losers.
pretty harsh thing to say...considering i already told you im a swag myself. but thats the way it is...i seem to have grown an unhealthy pasttime in which i slag myself and torture myself with vocal barbs, tearing at myself....i like to repeat words said by the other swans about me sometimes...though they might not really mean ill-spite or meanness...however i still don't refute them because i myself agree....i am a dirty swan. a loser.
If you wash away the mud, you will find the mutated feathers and pink exposed flesh rotting with pus on me...is that a frightful sight? i myself wonder how a swan can become like me.
Other swans are learning new skills like flying great distances and hunting in algaed ponds but i don't feel like joining them....its no use...whatever i do, im still the swan thing. it is this hopelessness in my situation...that sometimes i just wish to die.
ask any other swan what they would do if they were me...if they had any healthy sense of an ego, they would say "commit suicide" immediately.
maybe at this point of time...you, the ugly little duckling who turned into a great beautiful swan would say to me, "hey , looks are deceiving. appearances do not matter."
sir...you are lying.
do you not remember the time you were a little ugly duckling and you cried with such terrible sadness, looking at your own reflection in the muddy waters, your salty tears dripping into them...
because of this mental torture...i think i behave like a weird swan thing more and more these days...what drearyness.
maybe i shall try to fly tonight....to the north star...i've always told myself, "do not beg...carry yourself with pride...do not be looked down upon by others..."
but maybe...im the one looking down on myself.
but still!
they looked down upon me too! they even laughed and joked!
but still, i regard them as friends?
i hate all swans.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/030921_52.html
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/030617_73.html
2:37 p.m. - 2003-06-17
the lord has a thousand rooms in his mansion
a thousand rooms
to enter the white room, you must be prepared,
there is an old couple and they�re quarrelling,
the wife saying spiteful things while the husband squats on the floor in pain, groaning away and saying u must understand my pain.
there is a boy in the room. he�s looking at this with a faraway look in his eyes, as if that could distant him. then he goes to a computer connected to a socket in the wall and he plays his computer games.
the white room is lit with the strong glare of cheap flourescent tubes, giving the impression of no escape from the light, as persecuted as the family is, by sickness and ill fortune.
its terribly hard to see beyond the first wall, knowing that there are hundreds and possibly thousand walls behind that.
http://orchardroad.diaryland.com/030921_52.html
9:36 p.m. - 2003-09-21
the man without a past
i have an insane urge to delete everything here.
to make a fresh start with my life.
this place is haunting.
ghosts of my past. but they made me who i am today. there were funny stories, there were sad ones, and also my fav: mixed ones.
i no longer feel like writing.
every entry feels trying. like im just trying to make my existence heard/read.
and then when it happens, life just sweeps everything off the table in real life.
what a whore life is.
that one is a laugh.
i'll be the man without a past.
im not the first nor the last.
to step in line and join the zombies.
maybe this will turn out for the better.
-------------end of reposts
i didn't know i had a nick last time called sparrow. it was probably because i liked this churning charged song called sparrow by magic dirt.
sometimes, or nowadays, i feel like i can't speak anymore.
illna was a girl that changed my life. or rather my life was bent at 19, and further bent at 24 when i met her, but no need to argue, there is no one to blame but ourselves.
i realise that as i grow older, some strange stuff happens...
looking back at all the stuff that i wrote in the years past, i realised that i was quite an emo person, writing a lot to express my thoughts and feelings freely. i think i was even sensitive. ha. (writing without so much irony and sarcasm at myself).
what else has changed? i have lost my will to love anyone, and am left with only physical urges and fears of loneliness.
have i lost my honesty? yes, definitely some, as i realise my close friends or open friends are reading these.
i still wordplay to cheer myself up.
as i grow older, i wonder if my sense of loneliness has gotten stronger. and i wonder if my character has gotten any stronger. and i wonder if i've lost compassion.
i no longer feel like i need to write here. because i'll self censor. and because i no longer wish to think too much. i've forgotten that i once felt like a swan thing.
i've forgotten that i once went out with this girl who worked as a nurse and i tried to like her despite not being really attracted and having nothing in common with her.
the thing is:
to forget my past is to forget the times i were most emo. the times when i felt ugly, depressed, ashamed, were also the times when i felt most love for the world because i was most desperate then for the world to love me back.
i wanted to believe, like the beatniks i read about, that we should all love everyone.
but as i grow older, i felt that love should be rationed. that love should not be wasted on unappreciative pple. i dunno if i am correct.
i feel almost wrong. but i dun feel anything now. what is love. and why am i doing this?
i start to read books on buddhism, hoping to quell my doubts and confusion. and the more i read, the more i want to keep quiet now.
i dunno if i am quiet(stopped writing) because my doubts and confusion are gone. i think it might be more because i realise i dun want to write more depressing shit here, and most of my doubts and confusion are just in the mind, underneath the flow of everyday things like money, bills, work and keeping up appearances.
i have a fear my face is becoming glum by the day, corners of my mouth creasing down, weighted by the silent river.
ok, no more, back to the flow of things.
