Journal Entries
i know nuts about mozart's g minor symphony k550. lovely. i'll fail the test. but this isn't what i'm gonna talk about...
Posted Jul 6, 2000
'twas another one of them days where you sit back and get everything flooding in suffocating waves towards you.
nah, i'm not talking about schoolwork and projects and all those supposedly-dumb-superficial little insects that crawl between the crevices of your brain. i'm talking about all those little whims and their outcomes, all those tiny little self-inflicted twinges of pain i used to know, all those weird rules and games i used to play.
but it could've been worse. today's attack was somewhat diluted, and bouts of this overwhelming-drowning-bony-things-hidden-in-my-closet-are-coming-out-malady are becoming sporadic nowadays.
i'm not sure whether to be happy about this or not.
ah well. who is ever sure whether they're happy? (throw them a few questions and they start going 'um-er'. )
apologies for sounding flippant there.
it brings me on to another point.
dear-darling-honeypies, i'm supposed to be a candy(liquorice,preferably)-coated-crazy-funky-whimsical-girl.
trouble is, i know other people, particularly some person, who are/is just about the same as me, albeit with a (much) bigger vocabulary, (much) better writing skills, and a slightly different manner of speaking.
don't you ever get scared we're all very similar (i hesitate to say 'same') deep-deep-down-inside our tormented lil' souls?
i don't. i only wonder. (wonder, wonder, wonderful! )
and though you (no...not you...you!) think i'm deliciously-good-and-cleverly-intuitive enough to be your idol, i beg to differ.
i'm not, but you do need someone.
everyone needs someone.
terrible inherent weaknesses we have.
which makes you wonder whether schizophrenic people have it better, sometimes.
the trick is, dah-ling, to pick from a variety of people. not only from one poor person. because your attention distributed among more people makes them less aware of it. and also makes you look less desperate (and silly?).
my, if we keep on picking from everyone, we'll end up all the same, hm?
live for today, that's all i say. (to this. not to everything).
i'm just slightly over the edge, clinging on to it by my fingernails which are starting to give way.
don't mind me. i assure you, it'll be over the next time i see you.
(then again, how much do you trust me?)
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Latest reply: Jul 6, 2000
borders ain't no fun no more....too many people and too little books. anyvay.
Posted Jul 1, 2000
at the moment, this is vhat i vant to read (note: vant. not should. ):
wicked by gregory maguire
terry pratchett stuff
douglas adams stuff
not about nightingales by tennessee williams
battle of angels by tennessee williams
cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams (yes i currently like his stuff a lot)
lemony ricketts stuff
george macdonald stuff
plath poetry
emily dickinson poetry
possibly ann sexton poetry. if i come across something of hers that appeals to me.
these are probably just temporary preferences.
they are vhat i vant to read, not vhat i think i should read.
vhat i think i should read is a whole different and longer list.
(yes i compiled a list of very good books to read last year. and i add to it vhen i come across other good books too. )
anyvay. i have tried to vrite poetry again. my poor lousy attempts. (as compared to my clever mentored friends' poetry. )
and i actually did a 'you/she' poem. (usually they're all 'you/i' poems. )
anyvay. here it is. (for your cruel amusement, as someone i know might say. )
she came to you in the thick folds of the night
steadily, purposefully,
knowing-innocence in her face
(did you think she was a celestial child descended from the heavens?)
only to ask you, only to ask you
to make a miracle of her
to sculpture her to perfection
(to mould her to be your golden reflection whenever you gazed at her shimmering eyes?)
she knelt before you bearing humility in her body
presented her soul to you
tenderly laid on tearfully-softened tinsel
(did you wonder whether she was sweetly playing with your mind then?)
wistfully whispered what she wanted, breath brushing against your ears
touched you once, twice
fingertips tracing the outline of your shamed secrets
(were you too lost in her smile to heal her soul?)
both of you, cradled in each other's thoughts
where you met and dreamed, perceived and bled
from invisible wounds inflicted by the single madness that
both she and you crafted and created
consumed by a terrible, sinful desire
driven by the hopelessness of the reality you saw in
merged, multicoloured visions
that you later broke, shattered and threw
onto the ground so that they lay strewn
like forgotten glass rainbows, melting
in the night's rain that pelted down
in bitter streams, almost like tears of a saddened god.
you crushed her butterfly-arms and
crumpled her fluttering white dress
and you wondered why they
flapped so uselessly in the gale
that tore down your mindless weaknesses
and dressed her, a deflowered
dead lady
in scentless, scattered brown-tinged flowers
you carried her to the mortuary
alive and sullen in your angry misery
deserted her there
her first words ringing in your
stinging eyes -
m a k e a n a n g e l o u t o f m e . . .
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Latest reply: Jul 1, 2000
do you want to be a farmer when you grow up?
Posted Jun 29, 2000
(this is. the banal. as a certain friend might say. )
two a-maths (advanced maths) assignments due tomorrow (which i don't know how to do), and you have one doomed person here.
in addition, the play is tomorrow. we've sold all but 18 tickets. which is incredibly good, considering the whole school was only told about the play this week (and today's thursday), and the first two days of advertisements were plain stupid and pretentious. (the juniors did 'em. not us, mind. ) good thing today's advertisement was good (done by two sec 3s. (read: seniors). ) today's sales picked up very fast, what with the spiffy posters (i designed 'em and even though they're amateurish i like 'em. my poor deluded ego. i know. ) and the impressive ticket booth sign (think big black mounting board with colour-chalked-letters and satin-ish cloth draped over it) and of course the advertisement. and the juniors haven't sold even half as much as we have (i know i'm sounding terribly gloat-y and mean, but i am very fed up of some certain people yelling at me and saying that we might as well cancel the play since they (note: they) think we'll probably be able to only sell less than 50 tickets. ) so much for the play.
i am swamped in schoolwork.
my mind is in a bad state of disarray, and i lack the time to lapse into anything except gloom (and melancholia, of course. isn't she a pretty word?). which is a pity, since i liked dunking my head in weird-imaginings and crazy-philosophies and funny-conversations in the holidays.
pathetic lives we lead.
and no, i'm not trying to sound know-it-all like some people i know.
i'm just complaining.
don't stop me, please.
anyway
you can't.
(no i won't say haha. )
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Latest reply: Jun 29, 2000
don't worry, be stupid
Posted Jun 26, 2000
i deprive myself of sleep over the weekend, i worry about undone schoolwork, i dread going to school, and as a result i acquire seven pimples. (they like to label 'em acne or blemishes to be polite, but i don't feel like being polite to myself. ).
so what is the moral of the story, boys and girls? (or maybe it should be adults and adolescents; i've never known little kids to develop pimples unless they are a)very sickly or b)very dirty).
the moral of the story is: do. not. worry. or. you. will. have. more. to. worry. about.
my beloved audience (you can tell i'm in a sweetly-queer state of mind), would you like to hear me relate the Day's Events to you?
They're not particularly interesting or extraordinary, but a lot of people who read journal entries don't seem to mind this. (And here, I add in a quote from my former english/literature donkey-pig-teacher, who was actually quoting someone else (whom i can't remember) when he quoted the quote i am about to quote - 'We read to know we are not alone'. Which is probably why a lot of people like everyday entries talking about everyday stuff. And stuff like Our Town (by Thornton Wilder. it's a play. ). Because they can relate to whoever's writing. )
I went to school. First day of term 3 after the long June break. I was feeling calm-collected-confident (not because i had finished my homework, mind...I haven't finished my homework yet. ) I stepped into the class. About 7 minutes later, I realised the classroom contained a nice new air-con. (Previously, we only had 4 ceiling fans). Ooh. Nice. Then I patch up my physics homework with some help from a clever friend. Then everyone goes to the amphitheatre for assembly. The principal tells us about the new aircon-ed classrooms. Apparently, the entire sec4 block has them. which means all the sec4s will sit in aircon-ed comfort until they leave the school this year. the principal then announces to the sec3s that they will only install the aircons in sec3 classrooms next year. and that the reason why 3 certain sec3 classrooms got aircon-ed along with the sec4 classrooms is because they just happened to be in the same block. So maybe we're lucky.
Not so. For the rest of the day, my arms are almost permanently tucked behind my back and against the seat, in an attempt to seek refuge from the cold. I'll have to start carrying a jacket/cardigan/jumper/sweater/anything-to-keep-warm to school from now on.
And after school we do a tech. run for the play the drama club's going to put up on friday. (yesi'minthedramaclubdon'tworryikeepquietthere). Agonising. That's what tech. runs are.
But the lighting was very, very good. Professional-like. They were specially installed and fixed in certain positions just for the play.
Anyway, after all that tech. run stuff, I walked home. Because I didn't want to take the bus or go home by car. I took 35 minutes to walk home. Not bad, considering I took 1 hour to walk home when I first tried it two months ago.
My life revolves around school and stress. Have you realised that yet, my-curious-readers?
Holidays offer a brief respite from sheeps and rats, but holidays never last as long as I want them to.
Never mind. School is enjoyable if you enjoy indulging in melancholia.
And sometimes I enjoy school. 
(we must try to be happy?)
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Latest reply: Jun 26, 2000
this is meant to be read? ooh lala, i don't know what's come over me.
Posted Jun 25, 2000
once upon a time,
i pictured myself dancing in the air with a flowerpot over my head.
it was fun, but some people didn't like it.
so now i don't picture myself because i'd look ridiculous in the picture, and because it's not possible.
it's impossible, because something is only possible when it is absolute.
i can't make absolute pictures in my head. {don't worry, she's working on it. }
and i'm not schizophrenic. {greetings. we're the little things that knock around this kid's head. how do you do?}
i'm just feeling detached from sanity.
that's all.
ah yes yes yes....
it's nice to be detached from sanity.
(if you were expecting bwahahas or sounds of that sort, you can stop expecting them now. )
funny how the opposite of sanity's called....in-sanity. (yes i know it's spelt insanity, but in-sanity makes the point better)
{we're having coffee and tea and cake...would you like to join us?}
i'm sounding happily-dizzy.
i assure you i'm not happy.
{she's trying very hard to be both. but you mustn't worry about the duck that thinks she's half-sheep. }
tiramisu cake is what they're having.
i'm too busy to join them, but you can.
sometimes, it's nice not to dream.
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Latest reply: Jun 25, 2000
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