high expectations
the impact of mistakes made
only hits far too late
do our mistakes tell who we are?
-confused funnyfriend
19 October 2006
18 October 2006
17 October 2006
cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. let him not love the earth too deeply. let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. let him not be too moved when the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. for fear will rob him of all if he gives too much.
--alan paton.
-lovelybones
--alan paton.
-lovelybones
16 October 2006
Omg... It's 2+ on a Sunday and I'm still awake... And so are about 1/3 of the contacts on my MSN list. And I'm finding Defences to Negligence so fun to read at the moment that I'm finding it hard to put it down and stop reading... Oh no, am I turning mad???
Hall's been hectic, and I'm really really dying... But what does my mom decide to do on a Sat evening? Nag and nag and scold and scold... I'm in hall all alone after tiring hours of rehearsals and she does this? Grrr... So sorry to bring in a personal matter...
Smiles and excessive bubbliness on Monday really make up for everything... Crumbling inside but still strong on the outside. Thanks guys and gals! :)
Too many elipses liao. I'll stop. Listen to Evancescence's new album: The Open Door. Music for the soul. And the lone ranger of the night poring over pages of Jones or some other crappy text. I love life. Really.
Hall's been hectic, and I'm really really dying... But what does my mom decide to do on a Sat evening? Nag and nag and scold and scold... I'm in hall all alone after tiring hours of rehearsals and she does this? Grrr... So sorry to bring in a personal matter...
Smiles and excessive bubbliness on Monday really make up for everything... Crumbling inside but still strong on the outside. Thanks guys and gals! :)
Too many elipses liao. I'll stop. Listen to Evancescence's new album: The Open Door. Music for the soul. And the lone ranger of the night poring over pages of Jones or some other crappy text. I love life. Really.
"I'm losing my mind and you just stand there and stare as my world divides..."- Anguished Fantôme
Evanescence: Snow White Queen
15 October 2006
i just watched the first half of angels in america.. fantastic. a bit QAF-y, but more political. way way more political. al pacino is roy cohn. how fantastic. a ruthless, incredibly smart, homosexual lawyer.
homophobes should not watch though.
but three hours of talk about aids and hallucinations makes me damn bloody emo now. somebody open up the club so i can go there and face the wall and emo to myself. QUICK!
it's 4am. :(
-lovelybones
homophobes should not watch though.
but three hours of talk about aids and hallucinations makes me damn bloody emo now. somebody open up the club so i can go there and face the wall and emo to myself. QUICK!
it's 4am. :(
-lovelybones
14 October 2006
12 October 2006
the Tao of Emo
What constitutes a mind that tenaciously patrionises emo thoughts? And how do you reach its nirvana? What gives people the tendency to emo more than others?
1. Command of language. Floridity of language gives the emo-ist a false sense of superiority (because he is so adept at his art) with which he boldly threads into unknown places. The stories of his travels are often audacious and shocking: How does he go so deep? How could someone possibly think like that? Like fuel to fire, these words of encouragement empower him to reach new grounds of radicality and depths of soul.
2. Attuned to the arts. True emo-ists are attuned to the arts. Just imagine the emo of a scientist and you'd understand: I felt a pain in my heart. It is actually the result of dichloriphenomide aggravating the receptors around my heart, triggering a contraction in my arteries and causing the pain I feel. Is this then, a feeling of sadness? Is this real? The foolishness of my mind hinders me from reaching a conclusion...
3. The mind of an elitist. The elitist sees 2 groups of people: himself, and the rest. How can he ever, ever come down to the level of the rest? He constantly searches within for that special thing that sets him apart. Well, all of us do it; but the elitist does it with so much more passion! It is his occupation: to reach the pinnacle of emotionality, to relish unrelishable thoughts and to disparage the state and wisdom of the world. But the most most important part is: He must then confuse himself in order to show that he, at such a pinnacle of state of mind, is unable even to comprehend his own thoughts! And at that pinnacle of state, that zenith of emotion, he lies at rest in two worlds - one of his own, and one which he shares with the rest of the world.
It doesn't matter that the emo-ist's state of mind is apparently unstable and volatile for he is really very much in his place - high and lofty, yet low and dark.
-club emo
What constitutes a mind that tenaciously patrionises emo thoughts? And how do you reach its nirvana? What gives people the tendency to emo more than others?
1. Command of language. Floridity of language gives the emo-ist a false sense of superiority (because he is so adept at his art) with which he boldly threads into unknown places. The stories of his travels are often audacious and shocking: How does he go so deep? How could someone possibly think like that? Like fuel to fire, these words of encouragement empower him to reach new grounds of radicality and depths of soul.
2. Attuned to the arts. True emo-ists are attuned to the arts. Just imagine the emo of a scientist and you'd understand: I felt a pain in my heart. It is actually the result of dichloriphenomide aggravating the receptors around my heart, triggering a contraction in my arteries and causing the pain I feel. Is this then, a feeling of sadness? Is this real? The foolishness of my mind hinders me from reaching a conclusion...
3. The mind of an elitist. The elitist sees 2 groups of people: himself, and the rest. How can he ever, ever come down to the level of the rest? He constantly searches within for that special thing that sets him apart. Well, all of us do it; but the elitist does it with so much more passion! It is his occupation: to reach the pinnacle of emotionality, to relish unrelishable thoughts and to disparage the state and wisdom of the world. But the most most important part is: He must then confuse himself in order to show that he, at such a pinnacle of state of mind, is unable even to comprehend his own thoughts! And at that pinnacle of state, that zenith of emotion, he lies at rest in two worlds - one of his own, and one which he shares with the rest of the world.
It doesn't matter that the emo-ist's state of mind is apparently unstable and volatile for he is really very much in his place - high and lofty, yet low and dark.
-club emo
11 October 2006
A Singapore Court of Appeal judge actually said this in his judgement (para 29 of Tan Hun Hoe v. Harte Denis Mathew, [2001] 4 SLR 317)
"Since Mr Harte fell from a most vulnerable position when his slightly
swollen scrotum after the operation was hanging deepest in the toilet
bowl, the forward movement of the body during the fall would push his
penis and scrotum to be jammed between the perineum and pelvic bone on
the top, and the hard but smooth upper surface of the toilet seat at
the bottom, whilst hemmed in at the same time by the inner thighs on
both sides. The resultant effect is a fairly hard squeezing of the
testicles on all sides for a short duration when his heavy body moved
forward and fell eventually, pulling along with it and crushing the
scrotum and testes as they passed over the smooth edged toilet seat,
which consequently resulted in the contusion injury."
~
"Since Mr Harte fell from a most vulnerable position when his slightly
swollen scrotum after the operation was hanging deepest in the toilet
bowl, the forward movement of the body during the fall would push his
penis and scrotum to be jammed between the perineum and pelvic bone on
the top, and the hard but smooth upper surface of the toilet seat at
the bottom, whilst hemmed in at the same time by the inner thighs on
both sides. The resultant effect is a fairly hard squeezing of the
testicles on all sides for a short duration when his heavy body moved
forward and fell eventually, pulling along with it and crushing the
scrotum and testes as they passed over the smooth edged toilet seat,
which consequently resulted in the contusion injury."
~
10 October 2006
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate,
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute win reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
upon a platter,
I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along
the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
~
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherised upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night,
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.
And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate,
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.
In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.
And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!")
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!")
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute win reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.
. . . . .
And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in
upon a platter,
I am no prophet-and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.
And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"—
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say: "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along
the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a
screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old ... I grow old ...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
~
Hey dudes n babes now that the test is over, does anybody wanna go wakeboarding??? we can go down one sat afternoon about 2 to 6. preferably 10 ppl so that we can get two boats. It should cost abt 60 bucks each for 4 hrs plus instructor and drinks and its real easy to learn. you should be able to stand on the board by the first day. after that we can head down to somewhere nice to eat like arab street or ps cafe etc.
How to save 60 bucks?
1) Stop buying clothes from Internet or anywhere else. Having multiple lok-kok days is a gd idea.
2) Instead of eating at Jap store eat at the chicken rice store. That would save almost 2 bucks per day.
3) Don't club twice a week. Skip Mambo. Or dun go at all.
4) Instead of taking cabs commute like the majority of the population.
5) Go on diets you all are really fat.
clvgman j
How to save 60 bucks?
1) Stop buying clothes from Internet or anywhere else. Having multiple lok-kok days is a gd idea.
2) Instead of eating at Jap store eat at the chicken rice store. That would save almost 2 bucks per day.
3) Don't club twice a week. Skip Mambo. Or dun go at all.
4) Instead of taking cabs commute like the majority of the population.
5) Go on diets you all are really fat.
clvgman j
08 October 2006
07 October 2006
i have just recieved a phone call...
buckle up and sit tight ladies and gentlemen. as you go about having fun on this post-test saturday, watching movies, shopping or hanging out at starbucks, rest easy in the knowledge that your shores are being protected by our nation's finest. yes, emo is going to serve the nation and protect you from the malevolent forces of evil.
with soldiers like me...who needs enemies.
-club emo
buckle up and sit tight ladies and gentlemen. as you go about having fun on this post-test saturday, watching movies, shopping or hanging out at starbucks, rest easy in the knowledge that your shores are being protected by our nation's finest. yes, emo is going to serve the nation and protect you from the malevolent forces of evil.
with soldiers like me...who needs enemies.
-club emo
the wave story...
once there was a wave in the pacific ocean, and he was really happy,
having the time of his life as he travelled across the seas.
then one day he saw the waves in front of him crashing onto a beach, and he got really frightened and started screaming.
the wave in front of him responded: "sometimes, you get so carried away having fun as a wave that you forget that you are just water that forms part of the big ocean system."
-club emo
once there was a wave in the pacific ocean, and he was really happy,
having the time of his life as he travelled across the seas.
then one day he saw the waves in front of him crashing onto a beach, and he got really frightened and started screaming.
the wave in front of him responded: "sometimes, you get so carried away having fun as a wave that you forget that you are just water that forms part of the big ocean system."
-club emo
03 October 2006
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