|Time as white sound|
Monday, June 30, 2008
Of nail clippers from Disneyland which cut your nails into little heart shapes, and shampoo made from cow's semen to make your hair shiny- anything seems possible; anything with some naivety, that is.
I've been feeling happier this past week. Finally the rain clouds have parted (well, at least some)
I just hope the fair weather stays.
Night has begun to be kind towards me too. The seeds of hope and faith which I've planted are seen to be sprouting.
I think I'm gonna have a major headache tomorrow going back to school, realising just how much I've been thrown off balance after weeks of neglect in my studies.
Yes. I'm getting a bit nervous about tomorrow
Saturday, June 28, 2008
If you guys think you know what 'emo' really is, check out Edgar Allen Poe.
He makes horror seem so artistic and beautiful, but yet one would wonder how sick he is in the head to churn out that much Gothic literature. All of which are mostly about death and grotesque terror, mind you.
I would agree with Cowboy, however, and say that he is indeed a literary genius (fine, you win on this one haha). But I also do think that he's very well a small step away from absolute insanity. A person whose work contains more than just a regular dosage of depression would most certainly have his sanity and state of mind severely questioned.
It would be nice to have a mind of his for an hour or two, though.
Anymore and I might just write an award winning bestseller, before slitting my wrists and hanging myself on the bathroom shower curtain rod.
Hey, if that's the case, at least I'd relish in some form of success. It's not too bad a bargain.
There's always that feeling that the induction to high society is a mere pipe dream.
And then there's always that chance of collecting dust and missing trains and boats.
Singleton. The word bachelor seems more tame and forgiving.
Spinster, on the other hand seems so harsh, as they call those women who begin to shrivel like dried apples.
Oh gee, they sure use it like its some form of acidic spit waiting to be hawked.
Don't worry, sometimes my friends and I talk about it, contemplating our possible impending doom. Needless to say, we would never be that desperate as to blurt the typical 'let's make a pact and get hitched if we don't get married by 40'
Yeah. Count on me (us) Singapore to increase the low birth rates.
But what the hell am I talking about? I'm still 17; I'm still not considered a man.
Christ, I could even pass of as a freaking Sec 3 student- so what's the fuss all about?
What in heaven's name are all these boyish dispositions?
Maybe it's what they call, or what I presume to be the Mid- Early Life Crisis.
The transition from being a teenager to an adult is looming, folks!
And what have we achieved???
Me? Oh. Two plays, a string of skits, some mc gigs and that's it?
Oh please. Somebody hand me a Panadol.
The point is not about complaining on how much I've accomplished, or if I may speak for the general audience, how much we've accomplished. It's about how much more we can achieve. All this talk about fulfilling one's potential-
Maybe there isn't the "optimum level of achievement" which everyone talks about.
Maybe some of us are destined to do great, and others not.
Are there really such things as a social destiny?
Think about the theory of societal equilibrium.
We need our Alphas, Betas, Gammas, Deltas and Epsilons.
'The optimum population,' said Mustapha Mond, 'is modelled on
Friday, June 27, 2008
Sometimes when you want something to work so badly,
you'll have to pull out all the stops to get what you want.
Yeah, be a showstopper
From today onwards.
From today onwards, Matt will make a greater conscious effort to be more involved in the arts.
From today onwards, Matt will attempt to be inducted into high society.
From today onwards, Matt will efficiently budget his allowance-
he will pay himself first with 10% into his bank account.
(yes, he will quit being a lazy bum and do that)
He will not waste money on silly taxi fares when he's late for school.
In other words, he'll not hit the snooze button too many times on weekday school mornings.
From today onwards, Matt will...yes, you heard me right- Matt will exercise *audience gasps* because he doesn't want to feel like a freaking chicken wing.
From today onwards, Matt will show more concern to his fellow friends, family and loved ones.
From today onwards, Matt will not take conversation for granted. He shall explore and develop cognitive thoughts on certain topics.
From today onwards, Matt will seriously study to make up for his horrible Mid Year exam performance.
From today onwards, Matt will find it quite sickening to refer to himself in 3rd person.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I think I embarrassed myself by being in that weird mood last night. It's just that it came out so unconsciously and spontaneously, I really couldn't help it- Ah my salad days, when I was green in judgement.
Well, at least now that I know, I can help it.
Maybe I should tie a piece of red cloth around my finger to remind myself; scrawl it on my journal, rip out the piece of paper and stick it onto my wardrobe. Better yet, neon signs. I picture one hanging victoriously on my bedroom wall.
I've been thinking about the word 'emo' people commonly use to describe someone who's all doom and gloom and stuff like that.
Well, we do know that this term originates from the word 'emotional', right?
Now couldn't that also mean an extreme sense of delirious happiness or perkiness? After all, they are emotions nonetheless.
We might just be generalising emotional to be that of sadness and despair. Maybe it's the agony and tears which we are so appealed to somehow. We become desensitised to happiness. No, not desensitised per se, but we favour the bravado that is generated from grand agony.
To feel hurt is to be human as they say.
Then again, I'd like to imagine a different breed of emo kids. Those which are all happy and sunshiney. Oh Joy.
Anyhow, sometimes I wish I had superpowers.
The power of wind- air blasts which break the sound barrier. Sonic booms.
Electricity. Flight. Fire. Anything.
Then me and my secret band of superhero friends would fight this other secret band of supervillains to prevent world destruction.
I'm thinking of my secondary school clique.
I suppose we could be the secret band of superheros.
To infinity and beyond
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
A funny scene.
Act 1, Scene 5
SCENE V. Alexandria. CLEOPATRA's palace.
Enter CLEOPATRA, CHARMIAN, IRAS, and MARDIAN
Give me to drink mandragora.
That I might sleep out this great gap of time
My Antony is away.
You think of him too much.
O, 'tis treason!
What the hell is mandragora???
Just a random thought- I learned the word 'galvanize' about 4 or 5 years ago during Home Economics lessons. Yeah. Never place metallic objects in microwaves as they would be galvanized.
And I need to photocopy the Edgar Allen Poe booklet from someone since my maid accidentally sold it away along with the rest of the newspapers.
She's getting fired anyway, so whatever.
She and my previous maid were friends. The previous one ended up moonlighting as a whore. Seriously.
If you want, you can ask me to tell you the entire story of that little whore.
My mom's judgement?
"Oh yeah. She's certainly a hard worker"
Monday, June 23, 2008
Here's how today's Geography paper was like:
I started out writing intelligently at first...
which subsequently dwindled into irrelevant rants.
Gosh it was like having cat piss sprayed all over your face. That bad. Mrs. Leong caught me stoning- that was funny. But you know what? Considering that I hardly studied, it actually went acceptably mediocre.
Then again, I promise myself to start studying seriously once Term 3 starts. So no more fuck ups like this and tomorrow. Ah, I can already predict the future.
Cowboy didn't know that the tiger was part of the Chinese zodiac. Lol.
Soya bean ice cream just became oh so yummier than before
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Well... Here we are folks- post #500
A fraction of me goes deliriously happy, imagining a huge birthday cake with 500 lit candles.
It might just be enough lit candles to blind someone.
(Okay okay...I promised that this will be a happy post, so no emo-ness for now. I get it.)
Looking back, I've grown a deep sense of attachment to this blog. Hmm.
Anyway, I've been reading some books lately
Yes. Reading books, writing poetry and studying Literature.
So that would equate Geography and Econmics Mid Years being officially fucked up-
U U. S U. U S. Everybody start placing your bets.
Amadea and I made a pact that after we fuck up the rest of our mid years, we'll start studying together seriously. I just lost focus during the holidays, and I'll pick myself up again in this second half of the year.
So back to the reading of books. I came across a quote from Huxley's 'Crome Yellow' on why we quote:
"It's the fault of education. Things seem more real and vivid when one can apply somebody else's ready made phrase about them. And then there are lots of lovely names and words- Monophysite, Iamblichis, Pomponazzi; you bring them out triumphantly, and feel you've clinched the argument with the mere magical sound of them. That's what comes of the higher education."
Food for thought.
I am really extremely glad that blogger is functioning after their maintenance yesterday.
Part of me really wish I could walk out halfway during tmr's Geog paper and they'd simply nullify my grade.
Friday, June 20, 2008
This is my 499th post on the Local Laundromat. Tomorrow I'll have a happy post; my 500th.
The Sun has set hours ago. And now the moon is up.
I'm waiting for the same spell of La Luna to seep into my consciousness.
Sorrow, pain, hurt- I'm ready for the ritual. But wait, it hasn't arrived yet. Strangely.
I go out to my front porch and I realise that I can't see the moon.
So perhaps that's why her spells are rendered ineffective. As of yet.
La Luna is my magic crystal ball.
In this magic crystal ball, I place my hopes within. I don't want the moon to explode.
If the moon were to explode, I'd imagine a brilliant rain of shimmering comets hurling towards Earth, dissolving into glowing dust as it nears the atmosphere.
It's strange for me to be praising the night in such a fashion.
These days, the nights have put me under a terrible curse-
That my heart be stolen and have ice put in its place.
And only in daybreak would this ice melt and my heart be returned.
I know the spell to break this curse.
But I can't perform this spell by myself.
So I hope for the day that this spell be broken. I'll wait.
Ah. I see the moon now. And it's full.
The moon is full around the 23rd of each month.
I'm starting to feel cold... Yes, my ritual. I forgot.
Cyrocronics, that's the word. Thank you mister =)
O Rose, thou art sick.
-Sick Rose, William Blake
I must confess, I still believe
The love of friends and family make you feel so special
You wanna dance and be happy you're alive
You wanna hug a tree and read up about the research progress of green energy
in Western Europe
But when the sun sets and the moon rises,
It's not a potion I took
I've not been bitten by a werewolf or a vampire
And I'm certainly not dead.
The moon has magical properties.
It invokes thought. Passion. Sorrow.
How could a lifeless rock invoke such duality of emotions?
Then again, the moon isn't really lifeless. Scientists have discovered frozen water within its mass.
What's the name of that procedure where people get their bodies frozen, awaiting to be resurrected?
Sign me up for that.
Why oh why does that tennis player Roger Federer remind me so much of that blind singer Andre Bocelli?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
I'd be a fool to lose something so precious- burying it and hoping to find it when I'm ready to find it once again.
But at this point of time, I can't handle diamonds and treasures. Gold.
But I also swear to God and myself that I'll find and fight for this treasure in due course when I'm prepared.
I pray to God my very hardest that I'll be able to find this treasure when I'm ready to.
I'll keep digging.
Think Indiana Jones' adventuring.
Last night I had a peaceful rest.
But there was this nagging gut feeling I had throughout, which didn't disturb like rainclouds on a silent night. It was more like angel whispers, fading in and out.
My intuition was telling me that somewhere down the road, 'The End' wouldn't really be the end. Know what I mean?
It's strange. But yeah.
My intuition usually doesn't fail. And it's pleasantly interesting to know of such... visions.
I have nothing as well.
I feel another poem in the works.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Too tired for words so let's let the double whammy of youtube videos do the talking!
Now that's something you should be scared about...
But this is the funniest one of all- clips from My Super Ex Girlfriend(check out the first part)>>
LOL! Like really. Honestly. This clip made me smile from ear to ear.
Good Night folks! I'll sleep well
Daytime. It presents new hope.
Well, bullshit actually. It gives you temporary anaesthesia, rather.
So in that sense, bring on the druggish mornings which put us in a jovial high.
A non-alcoholic, non-damaging drug. It's free too.
You know that children's hymn 'This is the day'?
Yeah. That's playing in my head right now. Along with a minor headache on the back left side of my head.
Meow Meow Garden. Heh. The absolute boredom which made us create such silly crap during a Catholic school's cathechism classes.
Oh. What I learnt from there? Uhm..
Jesus loves you
Yeah. Enjoy all the love in the world.
Now we know where all the ageing lovelorn spinsters and bachelors turn to.
I made a promise to myself that God wouldn't be the only one who loves me.
Hello world! This is the bloody time that Matt is sleeping!
It's like Amy Winehouse on the brink of drug overdose.
Well. Overdramatizing a little.
And you should really check out www.mattjfam.deviantart.com\
It's yet another sleepless night. I'm no stranger to this.
I've said my night prayers
I've written my poetry
But yet I'm still feeling so unsettled- I've been in bed for the past hour trying to calm my nerves to no avail. Poetry's an escape, but I haven't been satisfied from writting enough. You can't just expect all your emotions to be splattered on paper, hoping that all the pain; the joy or whatever, seeps within the fibres of pulp.
And that's why I just had to come down and write here, to convey my story to you.
Hopefully, my emotions transcend through text and live in you as well. That way, it doesn't feel so stiffing, claustrophobic or suffocating. It doesn't stay static.
Well, regarding the false hopes that poetry is like a sponge which absorbs absolutely all joys, tears, heartaches and wrath- I honestly wish it would work that way. Of course, we know it doesn't. Even poetry too is limited in capturing everything.
My scribbles and messy midnight handwriting only seem like black blood stains of a murder scene. They're my blood. I'm the victim. But I'm not dead.
Chinese pagan beliefs say that if a person were to die by a sudden death, such as suicide for example, his soul would be lingering about in our world, repeating his death continuously, not knowing what the hell is going on basically put it.
I feel like that sometimes. Having myself dunked in the piercing chemical of liquid nitrogen and dropped. The word 'shatter' is what comes after.
Now take that, and multiply it with every single night. You would start to hate the night.
I feel like dying. I feel like I'm going to suffocate, have an asthma attack, hyperventilate to my death while hoping to be rescued.
I feel like a black hole in space, a huge void of nothing.
I feel like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz.
I want to see the Wizard of Oz. And in ways, the Wizard of Oz is like God.
I would like to know this.
I would like to know if all that was said and done this evening was just a show.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Brushing horses' manes, milking the cows and shearing the sheep
Garden shears concealed; chainsaw locked up.
It's back to the mellowed, sweet domesticity of brushes, tiny clippers and milkers.
I don't do slaughterhouse work. At least not on the ranch.
Monday, June 16, 2008
I miss that slice of 3 year old pie.
Add that to a pint of beer and a Bloody Mary.
And after that, time for some weave-rippin' bar fights.
Crap.. the mention of a Bloody Mary makes me thirsty for it.
Honestly, after SYF, I sometimes feel like a useless out of work actor.
Bloody plays seem so freaking hidden in this urban jungle of school and work.
But priorities first (yes... studies..), so I think I'll bother about that later.
Fickle minded bitch.
At this rate, I see myself dwindling into a lazy complete underachiever.
U turn please.
Then again, it might just be my paranoia working up. Just do what you need to, Matt. Screw the extra frills.
And shoot that dumb bitch who's being such a hindrance. Sheesh. Yes, you know who you are; I don't have anything to say to you.
Hello world! My Geography mid years are screwed!!
I think I started getting into top gear for studying a tad too late. But now's not the time to whine and mope, I'll just do what I can.
I got the avocados! Finally! Now I can make avocado pasta. (sorry, very very random)
Sometimes I get the feeling like what I'm having right now, where I'm just staring blankly at the computer screen not knowing what to type. It almost seems like I'm blogging for the sake of blogging. Then again, to blog is to put your footprint on the online community- to make yourself exist. A transcendence of "dimensions" if you'd like to see it that way. Friends know what's going on in your life through blogs.
At least you wouldn't be entirely dead in their minds.
Come to think about it, I really miss my classmates and other friends outside class and school as well.
Friday, June 13, 2008
clips from Down With Love
This has got to be my most favourite movie. Hands down.
“We have given our hair to the witch,” said they, “to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife: here it is, see it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince; when the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again, and form into a fish’s tail, and you will be once more a mermaid, and return to us to live out your three hundred years before you die and change into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother moans so for you, that her white hair is falling off from sorrow, as ours fell under the witch’s scissors. Kill the prince and come back; hasten: do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die.” And then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank down beneath the waves.
The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent, and beheld the fair bride with her head resting on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his fair brow, then looked at the sky on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter; then she glanced at the sharp knife, and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid: then she flung it far away from her into the waves; the water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, half-fainting glance at the prince, and then threw herself from the ship into the sea, and thought her body was dissolving into foam. The sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and all around her floated hundreds of transparent beautiful beings; she could see through them the white sails of the ship, and the red clouds in the sky; their speech was melodious, but too ethereal to be heard by mortal ears, as they were also unseen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs, and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. “Where am I?” asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, as the voice of those who were with her; no earthly music could imitate it.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
I studied my econs earlier in the evening. Amen.
At least I know that I'm not too particularly doomed- keep it up, Matt.
My younger sister was being so irritaing, I told her that I would shove a VCR recorder down her throat if she didn't shut up.
For some really weird reason, girl-on-girl fighting is a turn on.
Tango for three
They didn't have avocados. Again.
But they had blueberries.
Their crowns stare back at me like the eyes of peasants. Eat me.
I feel like a malicious ruler in medieval England, having the eyes of slaves and colloquial trash bags as my snack.
Sweet, nutritious snacks.
Ooh. They make my tongue bluish purple too. Like a snake. Saliva becoming indigo venom. Now if only I had fangs. And scales of yellow and green- creamy custard yellow; marigold yellow. Sap green. You should watch out if I were a snake. If I didn't like you, I'd bite your face- injecting poison in your little sphere of vanity. Piercing cranium. Slicing cartilages of nose and ear.
And you'd shriek with horror.
Violent seizures with violet coagulation- blood clots. Oozing out from your nose and ear. Mouth too. And maybe eyes as well.
And then I'd go- Yum yum, now that was a nice snack.
Then perhaps I'll be thirsty and slurp a bloody Mary cocktail.
Cheap substitution for virgin's blood.
So so hungry...
I don't suppose that I'll ever do anything like that.
It's hard to blame me for not studying much. But at this rate, I'd screw up my Geography and Economics. Not a pretty picture at all.
I have a craving for avacados. Ntuc Fair Price didn't have them last night.
I'll try again soon.
I'll have more time to cook up something nice since there are no guests today.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Situations are beyond my control.
Matt, doesn't it make you feel like a fucking idiot sometimes??
Waiting to be disposed?
I don't wish to be disposed. I'm eco-friendly.
I've had a penchant for playing solitaire the past 2 weeks. Real solitaire.
It's nice to physically flip the cards- you feel more in control, rather then letting the computer do auto-flicks for you.
The funny thing is that, for quite some time now, I've never really made up my mind on which suit I liked the best. There's clubs, diamonds, hearts and spades.
Since young, hearts never struck a chord with me. It was such a common shape after all, and it's used far too loosely. I think I like them now.
I would sometimes also take a look at spades- so alluring. So enticing.
Upside down candy hearts with a stem.
Like a dagger thrust into it.
I'm in the mood for Rock & Roll, David & The Citizens and Amy Winehouse.
We believed in it, this downward motion: so lovely, like flying
You need to have faith in such things.
Such things to fulfill what human emotions are truly capable of. Without it, you'd be an empty vessel- a hollow shell whereby when you put your ear against it, all you'd hear is the angelic droning of ocean waves. Hollow, oblique sounds.
I do suppose I believe in such things.
Despite me finding myself drowning, I fight to swim. Or at least rise to the surface wading about in my centred spot. I want to fight to breathe the fresh salty oxygen of seaside air.
The tiny parcels of them entering my lungs like tiny Christmas gifts; the tiny tokens where you'd gladly recieve without hesitation. Bursting with vibrancy. Seaside blooms. In the lungs.
Actually, I don't know how to swim. In real life, that is.
Literally, not metaphorically.
We'd think we've read enough from novels. Seen the beauty and torment from films; print. Experiences of others. Externally indulged.
But we create a branded categorization of emotions altogether. It's a self-realization thing.
I don't want this branded thought to be singular and eccentric.
It must come in plural. I would like for it to come in plural.
No. I would love for it to come in plural.
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
My allowance is crying to be spent. The shops are calling me.
You know those noises some of us would make as kids to imitate ghosts?
Wooooooo~~ *with trembling, creepy voice*
Yes. That one.
The shops are calling me in that tone of voice.
And they remind me to get a new bag. Lol.
Heeeere baggy baggy bag... ...
Monday, June 02, 2008
There are many to things to be highly distraught about right now as this point of time.
But I also have to thank God for his daily miracles and blessings that he showers me with every day.
Thank you for the birds who praise the glorious mornings
Thank you for the vitality of the soaring afternoon Sun.
Thank you for the gorgeous sunsets- creamy hues which spread across the sky
Thank you for the dark night. And the silver moon and stars which dot the sky effervescently
By the way, I went to the beach again today.
This time, it felt different- almost as if the waves were humming to the tune of a different song. A different tempo. You could feel your innards drain as the ebbing tide receedded back towards the sea.
I scurried to snatch my organs from the charging waves as they came back. They are chances. Chances which I've lost. Organs which I used to take for granted.
Now I'm not making the same mistakes.
I want to pick my organs, and insert them into the empty sockets of my body.
Sunday, June 01, 2008
The Great Janis Joplin!
It's hard to maintain one's composure when his insides are disintegrating.
I could puke all my innards out. I feel giddy. I feel nauseous.
That's how I feel.
I feel like I'm in a horror movie.
And I'm the murder victim.
My mouth agape with fright; eyes wide with terror.
And yet I feel like the murderer himself.
Watching documentaries of soulless men committing morbid crimes of mutilation and torture to their victims, I used to wonder where people like these gained the motivation to do such things.
Now I understand.
Neck breaking. Face slashing. Skull grating. Eyelid slicing.
I get it all.