ha. ha. ha.

What's *Your* Sex Sign?

Capricorn, you seem cool, collected, and complex - but underneath it all you are a sizzling sexpot. You are a complete challenge for anyone. Your aloofness is a dare, and your stunning good looks are a powerful attractor.
You consider power to be a total turn on. You are attracted to powerful people and the things they give you. No short-term love affairs for you. You like security, and you don't consider yourself cheap. Capricorns are usually late sexual bloomers. They are positively stunning when they hit their late twenties. It's difficult to know just how old you are. Everyone tries to guess - and everyone gets it wrong.
Though your attitudes toward sex are outwardly conservative, you are the most satisfying sex partner anyone's ever had. And you never kiss and tell!

(cues sniggering)

leaving is never easy, and i can't bring myself to do so. time stays; things fade, and i comfort myself with the fact present longings are all.
transient.

i did fairly well for my science test, for the first time. yay.

i discovered an entire ring of sc sites, mostly people from the 2GR/2PR group. refreshing. although they mostly used pagebuilder, the layouts were damn cool. if you want to see how far i've progressed in my creative webdesigning career you can click here. call it a lack of time, or effort - if you wish.

increasingly confused. about where i stand, whether i'm loathed or loved, so on and so forth. once i make a decision to pin everything down something contradicts my conclusion and then i'm zapped back again.

who would i turn to if you turned away. i love that song. you petted my head and i stood still like a good wolf and we sang stand by me, out of tune. when we reached the lines so darlin' darlin' stand by me i instinctively felt for your shoulder, anything to do with you - a little too frantically, perhaps. i wish you would, because i'm so painfully fond of you.

i haven't been here for a dead long time. i've had all kinds of extracurricular activities, such as the funky choir concert; and a math test.
nothing's happened, really. i dissolved for a long, long time on friday and saturday night, lying on my front and sobbing into my pillow for apparently no reason. i seem to be splitting into two people - again. i can be crying, i can be laughing; whatever involves pure emotion, but i'm still composed in my head sniggering at myself. also, how do you save someone when you haven't got anything to save her with? food for thought. i guess my greatest wish these days is just to run away from all obligation and responsibility i can't keep up with. what i want right now is to go to an african safari, because gazing at animals is so much simpler.

heather's birthday. i commented on her being an official paedophile before actually wishing her happy birthday. so we're all fourteen now, with the exception of jasmine, peiying, and trin.

what do i want to do before i turn twenty-five?
i want to earn two psychology degrees, be in a rock band, get published at least once, and have sex. simple.
i am a wolf who needs a lot of love.

i now have a poetry blog.

tomorrow is heather's birthday. i believe i will kiss her, maul her about, and treat her to lunch though she owes me two bucks. she is possibly the person who knows me the best in this entire world.
i have an atom fixation. i draw atoms everywhere. i make bad atom jokes. spontaneous thinking today was surprisingly fun. i thought the banana on the plate was extremely phallic. all seven classes from 2SY to 2PR crowded together in room 100. i and trin agreed we felt like illegal immigrants. we gambled and she lost twenty cents. i need some booze; again.

she is lean and tall and brown and i am so small when i'm leaning on her. when she presses her hand along the length of my back it is just like a disconnected heartbeat.

i tell her all my lies.

r.e.m. has strikingly beautiful lyrics.

the lit test was refreshing and when writing it i smiled. i smiled a lot today. i smiled when i acted out little scenes from The Merchant of Venice, leaning against the railing muttering, 'in sooth i know not why i am so sad,' and expostulating 'FIE, FIE!' heather pointed out how much that sounded like 'fang pi, fang pi', and we made up The Merchant of Singapore complete with singlish. 'today i don no wy i so sad lor. wah lao eh, i no you got problem...' so on and so forth. i smiled when i overheard little sec one kids saying, 'okay, i'll marry you, and she can be your mother-in-law, and you'll be her sister.' i smiled when i discovered seaweed on my identification card and in my textbooks. resplendent of my bingeing.

when i was going up the escalator there was an old, old man in front of me. he was singing a song, teresa teng, i think; and the tears were pouring down his face. i always thought the strange metal fixture on the wall beside us resembled a prison.

oh. oh oh ohhhhhh.

besotted.

i don't know what person x is playing at nor do i know what she thinks she can get away with. a pseudo-sorry isn't going to change anything; so you can snap that up (like you always do). ugly, too ugly. i loathe you, if you want to know - but this will not be concerned with me.

the triadic enneagram is quite intriguing. i am a Five with a Four Wing.

say he meets a beautiful junkie who is too young. and the boy tells him, "i've been clean for a week but when i see you i want to get high again." and in the middle of the night the boy turns at his doorstep and they spend the night together. the next morning the boy tries to kill himself.
and rufus wainwright writes in my arms.

i bought some of tchaikovsky and i try to use my piano in the most trite ways. i like his seasons collection. i also read burnside's poetry and he writes about the sea and ports and salt perfume.
i also finished science revision.

i talk to trin a lot more these days and she's become a voice, because i don't know her when i see her, and that's okay now. i speak to her for about an hour every night and i am terribly fond of her voice, in love with her voice, maybe. there is a separate vacuum world where only our disembodied voices exist and there isn't anything to bitch about because voices are voices and don't come along with unpleasant pasts and jealous girlfriends. phones have a four-dimensional world of their own. the phone rings, and she appears, and whenever i put down the phone she disappears. just like magic. this is detrimental to my bill.

now i am quiet. pure silence is terribly hard to find these days. see - i just ruined it by typing. my fringe is making my cheek itch. there isn't anyone screaming for once. not since the world cup. and no one crying because the little kids have all moved away.
and if i sit here forever i believe i will learn how to sense when the world is moving.

jamiroquai's light years is beautiful. i'm not usually a fan of dance music, but that song's sexy. slept for three hours and woke up with my throat dead. watched mtv compulsively.
being jealous, massively jealous, is a masochistic sort of guilty pleasure because here it is not for prizes or possessions you see, nor because i am in love (fie, fie!). because i miss miss miss my best friend and somehow she vibes so much better with her and i'm glazed.
this girl slacked the whole day. she played air guitar on her old badminton racket. again she looked into the mirror, smirked, and said, "gawd i am freaking fat." like she did every other day, just to satisfy her lack-of-words to herself. now she needs some hooch. screw you, bastard math homework!
life is good.

i am a confirmed genius but i have failed my theory examination.

i think shakespeare is beautiful.

'under the grove of sycamore so early walking did i see your son. many a morning hath he there been seen with tears augmenting the fresh morning's dew.'
enough proof.

but i hate, hate, hate literature essays. my radio is screwing up again. it crackles with static like it can't control its emotions.
on the unreliability of yahoo news: one minute they're saying that shithead's alive, next moment they say he's dead. for some plain ol' superficiality, minus the metaphoric drivel which slides out of my mind, i need another. haircut. i thought my hair was spiffy but now it looks exactly like the way it did before. you know. messy. straight.

what is a rainbox? everyone owns one. i thought heather created them, making her the master of rainboxes, but there are people foreign to us who know about rainboxes.
hm.

i took a bus back after negotiations (scissors-paper-stone) with x. i sat by the window and as the wind whipped my hair about i thought, 'i am a candle.' so i came back, wasted my money on cream that wasn't whipped and thus tasted like thick fresh milk and now i am sitting here, exhausted, in my bermudas and hogwarts t-shirt.

after excessive geography lessons i believe i would love to be a traveller. i scrawled pages and pages of opinions in my green notebook so there isn't much left, but i want to roam around the world without any worries to drag me down. i want to live and breathe beauty, i want to visit paris, barcelona. i want to immerse myself in their museums and architecture and live an exciting, wandering life where i'd be free to do whatever i want. i want to fall in love many times over with people and places. this does not make much sense but you see, this is what i want, not what i would do. tomorrow i will ask her to come with me to london.

garbage is coming in october, supposedly around the final exam period. i needn't say much.

my mother received an email; containing a picture of a little girl prone on her back in a hospital bed. she resembled a dying fish with an id tag.

last night i was experimenting with the idea of a poetry blog, but i gave up. hell, if i wanted my poetry on the net i'd post it here. i have seventy-seven poems and most of them suck.

er.

i look at my fingers and they seem like broken tree-stumps. life is anything but deep these days. these days are furry and flying like squirrels and they are looking into ferrari headlights and running running away, with me. seems like everyone's suffering from hypertension, except me. i accompanied orphelia for around seven rounds, because she was retaking her 2.4 km run for the third time and i was disgusted with her attitude though i felt like a hypocrite. she wallowed breathlessly in self-pity while barely running and i yelled in her ear,
'WHAT'S THE POINT OF GIVING UP WHEN YOU HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED?'. later i told her since she had to finish the whole twelve rounds she might as well make the best of it because she wasn't listening when i gave her the tips which earned me a gold c. and i couldn't understand, because i'd always been an optimist subtle-or-otherwise. i see myself in multiple people; in tv shows, in newspapers, in person. and i correct whatever i can't.

whee.

big fan by the wannadies is possiblymaybe one of the sexiest songs in the world. that's all. my curtains are tall and thin, the colour of salmon.
when i sit on the bus i imagine i am on a conveyor belt and when i look into the driver's window it seems like the reflections of all the other cars are moving backwards. lambs to the slaughter.

there are a few people whom make me feel unbearably vulgar when i sit near to them. take jasmine's mother, for one. she's a perfectly respectable lady who cooks marvellous pizza and plays christian music in her car but i realize i use words like 'bastard', 'shit', 'ass', 'damn', 'bloody hell', and 'fuck' unsparingly. i make rude gestures behind those i particularly loathe. but i don't think there's anything bad about these words, really. truly nasty words are 'war', 'rape', and 'death' (which presents me a mental image of someone helplessly pinned beneath a gravestone with his nose stuck up in the air). i am liberal with my language. i don't like beeps.

honey, you're the hot one, you're the grand one.

i think i am one of those characters in sitcoms who is caught in multiple situations that eventually all join up together. this is bizarre. i need to call someone to tell them about it. maybe she'll leave cynthia alone now.

correction: she didn't.

so i sat down and read eliot for a long, long time. my toes withered and the sky exploded with nuclear electricity but i smiled and did pirouettes in my head.
in my head.

dramafest was dead cool. picnics in the rain (with squashed food) are enlightening.

i had a good time, though i screwed up the humanities quiz. slacked. bought all kinds of felt from spotlight - and the cloth phyllis bought had better be deep purple. doom.
heather is the coolest (and the most obnoxious). dramafest in less than two hours; mm yes.

being alone would be weird, i could dye my hair brilliant green, get wasted every night, and go into german football clubs. and no one would stop me. interesting. i suddenly can't wait for school in england. only it wouldn't be school.

i have always wanted to pierce more of my ears. but i haven't. why? i don't know. living with a rabbit for four years makes a person as insensitive to pain as insensitive can be. (rabbits have teeth, claws, and legs that kick.) funky piercings border between being unnerving and dead cool. i woud like to say i have an eyebrow piercing and a nose piercing, but i have only one in each ear and i don't know if i regret anything.

i live in many houses, pretty houses; and my name is bassanio.

made this while listening to coldplay. i really have to figure out photoshop properly. i am the amateur of the amateur.

i love that song. maybe once i get sick of my current layout i'll make one based on it.

i am resisting a strong urge to eat five of those little teacakes. agh. block is finally over, so i have, yeah, seventy-three poems and counting. evening by the pond is going to be a blast.
and i have many scars on my body, much more than those on my heart. it rains: mud puddles and blood.

wir folgen hitler an Tod! randomly, my name in german is gewünscht.

compare -
bonne nuit, mon beau chéri.
gute Nacht, mein schöner Liebling.

i think being busted in the middle of an, um, intimate activity is the best and worst occurance possible.

how many times does an insect try to climb up a window till it falls onto a torn leather seat, finally giving up?

answer: five times.
and that was not a riddle.

a subject i like to bitch about is the crime of stealing poetry, layouts, whatever. but i am in fact a damn hypocrite. there are many many lines i have stolen from songs and the works of others and my excuse for similar-looking layouts is 'inspiration'. and the easy codes which come along. the entire online test world comprises of stolen test codes that was originally stolen that were originally stolen, so on and so forth. school is reasonable these days. god i love her. same old story, same old song (but never the same old beauty).

jamin, famous for his prettiness, is in life! newspaper looking weird.

i like the position where my computer is; in front of the wall beside the giant window which opens to a balcony. so when i'm at work or play, i open the window, draw open the curtains (although that lets bastard bloodsuckers in) and watch people on the street with one eye, the other fixated on the monitor screen.
i love to do this when it's drizzling a little, and everyone scurries past with their umbrellas like ants with FrootLoops, or after a shower of rain's just over. because i can see rainbows over those rows and rows of junked buildings. i live in singapore, not in an european street where rows of cute little houses and rose bushes reside, but a place taken over by corporate rule.

but where i stay is different. i live in a beautiful place - the air isn't as polluted as some, and there is so much abandonment just floating in the air. this place is still and quiet and i can trip down paths without getting knocked over. when the sky darkens it gets even more lovely - i can take walks all around, whistling, and muse about life. i love the evenings best of all.

i live in a place that smells of rain and dusty warehouses and sleeping trees. sad jazz plays at night.

i managed to ace said source-based history test. 18/20.
here, for the record, are some of my goals.

do brilliantly for english, literature, and history.
get a B3 for math.
get >60 for chinese and science.
WORK HARD OR YOU WILL FIND YOURSELF LOST IN SINGLE SCIENCE.

i and jasmine are plotting unethically against person x who supposedly has problems with 'emotional, social, and financial security'. to which i would reply, 'BAH'. when you are insecure about emotional, social, and financial security you tend not to be in the mood to send hot pink notes with lipstick borders and sappy lyrics to her whom you are not taking away. 'you should have seen me in st. margaret's.' yes, i should have, when i wasn't in guides and could beat you up without feeling bad.
(trin - i have to say this - person x isn't completely evil, nor does she want to take over the world, not now anyway - but she is a COCKROACH WHO HAS ONLY SELF-INTEREST, MANIPULATIVE POSSESSIVE WAYS, A NASTY SHALLOW CONSTITUITION, AN OVERBLOWN EGO/MEGALOMANIA, AND NO INTEGRITY. so why the FUCK can't you see that?)

that's it, i hope. i don't want to make this post negative, what with all the talk about studies, person x and superfluous capital letters. i talked with heather, and i'm really glad to have sorted everything out. i love you, german flower.

there is some peculiar beauty about being carefree and a wanderer.
which i am. none of those official relationship blather for me. i'll just follow the light
& i'll be all right.

the funny thing is i don't think i'm very superficial, but i feel kind of satisfied because i can finally fit perfectly into my 25-inch-waist faded jeans.
let's play the google game.

des is Increasingly Vulnerable.
des is permitted only for legacy systems.
des is insecure.
des is ja da Opa!
des is a minor variation of this standard.
des is Dead.
des is the king of television presenters.
des is a legend.
des is designed for non-business graduates who plan to become entrepreneurs.
des is not a group.
des is not responsible for errors occurring during the electronic downloading of administrative rules or other files.

school tomorrow. _____(fill in variations of disgusted noises)

i love sum41. burn, baby, burn.

so, another CAP reunion today, except that only seven of us turned up. ah well. i and sam searched frantically for football posters and smirked at slashy pictures. i didn't find any jerseys, though. jasmine treated me to cookies. we trashed kfc. we took candid camera shots which'll be developed (hopefully) soon. we had ice-cream with the v. cool wendy. there are plans for a chalet. yay. and to you - what i think about your absence and refusal to turn on your handphone when sam was trying to reach you - i'm not disappointed.

just amazed.

minority report was superb. four-and-a-half out of five stars. tom cruise is a good actor, and it makes you think. there are so many ways of looking at pre-crime, but i won't go into detail. very well-planned plot, too. i have no complaints. one of the best shows i've watched. hard to gush when you're typing all this out. why is my language broken?
i don't know where to find black nail polish. mine's dried up. agh.

i could live on roast chicken and mashed potatoes. linkin park-esque clothes mean grar. and i will stop being jealous of chris martin's backview-figure.
quoting from heather: 'i want to be a prostitute in germany.' damn straight, baby. i want to be a hooker in a football field and lean on the goalpost. damn i'm good.


my apologies, all you chaste readers(?).

what am i afraid of? i'm not afraid of being bankrupt and i'm not afraid of being alone. i just don't want to be lost or overwhelmed and know nothing about how to survive.

i'm beginning to think the term 'girl' is nothing but a bunch of two-dimensional expectations. being a girl is different from female; you can be a mechanic, play rugby and look all butch but still be female. but what does a girl do? when i let the word 'girl' slip over my tongue all i think of is a pigtailed toddler in dungarees or a slight, longhaired creature whom all the neighbourhood boys look at.
i think girl is all we want it to be. although i can't fit in the word girl with lots of people.i talk more about sex, soccer and rock music than anything else in the world. that's our idea of being girls. if the mindset of girl is pink cherries lipgloss hot guys pop stars i'd rather not be a girl. same goes for woman because i don't wear high heels, not very often anyway. i prefer being female because paradoxically appearance-wise female is androgynous.

everyone who has the about a boy soundtrack should listen to something to talk about and file me away immediately.

the singapore youth festival was vaguely boring. i and sheryl (the one in my class) went to the peak of the national stadium rows and let the wind blow at our hair. i love sheryl and the way she can be so easily happy and loyal and pseudo-cynical. i agree she isn't weird in an explicit way like the rest of us - but she's unconventional and introverted in ways nobody knows about.
i was on the verge of being all perennial-disappointed again when we began to sing a song called 'reach'. syf song lyrics are typical, the inspirational kind, but 'reach' was beautiful. when the girls in the sparkly pink costumes released their balloons into the air i think i soared for a moment. where do those balloons go? i figure they go as high as they can go till the air pressure makes them burst, and colourful rubber pieces rain down to the world again. there must be some hidden logic. oh, and drum majors are sexy. very sexy. when they march like their legs aren't connected to their upper torsos. and especially when they twirl those shiny maces and throw/catch them while wearing a black uniform and kneeling. i'm tired and i have wet hair.

i am groovy. and whimsical, currently. last night's band concert was refreshing.

i relinquish.

just now i took a warm shower and i stood under the showerhead for ages and ages until i was properly sure all the dirt was washed away. and when i was soaping myself i blew bubbles out of the sweetberry soap and imagined my guilt was floating away from me and bursting on the bathroom floor. guilt is different from any other kind of negative impulse: it doesn't eat at your happiness, but more at your conscience. now i feel respectable and clean again. i wish i had a proper bathtub; i would turn on badly drawn boy loudly and soak for ages and ages and when i got out of the bathtub everything would go down the plughole.

i promise i promise i promise. and you'll always be mine, too.

i constantly wonder about why i am noncommital. i'll be honest here. i'm very, very afraid of close romantic relationships. the idea make me claustrophobic. much less the idea of children. when jav and kc told me they loved me i freaked out completely. i simply don't see the point of having an official relationship because my main goal is just love and you don't need to be surgically attached to each other for love. it always ends in tears. or you get married and eventually tire of one another. if there isn't anything nothing can end.

i believe i'll end up being a penniless poet. but that would be just speculating.

do all teenagers angst? i constantly have my, 'oh, hell, everything sucks' moments and i wonder if it's the same for everyone elve thirteen and above. this is sad because the shallow ones are those who sit around and comb their hair, while the sensitive, conflicted ones are those who angst. angst. i mostly angst because i can't change or understand stuff i would like to. if i could change/understand everything i think i still would angst. angst is instinctive. if angst is hormonal there should be hormonal operations available because there are people who off themselves because they angst.

angst is salty coffee.

angsty, angsty, just angstying around.

Which Travis Member Are You?

this has to stop.but god is he cute, anyway. am listening to the man who at present.
heather is cool, though i believe her kahn obsession is getting a little too far. you know it, hon. german flowers. i bought the gifts, a giant sunflower for sam, and three roses for jasmine. band concerts rock, although this -isn't- exactly a gig. uh. yeah. i feel all broken up and syllabic today. i think i should give david bowie a try. i wish i could say better things, but then i'll turn into a monotone.

and i love her. yes, i love her. for you i'd bleed myself dry.

i am in school and presently sitting beside heather who has forgotten to type out her CAP portfolio poems. however, we are looking at slashy football players on fifaworldcup.com now. that is a genius site. there are pictures of beckham talking to ronaldo and shaking hands with rivaldo, although apparently not.

my iq is 131, which makes me amongst the top 5% of the world, and thus i am able to join the International High IQ Society. of course, i have to pay.

smirk. snark.

i have two different eyes and she told me i had wolfeyes.

er.

Which Marauder are YOU? by Britt

so much for a big day. the first thing i did upon waking up was to crash into my computer chair. highly symbolic of my life.
(though i'm not fourteen yet. four-oh-four pm is the official time.) i received lots of brilliant gifts from brilliant people. i love you all and you know it.
for english we had a job selection sort of personality test - in the computer lab. after a few minutes of tapping as the electronic voice gave inane instructions and a few seconds of frenzied clicking i found out my preferences were (in order) creative, investigative, and social. they had no highly matching jobs - neither did they have moderately matching jobs for me. only jobs that were vaguely linked. i got artist.

and they claim to know my subconscious. by sc standards i get Cs for art on a regular basis, and wait till you hear about the clay egg i made last year.

i have to to compose my CAP mentorship portfolio. i'm submitting seventeen poems. may the trees weep because i have to submit two hard copies. it is incidentally due tomorrow. the application form sucks. when they give questions like 'why do you think you should be selected?' i feel like typing 'so that i can boost my bloody ego, thank you sirs' but this is not the direction i want to take here. i'm sick and tired of being asked why. and my hands still smell of custard.

hey ho.

my blog as a poem. highly accurate, wonderfully conveyed/expressed.

may i magic love with
me. breathe. at last,
but i would love
cafu/
kahn slash. you rotten facist
government. i tried
writing for choir concert ushering/community
service.

i think i would love to live with you. we wouldn't hire a professional designer for our house; we'd spend hours in ikea and flea markets. it would be old, with windows, and not too big. it would smell of tealeaves. we would have a stereo and we'd play old songs every night - just like a gramophone. we'd play duets on the piano. we'd have dinner together, sitting and laughing behind a tarnished mahogany table, we'd watch tv on a soft leather sofa till our heads would fall onto each other's shoulders. then we'd sleep, under the same blanket, warm and safe and one. we'd settle the bills and divide the chores. occasionally we'd have a glass or two of alcohol - saturday nights we'd go out to the town, holding hands, and we'd make out (without carnal activity) on sundays. possibly you are my very favourite.

i want this dream.
& i want you.

i've just finished reading another of herman hesse's books. i've forgotten the title, but it's that one with that studious boy called hans who's led away from conformity by his friend hermann. herman hesse's books are different - despite how egoistical he is - there isn't really a point to them, but more of the theme. and beauty. somehow, he usually features a precocious and rebellious boy and a meeker, quieter one; two of them become best friends, and there is always a startling kiss at some point. food for thought.

this wolf lives on.

when do people start lying in their online journals? poor, sad bastards. but i'm guilty, too. there isn't a 'used to' for guilty. guilt stays and clogs you up. so i won't do that, here.

my birthday tomorrow. yay or nay, i don't know. it's good to be moving up one level at last, but what's the point when i still can't have sex, drink, or drive legally? bah, i say, you rotten facist government. i have a history test in two days and i plan to ace source-based.
there might be another CAP reunion on monday. that is definitely yay. jasmine keeps commenting i look rabbity. i'd rather have natalie portman now, thankyouverymuch. we're getting nastier and nastier, in our own creepy-subtle ways; to person x, yet i don't feel even a slightest tinge of guilt. mwahaha. every day in every way i'm falling, down down down, and i'm considered Public Enemy No. 1 by openly sneering at Meteor Garden. but i feel...apathetic. this is good.

i have a total of sixty-nine poems. if i cross the golden seventy line i'll buy myself some wine.

i love cafu/kahn slash. you and me, always.

and look who's back on the net, yo.
i swore to myself never, ever to post any tests - but i can't resist. can you?

Whats Your Sexual Personality?
this quiz was made by Val

the hp engineers have around twenty-two hours more to arrive, before i put on my highly effective mafia voice and start to harass the intel helpline. on my mum's laptop now.
all i can say is that

i heart brazil to an enormous extent. when i heard thunder clapping in my sleep i imagined they scored another goal. theywontheywontheywontheydeservedtowin. ireland and england, too.

also, i found some lizard shit on my poetry books.