it would be mildly interesting to live in a noir film. i'm not x but i do think guns and dark bars are sexy. come to think of it, would murder ever be pardonable if for a valid reason? i don't want to run from the law while obsessively washing my hands. i've never been pursued fervently by an escape-or-die monster. i think i will come to be arrested at least once, i suspect for speeding or trespassing.

in the meantime, lunch calls. my surname is lin, by the way.

Mention Of The Day: awwww.

come back, i still have so much to say to you. do you find the pictures of multiple hims prettier than yourself. can you brew coffee. did i ever lick the blood out of you. no matter how many times i play lover, you should've come over these will never be grammatically valid questions again. they died before we knew each other, they disintergrated when jeff buckley drowned. you will always stay in this room with your companion and the fireplace; without my portrait on the wall. i can't leave the hotel yet, my burnished leather bags are still in disarray and i am addicted to nicotine - but they will throw me out before christmas. homeless, i will be forced to sit on my haunches and live by my teeth. i was always a reasonable wolf. come back.

i am much better after my piano lesson. ms.sylvia tan can be the most fussy/grumpy person in the world, but she has a dry/corny sense of humour and shines with a wisdom i know takes more than thirty years to gain. she allowed me to play pieces attune to my moodiness and assured me that being a loner was healthy. i'll take her advice and go out more often.

tchaikovsky wrote a song without words and killed himself after falling in love with his nephew. chopin's nocturnes could very well be music streaming from the tiny new york apartment of a single musician. there is graffiti behind his house. while he has a moustache and black clothes he has no money. i am the writer living a floor above, i am equally broke. to please me he plays night jazz, while i drop poems into his mailbox.

we do not talk, but keep each other from dying. one day he will compose a duet. like nabokov, i have only words to play with.

there are situations in which i can say nothing except 'fuck!', which isn't even remotely intelligent.

how am i going to while away the whole of tomorrow? and the next two months, for that matter?

how about the rest of my life?

so, my low status in scgs has more or less been updated. i will soon be a mutagenic, condescending Senior. the fear! the pride! more little kids to perv on!

there is no more 2grace.

i will miss having the window seat with a vandalizing seatmate. i had lots of fun trailing liquid paper all over our table and signing our ribbon bond, ruth; i did. i will also miss sneaking in food with you, but i will not miss the immortal flies. there are certain cool people whom i will be sad not to see every day anymore. i shall add to the banality of it all by saying time passes fast. 365 days ago i was watching talentime, today i am doing it again. whoo. i'm looking for a new start, in which i will actually take down neat notes in class and try my best to pay attention without taking pills/asphyxiating. about you, i'll try to leave without rehab. i will be good to my long-suffering wedded partner, (s)he is too beautiful to be ignored.

i want to be a professor. that's settled then. list of people to ring by tomorrow: cynthia. nina.

i have learned the skill of finding everything, i.e. journals kept for the sake of social purposes and decapitated fish, funny.

today is yay and nay.

yay: high distinction for international english competition. at the 99% percentile of candidates; scored 76/80. entry to bio-chemistry and full literature approved. will be in the same class as nice people a-plenty next year. report book back, nothing too bad after all. teacher still does not know enough about my personality except that i am insolent/forgetful. so after praising my history, he tells me to work on my (incidentally a mark away from passing) chinese.

nay: i need some endorphins so go on, do it to me! do it to me again! what would you say if i told you so? to be an angsty person i should insert some rant about capitalism here, but i have far too much. i am at the top of the abattoir. i forsee more listening to music, more unsmiling phone conversations.

tomorrow i will know where i am going at last. i don't wish for paris or barcelona, all i want is um, biochemistry and uh, full literature. that's it. my heart is a highway.

edit: why are you still out when you should be drowsy and hopefully-subconsciously waiting for me? why are there strangers in your home? do you need to be rescued? oh, to be full of buddhist wisdom and without attachment.

have i ever told you about this hotel?

a long time ago i went there and played with the fountain. it's full of statues, has faint salmon walls and greek architecture. or is a collage of brown shades, corduroy couches, and intricate bathroom patterns. either way, there is only one mirror with a golden frame and there is a lingering tobacco scent. the silence is so tangible you feel a chill when you walk in, and start to imagine you won't ever be able to go out. the back-garden has a perpetual rain-smell, like the entire building is merely an afterglow of a past fall. the rooms are full of wine, and there are unknown lodgers who move like phantoms - just so it seems you and your lover are the only ones in a suite. someone leaves every hour, never to return again. humbert humbert stayed there, so did harry haller; and in future i'll make heather visit it too. so will you. i can assure you you'll find it if you try hard enough. i recommend listening to rebel prince by rufus wainwright while you're at it.

only travellers are admitted, as are homosexuals.

it's one of those lonelier nights.

i cannot believe i have tolerated the nine-hour course and come through with only my energy level depleted. rushing to take a shower at this time of day (evening?) makes for indolence. i would like to lie around in just a bathrobe with some opium. what a delightfully decadent life, must be the low lights and rock music.

playing hooky tomorrow. i have always wanted to say that. nina, have you been busy/tired lately, or do you want to stop the correspondence? please tell me either way. it's not fun reading my mail without you around.

i think i should go look for the typewriter. courier doesn't have the same effect. overall, pretty; but unerasable.

what if i went on stage? what if i chose to? what if i went up there and almost destroyed my piano? i could be wearing jeans but it wouldn't matter. the cameras would gleam at me like paedophiles and i'd be trapped, with plasma and electrodes coursing through my body on orbit. i'd be stunned.

what would you do?

one day we will step into a television together and bare ourselves to the world.

go to yahoo and search for "heather chi", including the inverted commas. then scroll to result number nine. have a good laugh, you need it.

i go down the street like i'm strolling, but secretly prowling (i'm on the hunt i'm after you). little leaves are scattered in my path; i step over them, a tip-toeing cautious wolf. the wind is akin to my ears, i hear jazz music from a lone jukebox and cross my arms. there is a forgotten diner with little flashing signs, so i go in and order a coffee. the caffeine soothes me, i stretch, and continue. where does a person go where she's lost? i'm cold with my hands squeezed in my pockets and i smell of cigarettes.

just fantasising. i love trin. because the drugs don't work, my sweet prince.

i remember holding the blade and stroking it along the softest parts of my hands, measuring what i could do with it. i have never had a plan to kill myself. i am a predator. i want christmas to hurry up and come so i can pretend there is snow. playing white christmas is hardly enough. bloody hot weather.

when you know extremely lovely people their beauty sinks into the surroundings and you take it for granted after a while. then after not looking at them properly for, say, a month; you get hit in the face. somewhere between my eyes. that's the way you are, cynthia. lean and brown and you have a smile. maybe we only appreciate thse little things when they actively look for us, or are about to leave.

i have topped my class for history, literature, and english. my ring finger may be broken, this is a good excuse for not getting hitched in future. no more farces, no more cheese.

I'm gonna bathe and shave/And dress myself and eat solo every night/Unplug the phone, sleep alone/Stay away out of sight/Sure it's kind of lonely/Yeah it's sort of sick/Being your own one and only/Is a dirty selfish trick

quite right, rufus.

all art is quite useless, just to let you know. this is what i did not tell the aspiring cap-ers.

What kind of Drug Addict are you?

You are the "sit back and watch everything" type. You could describe yourself as lazy and unprovoked. You are amused by stupid things, but only when you are understanding what is going on around you! Half the time you are clueless, but that's okay. You're taking the easy ride through life, and hopefully you won't get caught on some speed bumps.

i am a bloody genius.

today is like a monday. don't ask me why. i think it rained, faintly, at some point.

i spent the entire day in the school library reading an unfortunate series of events. love mr snicket. there is a mild fragrance about tonight, sort of floating about my ears. at times like this i think it seeps into me and i gain other bodily functions. not in the dumps anymore, what the hell. at some point i found myself quoting oscar wilde, plus writing a chunk of new poetry. whatever. to say i fiddled with my guitar amidst flashing lights would sound like i was trying to appear cool but i did. the lightbulb gave out. however, it is correct to say i tapped my foot in the classroom.

i felt so-me-thing, truly i did. i bought ice-cream from the old man outside.

i just mixed whipped cream and smarties in a cup. try it. why do i keep mentioning food? i could be really, really evil if i wanted to. tell me if i'm a nihilist.

so it is over. outcome - english yay, chinese fuck, math yay, science yay, geography fuck, literature fuck, history yay. this manta is more than equal.

my hair is still the same. it has not grown. apparently i resemble klaus from an unfortunate series of events. yeah, cute. you know how people want to jerk you around; make you lose control, so you can have a valid thrashing. my dad tries it all the time. hell, i say, he needs an outlet. he won't get tears out of me, though.

i want to throw a glass of tequila down my front, be powerfully sweet and noticed a bit.

'list of jobs i wouldn't mind', or where des subconsciously plans for the future:

professor
journalist
full-time writer
rock star
chauffeur
mob boss

i drank a cup of ovaltine and chewed on digestive biscuits. simple, but satisfying. like i want to bundle myself up in a robe, watch rain and play with flowers in front of a fireplace. i have an urge to move in by myself, to buy furniture and other aesthetical things but i'd never be able to face the roaches. that's why i need you around. i have also bought a ton of books with mph vouchers. tomorrow is nearly d-day, but i plan to stay very calm and cynical without contracting so much i break.

i had a haircut. yes, cross-dresser alert. am itching in weird places.

radiohead and a letter in the morning are good drugs. there, there.

i like midnight trains. i might take one someday. still, it'd be a drag without both of you along. what an impressionist life, there was lots of sitting by balconies and musing over random facts while watching beautiful people. all that was missing was the coffee.

i think my poetry really stinks.

a quick mention: i am no longer gay, but have graduated to becoming a homosexual. spiffy, isn't it. 'the guy at the beach's gay, my hairdresser's gay, i think she might be gay - oscar wilde? he's a homosexual.'

you see the difference.

(trin you are beautiful, there is no other word for you. actually i can think of plenty more but that's beside the point. you give the warmest afterglows, if i were your butler/chauffeur i'd be the most content wolf around. go on, listen to happy by travis, you know i'm like that.

i want to serve you breakfast in bed.)

freedom is funny, isn't it? it's twisted, like being in prison with nothing to do. there is absolutely no work in sight. i seem to be walking on air and wandering my way through time. school was complete slack today, which is more or less a good thing, but sluggish and boring after a while.

i have found a school journal i kept when i was ten. here are a few random snippets.

Maybe we would see grasshopper chips in our supermarkets. Brush your teeth carefully. It wouldn't be a pleasant sight if insect legs are poking out in between your teeth.

Maybe I would want to work as an undertaker or a doctor in a morgue.

I felt sorry for the white mice who were going to be fed to the pythons. Many of them were trying to crawl up the fense (sic) to escape, but would eventually fall down again. The whole experience was very nice.

you get the picture.

i had a dream about my bathroom becoming electrically charged. because i flicked on some disco lights green goo oozed out and the clock started flashing green, because there was a power overload. mwahaha. and then i was late for school as my dad tried to fix it. finally we called an electrician and we insisted in paying for it in yen. just a proton dysfunction.

i think i'll spend today bumming around. i need to read at least two books. today everything shall be impromptu. on the other hand, i plan to go to orchard road on wednesday to travel. i have an idiosyncracy for wandering around alone carrying just money and water and wearing a jacket. if everything was about to burn down, what would i rush for? i think it would be my travis cds. but why not placebo or coldplay? well, i have a strong emotional attachment to travis because they were the first non-pop band i actually loved and they possess one quality none of the bands i know have - they're comforting and amicable and they're so cute, aren't they? go on, listen to tied to the '90s on the first (extremely obscure) album.

eating twiggys now. can't stop. if i'm lucky i'll get a black radiohead shirt done by tomorrow. i need to give myself a much postponed treat. question of the day is, should i get a second ear piercing? oh, and sugarcoma's you drive me crazy annoys me. they annoy me. in fact i think the original song was better. i notice i have already mentioned five bands.

maybe you'd understand then.

i have been listening to the vines and the hives a lot. getting in touch with your rowdy side is v. fun. no more pencils, no more books, no more teacher's dirty looks, yo.

something i forgot to mention previously: singaporeans, take a look under the staircase leading up to far east plaza. it's lovely, definitely an eremite's dream. i have images of creating a little home down there and pasting posters over the aircon vents. there's even a 7-11 within looking distance!

in the haze of post-exam euphoria i went to orchard road like everyone else did.

1. there were two guys at the hmv counter, sort of talking, one tall and the other short, both kind of pretty. i asked for the velvet goldmine soundtrack, and the tall one said kind of silkily, 'that was a good movie', winked at me, nudged the short one.
however, velvet goldmine cost $37; thus i do not care to discuss this further.

2. i witnessed the tattooing of a skinhead. looked like he had a pneumatic drill going deep into his back.

3. i said, 'how ya doin', then?' to a frankenstein head with multiple piercings.

4. i and sheryl ran in the rain and laughed and got completely drenched. my m)phosis flats acted as a miniature catchment area and when i reached takashimaya i walked till they dried, somehow.

5. i got lost there, trying to trace my paths. maybe i should have brought breadcrumbs. i walked around by myself for ages, looking for nothing. you wouldn't know what a wolf searches for.

6. i left my handphone in the taxi.

i don't want to waste november and december. main offender by the hives makes me radical, sort of. i should create, sit back, and laugh.

i took off the blue varnish. it amused me enough, having spotlights for toes.

tueday and wednesday are holidays. i am going to be reading, i didn't buy narcissus and goldmund plus one flew over the cuckoo's nest for nothing. they will last me around three hours, i believe. the apocalypse will arrive while i am a firm believer of single science thus.

i just read maurice by e. m. forster. plenty sad, although at times the overt homosexuality makes it unreal - i'm so used to laughing at subtle little things in books. kinokuniya has gotten rid of the alternative literature section which really sucks. i had one hell of a shock when i saw an entire family crowded behind said shelf, only to discover it'd been changed to asian literature. bah.

i brush the pages where maurice loves clive, adores him. 'i can give points to a picture, i dare say,' said maurice, having glanced at the michelangelo. 'clive, you're a silly little fool, and since you've brought it up i think you're beautiful, the only beautiful person i've ever seen. i love your voice and everything to do with you, down to your clothes or the room you are sitting in. i adore you - oh what's the use to say i'm the same. and when clive transmorgifies into a real bastard i don't know what to do, as being cynical is above me and crying is below me. to all who've read the book: alec is so different, isn't he?

about bali bombing; terrorists need to get a life. they should watch monty python.

one, i don't know what to say, two, i need to start studying chinese, and three; i will someday wear a tuxedo and look bloody good in it.

scratch that. how fun to be completely gorgeous and able to say, 'you know you want me, baby,' without getting slapped or run away from. i am trying.

i love the exuberancy and genderfucking-ness of andy warhol culture, although i am not sure what it actually is. splattered paint, vulgarly strange poetry, art school - i am such a poseur.

edit: now i know. i love the guy already.

listening to travis, why does it always rain on me. good cheerful music for the soul.

if only my surroundings would be blue. a comforting sort of blue, with white and grey overtones. my shirt with the hand on it would fit in perfectly. unfortunately the main colours i'm used to are shitbrown, a sickly sort of yellow, withering green, and the sun. the sun, the sun, the sun.

science is so screwed. i will start caring by sunday. i had someone from a past episode in my car today. i've issued death threats against her, and yet i don't feel anything when she sits beside me. oh yes i held all the abuse back and laughed with her about our marks and i didn't question anything she said. and when she left my dad nearly ran her over. i didn't want him to. she is quite pleasant to talk to, really.

if she does anything to trin again i will kill her, the way i will not hesitate to hold a knife at those people. goodbye.

dust settles on everything. you try to shake it off by whirling an equally dirty cloth about, and end up whapping your own hand. good luck. vanilla sky's lying in front of me. i don't know where the dvd came from. i see you eating ice-cream which is the same flavour, and so is your face.

i just realized how fast i can run when required to.

i'd drive if i could.

you know there's something deeply wrong with you when you hear atoms rush, zinging past your ears. like mosquitoes, only non-living. acute senses, but i haven't finished studying science yet.

Who are you?

wooooo.

glory. the math exam was bloody easy. for a math exam, that is.

i'm sorry i threw away the drawings i did on the surplus foolscap paper, during english. i drew cigarettes and factories and weird blocks with lyrics by the verve all over. i've always wanted to go into an abandoned factory or industrial building, as well as live in a subway. i keep playing one particular jazz song all over again, because it reminds me so much of those. wolves have their little wolf-sized tunnels.

i am eating too much, i think. the white blood cells are merrily fighting the fat cells and that's also the reason why my sore throat haven't gone away. they've been too occupied. there is math tomorrow and i cannot for the life of me decipher any of the unique, creative, beautiful methods i am supposed to be capable of. numbers are not all that interesting - they have an intriguing amount of curves and angles which remind me of shackled humans but that's about it. where's my punctuation and spacing?

my head is one grey word: opium. there you go. and i hope my geography marks contract syphilis.

vociferous means offensively loud, after all; not enthusiastic. i don't suppose "loud and violent" was correct, though. maybe "violently loud" could have worked.

they slander me; they do.

why does saddam remind me of shylock? why does the canteen carrot cake taste like ass? questions, questions, questions.

i think weezer glasses would be dead fun to wear. pity you need perfect hair to look good.

literature was cool because i wrote the essay yesterday.

and this is what i end up doing most of the time - surviving, pulling through somehow, weaving my way through the layers of sloth i've created for myself. i agree it's unfair there're people who work thrice as hard as me and end up doing a lot worse. i hide behind curtains and play shadow tricks on the world. it's always been one of my greatest talents, this; finding my way out of awkward situations and believe me, there are many things i should be blamed for - but i've buried all of them with lies. i wonder when i'll actually deserve anything.

bjork has a new video of two female robots making out.

i am never attempting to apply eyeliner to any part of my body again. never.

shudder to think is the weirdest band i have ever heard. except for blur, maybe. brilliant vocals, all the same.

the history paper was very fast and like a topless sports car. with rain. i cannot talk much because my words have all been used up.

being a full-time slacker is going to be interesting and undoubtedly fun.

this is what i shall keep in mind till the week is over. i am taking no shit from myself. all i want is for the wretched exams to be over. i will now proceed to dip digestive biscuits in ovaltine and muse over the fact that ewan mcgregor was a damn beautiful boy.

i'm really looking forward to being clean again. it's this weird thing with smack. first off it makes you feel so good. but after a bit, after your body gets used to it, it stops working like that. you start needing it just to stay normal...then you get sick of it and give it up for a few days. and that's the really nasty thing because then, when you're clean, that's when it works so well."
copyright melvin burgess.

i almost choked on my lunch when mtv started playing rufus wainwright. i think i will credit them today, because of that; and the eminem special. just screwed up the first two exams. there is a drought in singapore and it, i, am so arid.

i have two wounds on my right arm now. right at the angle of my shoulder there is a strange mark which i created while i was asleep. i've clawed at my own back before. below it is a tiny gash caused by a dead tree i was hauling to the dump. i unplugged the wound by pulling out the splinter and blood started oozing and everyone stared. hahahh. i also almost died on the way home. a cab sped towards me and something which clicked in my head made me laugh. what a pity.

i feel wolvishly useless and like i want to tear tissue paper. i am blasting the ballad of maxwell demon.

i smell of tobacco.

my name is des dre the dunkie junkie sucky rock star. mark accordingly.

why are all my body parts malfunctioning? a while ago i needed to bite something badly and i started grinding my jaw. i realize how bad this sounds, but hell, i swallowed and sank my teeth into atleast five biscuits and chewed madly at the tip of my black pen. keep all necks away from me. oh, take me away, baby. i am still highly hyperactive but there are no pants for me to get into. what am i saying?

i bitched drowsily at the little boy downstairs because his psle is on october 7 and he was still splashing around in the pool. then i realized my exam is on oct 4 and that i was still lounging on my bed in a drugged state. i think there is something wrong with my tenses but i cannot actually figure them out.

my stomach has assumed an identity of its own. i think i have damaged its lining somewhat, what with x stabbing me all the time, the starving and the bingeing. die, acid.

Resolutions Which Will Take Me Through The Exams
(why do i keep making these lists? a subtle symbol of my anal retentive mind, forsooth!)

1. i will not worry about stuff which has nothing to do with the exams.
2. i will cut out the codependence.
3. i will not swear excessively.
4. i will not be nasty to innocent parties.
5. i will be patient.
6. i will not sample any more addictive substances. tasted all that is legal, i have.
7. i will not hanker after the trust-fund lifestyle or adopt the 'we're all going to die anyway' theory
8. because i care not about Bourgeois Society.
9. i will stay calm in all circumstances.
10. i will be accepting of the weather.

above all, the Slogan Of The Week is go to biochemistry or die; go to literature and live.

today has been misfortune after misfortune. i have decided that hoping doesn't actually work when you are maniacal about it. i drank a shitload of coffee, felt even worse, and drowned it down with another. and another.

never ever do that, children.

my computer also broke down. all my links are gone now, including the mp3s. i endured two hours of chinese tuition, frightened of suddenly bursting into tears without a proper chinese explanation. the best thing for me to do is to be a Guide who is cheerful under all circumstances. the camomile tea worked. it winds itself through your veins like a warm, leaving lover. i shall cut out the whining now. i believe i will imagine the horrible factor of tomorrow. then i'll be happier, perhaps. thank you, heather, for sticking with me although i've been the biggest asshole in the world while still a virgin.