this was made in a rush to satisfy my lack-of-layout, after deleting aforesaid hotel; as well as to satisfy my stripe-addiction. i have always been somewhat of an r.e.m. fan, anyway.

art museum trip was cancelled, due to the fact i was doubled over with stomach cramps of all reasons. why couldn't i have been hindered by a rose bush or machine guns? i think i'll make my way there next weekend. i'm currently reading immortality by milan kundera and i will join you briefly.

i'm listening to rock n' roll and my lips are bleeding. visiting the art museum tomorrow; i love living the life of an aesthete who doesn't have to write critical reports.

x came over a few hours ago and we had a damn good laugh. give this a try, i take no responsibility for all grammatical errors or variants in logic.

i have a daft habit of finding other journals which have nothing to do with me. that's the problem with having it online, i guess. something which occurs to me is i wouldn't ever write something which would made me sound stupid, even if it was clouding up my brain and causing low visibility. in that way perhaps written ones are better. you can tear out pages, draw stick figures and scrawl as badly as you want.

today started out reasonable and turned into shit halfway. in the space of twenty minutes i realized how much of a creep i was. then i was verbally abused by my father, as usual, no less. last night i dreamed he was dying of an illness and i was dead guilty because i didn't spend time with him, so i made up my mind to be a better sort of person; but it isn't working out. i played guitar for a good half-hour and now i'm getting better every second. life goes on if you whistle, see.

i like the way the word shower sounds, makes me think of cornflowers sprouting up kodak-esque and clear rain falling from a gardener's hose.

i have a feeling that if the windows in my home are opened wide enough, the wind will catch me and i'll spiral where no one has ever been.

i have gathered enough evidence to prove that time is purely psychological. much as i like my chinese teacher chinese tuition seems to last for almost a lifetime; every tick drags with a resounding echo. and much as i like you, one second we're laughing, one second we're looking away, then i'm in the car on my way home.

today i went to the zoo and i saw a pair of gay llamas called brian and augustus who gave each other public blow jobs. i have also discovered the joys of christian bale and seafood chowder. however, if i wrote further i would have to give in to trite expressions of angst and self-loathing, so bonne nuit.

i like che guevara.

i was kept up all night with dreams like radiohead videos, rolling down the bizarre trail like a grotesque blob till i woke up. i can't exactly remember the warped ones, just that it involved a lot of wandering and green mountains. an interesting although blander example to note is that i witnessed the marriage of oliver wood and percy weasley. perhaps only oliver was, because he decked out in a suit, and yellow-shirted percy was merely congratulating him - but they looked too lovey-dovey. i was also yelling obscenities at some pathetic girl who was harassing ky. if you're reading this, ky, if there's anyone like that i gave them a good fictional beating up.

the insomnia is definitely wearing off. when i'm half-asleep i have neon thought-patterns, i think about how beautiful she is.

i had a weird dream last night. i was attending this demented party in which we had to dance in-sync and really well, or we'd be shot. my partner was this grosse/petite punk who kept firing into the air and narrowly missing my eyebrow. then i was transported to a black-curtained dressing room and i was wearing a necktie and trousers. elton john tried to pick me up, asking if i was sixteen. i explained i was a girl and that pissed him off, so he tried to whap me with his belt. about clothes, tonight i have to attend my cousin's wedding dinner in a red dress. the dress is pretty, actually, but i think my cross-dressing instincts have gotten the better of me. it's worth it for the food, though. maybe i can read under the table or something.

because ky requested me to,
thursday = watching harry potter for oh, the fourth time.

today is caught like a freeze-frame, when a second disappears into another and nothing is quite exact. if i'm not wrong it is raining onto only one side of the house. at times like this i listen to iggy pop and chew on hard candy, cutting the roof of my mouth but not caring.

i like additional mathematics but there is just too much homework.

how seme are you?

"50% seme: people tend to think you're an uke, even though you wave swords in their faces and save your boyfriend from certain death constantly." die.

in september, i wrote autumn is in the air. now it is my favourite time of year, because it is early enough to have around five more weeks of free time; yet late enough for me to hear lazy oldies in restaurants and dream of christmas. the weather is warm, not sweltering in a let's-go-to-the-beach way, but warm like a fireplace; it rains at the correct times. people stroll around in their jackets, the radio plays guitar-rhythmed songs about going home, and as my taxi drives through the highway i pull my sweater around me and smile.

later i will be a traveller again, taking the wrong buses that are so right, bag slung on my shoulder and walking the streets with lou reed and travis in my head. go on, appreciate the finer things in life! there isn't a particular point to depression, no one to love, you find your joy in beautiful things. if you don't have a reason you have yourself to radical-ize your dreary hometown. if you do, get yourself out of that bloody muddy ditch already, you don't go on sitting in these places and collecting mould.

french lessons are cool. once you get used to the pronunciation and pay close attention, that is. i wanted see trin, and er, hopefully get a good massage (my shoulder blades have never hurt so much) but turns out we're in different classes. oh well.

going to listen to rufus wainwright. like some cool snakelike cappuccino which slips down your throat, with hints of chocolate. i will have to tell you i am not in love.

singin' in the rain is absolutely delightful. it's the sort of thing that causes a great endorphin release and keeps you humming the theme for days afterwards. remember the time we danced in the rain at school? that was brilliant, i wonder why we weren't discovered and given the appropriate treatment.

i'm pondering over re-installing kazaa (and fucking up my computer all over again) but that would allow me to listen to the dandy warhols.

why do people want to be goth and write about blood, coffins, hate? i think there are enough stories about depressed little girls who cut with razor blades. too much of the world is condensed with pain and as writers, we try to let new facets shine through. it's elementary to write about what's thrown in front of you, but more difficult and overall more beautiful to describe what you don't. subways and empty autumn streets are so much more appealing.

anyway.

there is a nice ring to the words 'hedonistic bum'.

i finally trespassed upon the forbidden ground that is Nanyang Girls' High School. still dwelling in the shadow of harry potter, i felt like i was at durmstrang or beauxbatons or something. it's huge, bigger than sc, and extremely intriguing at night when all the stairways seem to be blocked and the dark doors close up on you. there doesn't seem to be any valid entrance to the clock tower. i also enjoyed leaning against that pole at the bus stop and staring at my long-legged shadow. ky, i didn't exactly hear you say anything remotely audible, but you looked great in the polo shirt. looking forward to seeing you next week, which will be a mess of assorted lessons.

i have to start buying winter clothes for shanghai and i have a weird urge to purchase colourful socks. i would like to be near you and i want to touch you and - well. when is cynthia coming back? i don't think this sentence has a link to the one before it.

i think i use the word 'brilliant' too much over a short period of time, but chamber of secrets was, and is; brilliant. plenty of memorable moments, like lucius's hair ribbon - as well as oliver's, "you can't cancel quidditch!' and i can go on for ages about how much i want dan radcliffe for my christmas present, but i think you'll hear too much of that from other hp fans. harry and ron are as much like me and heather as ever. everything's pretty much the same, actually, apart from a series of weird touching.

1. lucius, abusive father, making odd moves towards harry.
2. lockhart making odd moves towards harry.
3. hagrid making odd moves towards hermione.
4. harry stroking hermione's hand.
5. harry stroking ginny's hand.
6. harry and hermione's prolonged embrace.
7. harry and hagrid's extremely prolonged embrace.

basilisk and spiders weren't particularly frightening, i was vaguely disappointed because they cut out so much, i am happy to be constantly sorted into gryffindor. rubies are my birthstone, baby! christian coulson is the spitting image of jude law (no pun intended), i want to live with the weasleys, and dan has handwriting identical to that of cynthia's. lastly, sexy, sexy parseltongue.

i seriously think daniel is beautiful. it makes me think of a very ordinary boy who knows he is ordinary and isn't because of that. thank you, eva figes, for your warm rainy book full of silver words and cushions and tea. reminder to self: check out air's album.

i have a newfound obsession, and my fingers are peeling but pain can be delightful if you know you've accomplished something with it. chris martin uses v. disagreeable chords. i have also just fallen out of love and it is brilliant.

so you see, i have decided to take a break from writing. i don't know what i am pushing myself towards nor do i know why i am wrapping myself tight like a blood pressure monitor, just that it is a contradictor of poetry and that i am retreating. i'm trying to find a meaningful way to spend my incoming $200, here's another reason why des will eventually need a job as steady as her very hedonistic lifestyle.

time does pass fast when you aren't watching it. here i am in a sea of my own, away from unknown people, away from the hustle and bustle of the life i have become used to. it is heaven. with a guitar, history notes to type, and harry potter tomorrow; i can't help but be purring in a thoroughly unwolf-ish manner.

how would you commit suicide?

i'm not that desperate yet, babe.

i must start learning how to write all over again. they explode, and my hotel lies forgotten. there must be some form of riot going on. i think i will attempt to sleep till wednesday; like all hardcore harry potter fans i am rabid. sometimes i figure the more i sleep the better the world becomes. this means it'd be beautiful if i slept forever. you can't argue with warped logic, i hope you don't mind.

wolfdog's name is curt, i've gotten into the habit of naming things, like my guitar (fran).

the consistency has gone away completely and only rears its head at night when i toss and turn. bite at the blankets. i could live here forever, this sugary druggy calmness, a dream which lasts.

i bought stuffed wolf. he might be a husky after all. i'd call him rufus if it wasn't so inappropriate.

i have fallen in love with a stuffed wolf. i'm actually considering spending $19.80, the sheer frivolity. i would very much like it to rain but the things with wings are still squawking away. i have also started on a story which has approximately three paragraphs written out and the rest cowering at the back of my head popping aphrodisiacs. i miss parts of people yet don't want to see them and i hope cynthia is arriving home around tomorrow.

it would be nice to be truly alive instead of enslaved to simply walking, eyes straight ahead. i'm thinking about a fourth dimension without gravity, where there is no centre of truth and you can be whatever you truly want to be without pretending. i guess i've been listening to too much R.E.M.

brain goes: fuck this! fuck this!

one, i am still in an altered state of consciousness; two, my iron level is slowly depleting itself, (ironically) i think this is lupus or some wasting disease; three, i have been obsessively eating mints.

was that thursday, too? man.

perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

i have been suffering from severe vertigo. i suspect it is the pills, but hell. nothing matters when you're in a sedated state of mind. i have given up worrying and have made up the proverb 'when in doubt, just sleep'. i've lost track of time, i know today is thursday only because i just had a piano lesson. life is just listening to good music and lying in bed and reading. yeah. i watched trainspotting, brilliant; that - but am too lazy to give a critique like i did for velvet goldmine. she was asleep so i played solitaire over and over again. lastly, harry potter is coming in less than a week. i am, of course, religiously re-reading the chamber of secrets.

oh, and ky, i'm definitely going to nanyang. with flowers, yo. if there are any haunted places i will visit them.

eight-thirty, the street lamps are on, and i am content. i have been for the past few hours. i ate tiramisu with jazz music then sat at the top of a bus and listened to new age. the best weather occurs after a rainfall. when you see the dead leaves and jackets, you can't help but be reminded of autumn. what can i say? these days i live for beauty. it is so easy to find, be it in bargain books, the warmth of being protected by glass and dew, or a best friend. i saw a girl standing amongst flowers, an old man pointing his umbrella at the ground. i love wondering/wandering.

on mornings like this i feel apathetic and want to go with the flow. i am all set for a day of wandering around and meaningful slacking with heather. i'll be back in a while. oh, and sodomised mutton is coming to a store near you.

have just developed a strange sort of love for the late kurt cobain. the unplugged performance i am watching is probably set a while before his death. he looks tired and sad in ways acute features and lovely uncombed hair can't change. he is pale with plenty of stubble; face frozen in a fatigued expression, occasionally pained (eyes downcast). he only moves to change chords and to tune his guitar, while acknowledging the crowd with a faint smile. his voice is like sandpaper and somewhat jaded, resembles thom yorke during slower songs. recommended listening: the man who sold the world, by nirvana, of course.

i want to be a traveller; but no matter how many trains i take, i won't forget the days when i was your little wolf.

i have skimmed through twelfth night, but apart from being enjoyable in a ridiculous sense i have to say it is trashy. i would have preferred julius caesar, men and war; but ah well. sebastian is antonio's darling, what say you? i like the frequent gender-crossing (read, homoerotic overtones), and the affected musing over love lost. oh, aphrodite, thou hast left me to burn with withered roses and thy lacy bra. on female topics, i came across menstrual blood paintings. i can accept most avant-garde methods, and the artists are talented-

but i am heavily revolted. if only they'd used proper red paint.

i want to get started on some prose, but ideas are so beyond me i'd have to tear deep into my skin in order to reach them. i need to find the score for erik satie's gnossienne no. 1.

down and out in paris and london by george orwell is a brilliant book.

i deleted the pointless list i made, mwahaha. i have just gotten my secondary three references and my history textbook rocks ass. i'm going to start on history notes tomorrow. ditto social studies although it is obviously going to be a gross subject. i bought lots of overpriced books and while clearing up my shelf, was stunned to see how much i haven't so much as touched. what an intellectual awakening.

i shall make weekly trips to orchard road, the capital of (ha!) bourgeois living. i'll read in the subway or on a random bench. i'll also go to kinokuniya and read all i wouldn't buy. life is cool when you have knowledge and chocolate snuggled up inside your bag. in conclusion, i will use my free time to struggle after enlightenment, of what sort i've yet to know. and i need rest. yeah, lots of rest.

the word 'angry' just isn't right sometimes. nor is 'wrath'. these two should be used for appropriate moments, such as situations in which the goverment refuses to allow certain homosexual rights or when your neighbour has poisoned your computer with arsenic.