... or hell, if you're trying to lose weight.
Ham sandwiche with random iceberg lettuce and cheese on toasted cottage loaf! Wahahaha!
Teh-O ais limau with lotsa ais, lotsa limau, but not much teh. Wonderful.
Peach!
Berries. Blackberries are like, nice. Raspberries really are damn gross.
I'm probably acting quite gay right now. I think it's the tea.
People are probably the most infuriating things possible, next to a heat rash. You need them, but they're not reliable. Quite the opposite of a heat rash.
Like, write already people. Sigh. Nobody's interested in anything anymore. Either that, or they're too stuck up with their own lives to give too much attention to mine. Is it too much to ask that you all selflessly pour your otherwise wasted hours onto me? That said, keep your sticky hands off my things and I won't beat you to death with a meat cleaver.
People can't write anymore. Embarassingly, it seems that most Malaysians can't. And also, it seems neither can my usual haunts, or they just couldn't give a rat's ass about it. Maybe if I only ask for hamster bottoms.
Like, nobody's interested in chatting anymore either. They can't make small talk and stuff. It seems that the only time they'll come up and say hi is when they want something from me. That's fine, just don't expect me to respond promptly anymore, or if at all. I have more interesting things to do than send you music files and write your assignments for you, like cooking, cleaning, and masturbating. Yeah, compared to you sad dolts who would rather spend the time getting me to do your work for you. And give back a bit if you have to. At least update more than once every geological era or something!
You're busy with your lives. Well, fuck, so am I. Yet I find time for your trashy things. Can't you people just amuse me? So what if I endlessly and meaninglessly complain about your deficiencies? At least I give a fuck enough to help you people no? Why can't you do the same and just write something witty ONCE a FUCKING day?
People have asked me why I shut down my blog once every so often. Why the hell not? Keeping it up is no novelty if other people can't be bothered to make it a worthwhile timewaster. Hell, if I'm gonna be bothered to waste my time doing pointless things nobody cares about, well, everyone else is gonna do that too!
And what is this about me having to adapt to the world, eh? I don't see why I have to put in a ton of effort trying to make myself fit in when everyone else can just do a little bit and adapt themselves to me. Hah.
Warning: This is a ranty post. Wait. I shoulda put that at the top. But nobody cares anyway. So neither should I.
Hmm, since there are SOME people that read this that wouldn't approve, to the more, erm, kinky of you out there, go here for today's post.
I vaguely recalled having wanted to run a supermarket when I was a kid. Guess I was just entralled by the fact that there were so many things there, and even back then, it was sorta obvious that I was a true blue capitalist. Not to mention all the delicious toys in the kiddies section.
Later on, I decided I'd prefer to run a department store, cuz people always seemed to spend a ton of cash there on absurd things, that to my mind, would not cost more than a fraction of what they were paying (guess I'm right).
Sooner or later, I suppose in my teens, I'd grown power hungry. This is the time most of you would remember, where I'm sure I'd either become insanely rich, or insanely powerful AND rich. You'd likely recall the I'll-rule-the-world-because-I-can-mooharharharhar. And believe me, I had plans all drawn up.
That sort of thing sorta came to an end for awhile during the seriously warped period (December 2004 - March2005). It was the first time I actually recall being hormonally driven. Yeah, that sort of hormonally driven. Most plans for complete world domination took a backseat, and although I kept the ruse up, I'd more or less spent quite a bit of time being depressed and all that shit. Also, I realised the financial implications of trying to run the world, and decided that my 17 bucks a week allowance would never cover the expenses.
After that interesting period, in which I determined it would be easier to do things randomly (which turns out I've been unconciously doing all along anyway), I sorta got attached to someone. That put the whole political thing out of head, out of mind, out of sight. There's a small difference between unrequited fawning, and a true pairing; that difference being the moping, the near suicidal ramblings, the joining-of-support-groups-of-like-situationed-friends-who-really-have-no-fucking-reason-to-be-fucking-depressed-because-my-problems-are-way-bigger, and also a greater monetary committment, the final point being the murder of total world domination itinerary. It was a worthy tradeoff.
About half a year later, when it sorta passed that stage, I confirmedly took on the political view of they-can-fucking-do-what-they-like-as-long-as-they-don't-fucking-piss-me-off. It allowed the retarded elected officials and even more retarded voters to do anything they wanted, as long as they didn't interfere with my still-childlike bliss.
That political stance expanded to include social interactions, where I'd confirmed the sexual orientations of quite a few many long-time friends (why did everyone choose the same fucking time to come out in the open?); that being if it didn't hurt my ass, go ahead and do what you like.
Upon serious pondering, it's obvious that I've always been like this. I've never really been as conniving, sneaky, backstabbing, eville, as I thought I was. I was particularly, and still am, as naive as I was ever, albeit with more wisdom (I think) of how things work. In a way, I'm a childlike politician. I don't really care what other people do as long as they don't touch my playthings.
To fully understand the simple complexity of this, I should probably state that I'm writing this because I'm sitting in the computer lab waiting for stupid people to come in.
Meh.
It seems that I've been going to the city quite a bit. Metcard ticket prices are rape, I tell you.
The thing about second hand vehicles is that no matter how good a condition it is in, there are always a few kinks that you have to straighten out. In my case, the rear brakes were too tight, the gears needed tweaking, and a whole long list of things, so the trip was mostly to locate a competent bike shop to fix things up.
There are weird things in Chinatown. Of course, I can only wonder what sort of conversation the previous user was having.
Dessert was interesting today. Very visually appealing, I must say. Ah. Mousse at Max Brenner. Excellent.
There's this grocers called Laguna, where the Asian stuff (at least the bare essentials) are cheap enough that if you robbed a homeless man, you'd be able to give him back change. Got some Haw Flakes there. And it seems that have pepper soups!
Went to Kian's place. Nice apartment, on the 24th floor. Spectacular view from the window.
(Note: I just noticed the effect of lens curvature on this picture. The hugeass block of concrete on the right isn't exactly straight. Not so sure it's actually queer though.)
Of course, that's only if you can sorta ignore this view:
Oh, right. The bike shop. I went to Big W, seems they have the kit for tweaking bikes yourself, so now the shop's sorta unnecessary. Whee.
At the platform for the train home from the city this morning (12.08 IS morning), this guy walked up to the crowd, and suddenly started preaching. Some of the crowd told him to shut up, some threw coins at him. I just stood there, staring at the train tracks. In my mind ran a train of a different kind.
I almost admire these kind of people; people with conviction enough to speak what they feel is the thing to speak. Then again, I also hate these kind of people, people not bright enough to see that this very method is working AGAINST the grain of what they're trying to achieve. Oh well.
This is one of the best reads I've come across in a long time. His writing style reminds me a lot of my own, back when I was a lot less retarded than I am now. Still, his content is definitely more interesting than mine, so I guess it's all good. Nice to know that there are people out there who can write so simply and be amusing.
Glad I could be of help, Kim. Next time you feel like that, you can come over anytime. Just call me when you reach.
And then, there are some things I just have to face myself. Nothing that a good vodka couldn't cure.
P.S. Just before I forget. Sorry, Lou, for that unexplicable delay on Friday. Maybe next time we should schedule for Thursday meets instead.
Where do you go when you realise that you don't really have it? Nobody gives it to you, and you have none yourself.
I was in the shower, and I've come to a realisation. Nobody trusts me. At least, nobody did. The times when people actually tell me things in confidence, are the times when nobody else would listen to them. I am always, and ALWAYS the last resort. And even now, the people who say they trust me lie to me.
Not that I have a problem. I've been lied to and backstabbed as long as I can remember, although I wasn't always aware of it. You tend to get used to a broken mirror if you can only recall seeing shards. Each broken piece in itself is a mirror, but although I didn't use to get the whole picture, I can see the frame for what it is.
Nobody trusts me. And I don't blame them. And by the same coin, why should I trust them? I'm insulted, sometimes, by the amount of time it takes some people to tell me things they'd readily tell other people in a flash. I really would be, except, I'm used to it. Why am I the last to know? Then again, do I really want to hear the answer? While I have gotten used to the broken pieces, it doesn't mean I'm not cut.
They say you have to earn trust. Fair enough. Except I'm not spending trust on myself. If people who want to be so secretive want my help, I don't see why they can't trust me enough to tell me everything.
It has come to my attention from a few, rather, quite many, parties that the expressions use here are rather explicit and offensive. I hear you. Then again, hear me this. What is a blog? Basically, it's a diary. An open diary of sorts. While I agree that in this case everyone is free to access it, does it mean you should? I did not start this to whore out my daily life. I know enough that people are hardly fascinated by me (and seriously, those of you who are really got to get yourselves checked). I started it because I can't read my own writing, and I kinda want to remember things that happened to me.
I understand that people are bound to read it. And I'm fine with that. It's not up to me to decide what you want to do with your time. Rather, I'm quite flattered that you would take time to even bother coming here. That said, the reason you come here is to read what's written here. If something here offends you, then it offends because you came here to be offended. I do not go out of my way to do anything. This is how I feel, so this is how I write. I will NOT go out of my way to write it in such contrite manners just to protect some people's sense of dignity. If my life is so harsh and rude, then it is your choice not to come here. If you are offended by this, that is not my doing.
Remember, reading someone's diary without their permission is breaking their trust.
I guess I understand. I don't even trust myself.
"It's the ones you know you'll miss the most who leave you the soonest..." - Aramaki, Chief, Section 9; Ghost in a Shell.
