stuck...

How would you go about handling intolerably dysfunctional people when they are of particular irreplaceable import with someone you care too much about to leave behind?

Happy moo year.

Twenty one years later, it just so happens that the embryonic lump becomes so much more and so much less.

Some things have been frustrating, others exciting.

Frustrated at the fact people would use religion as an answer for anything, but people have always been wont to flog off responsibilities to the whims of deities too self-absorbed to care.

Frustrated at the fact that money is necessary.

Frustrated at the fact that many people are not suited to be parents, yet insist on unprotected heterosexual intercourse.

Excited that some physical transitions are going along fine, albeit slowly.

Excited that travel can be adjusted along the linear path of the time-space continuum.

Excited that electronics usually have upgrades, that certain times provide discount vouchers, that sometimes the unaffordable become affordable.

The new year is just that: another fixed bracket of time that we choose to label such. Reality is that there's no real distinct separation point between our years. But when it allows things like periodic holidays, I guess I can have no real complaint.

Resolve to continue with physical transition, putting in progress at least three out of seven days.

Resolve to get past the limitations of money by getting a lot of it.

Resolve to bring things to a better level, at least where someone is concerned.

Resolve to come to terms with having another two years in something that is proving less and less fun as the years go by, just get it over with.

For the less smart (as you like to call yourself), here is a condensed, err, short version of the above:

Until now, still not good, not bad.

Some things fun, some things not fun.

Angry that some people so stupid and lazy.

Angry that I'm broke.

Angry that stupid people have children.

Happy I'm not so fat.

Happy that airline bookings can change.

Happy that got new iPod model, and got eBay voucher.

Err, blah. As long as got holiday, can.

Go to gym 3 days a week.

Become rich.

Be less fussy, have more fun.

Stop being so lazy.

is fat...

... in photos.

Always behind the camera for a reason.


Holidays are great. Even better if your back isn't charred. Even better yet if you aren't fat so you can don the skimpy. Or no donning at all. But when you have the cutaneous texture of citrus and the relative dimensions to match (all noticed in retrospect, of course), there's really nothing to be done.


A quick review of the current situation: very little money (not really in the big paying jobs now), going to be very lonely very soon (alone is nice if money is there, but usually when you have money you have these remorae stuck to your underside), very little to do (completing Oblivion for the sixth time now), and worst thing is the weather is going to scorch very soon.


Time to ramp up the gym routine, tone down the eat routine, run like a headless chicken, play a bit more of the M to the t to the G. And make more money somehow.


Lonely is great in a way that is not. And people not putting any effort into communicating strongly suggests that the relationship is dying, if not already dead.

latest updates...

News in short:

I might have food poisoning. Can't tell. Nothing in this apartment seems to be clean.

Unrelated news, finally dropped below 100 for the first time in about 10 years.

Exams have been over in a long while. Slacking about mostly.

Returning in mid January.

don't speak...

Examining your change in thought patterns over the years is a dangerous thing to do. It shows you either how flawed you once were, or how much of a sellout you are now.

I used to think of mellowing as a classic sign of aging and breaking down. I now think of it as a classic sign of dying inside or finding religion, in which case you would be better off dying inside.

Sometimes, it's easier to give in, call it maturity, and just be happy.

I like to think I'm happier today than I was a year ago. Depends on what you would call happy, I suppose.

I'm happy that the only truths that matter to me are not written in books. They are written in the things I do, in the things I see, in the words other people speak. Truths are not stories, truths are the things that we learn from (or in marketing terms: a change in the content and organization of memory leading to a change in behaviour).

I've discovered things I could do that I did not think I'd ever consider doing. It's still all very shocking, but as with everything, change makes life livable.

When I begin to doubt my choices, I always tell myself, "Don't speak. You don't know what you're thinking. You don't know what you're saying. You don't need a reason." It's eerily similar to the song.

I know what it's like to have to give up a self-defined social core now.

I know what it's about having to reshape very fundamental thoughts and understanding.

I know what it's like to love, what it's like to lose it, what it's like to be living in a hope that it comes back, to believe it's still there.

I know what it's like to honestly not care what the world thinks, a step beyond just acting it.

I know what it's like to speak in public.

I know what it's like to find myself and find that myself isn't really there to be found, it's there to be made.

I know what friends do, obvious as it should be, unlikely as they seem.

I know what it's like to be honestly crushed, disappointed, to cry when it's not in my character, to smile when I want to kill.

I know that all these can change any day, and they rightfully should.

And I know that I don't have to say something for it to be true, just like believing in something doesn't make it so. That giving up is sometimes the way to move forward, where bull-headed pushing only stalls the engines.

dances with wolves...

Sometimes at night we want to scream and be answer by a shadowy howl from beyond.

Sometimes the shadowy howl in the night gets answers.

Sometimes those answers aren't as scary as they sound.

Sometimes the wolves don't always want a midnight snack. Or orgiastic feast.

Sometimes they just want to dance.

And sometimes we get to dance with wolves.

chasing...

Sometimes it feels like I'm chasing the shadow of a dream. A dream so real I can see it in front of me. A dream so lush it feels like a clearing in the forest of nightmares I have to face every waking moment. No nightmare so terrible as one that is mediocre.

And this shadow eludes me. I pour so much into the search, but it does not want to be found. I delight in the hunt, but the misses always crush the spirit. God forbid I shoot myself in the head and end a fruitless search.

Chasing shadows, chasing dreams.