reality isnt as real as its cracked up to be

so many know.
so few understand.
much less act.

*make love, not war.

words start to snap off
at the ends of sentences
words start to crack
in the middle of conversations
fragments recombine
random mutations cross paths
somedays a delight
somedays a disaster
someone's the talker
someone's the listener
some listen, most hear
some see, most look
some question, most talk
most.
blinded, deaf and impaired.

*build love, breed peace, banish war

been 1 week,
7 days of silence
7 days of grieving n mourning
been many emails
been many messages
been many questions
bout my absence
thanks to all who stopped by, looked on
in anticipation of knowing the happenings
to find a hint in the silence
silence is a luxury these days.
i am back.

a response to whether i blog fiction or non fiction.
truth, is a kind of depression
literal language, is an assemblage of cliches
used only to assimilate the disparate
the general is not general
it always excludes the particular
general truths are always false. only lies come close to reality

*peace, breeds from within.

to err is human, but to continue erring is diabolic

taking a hiatus from blogging
mourning the loss of a much cherished material possession
till we meet again
*peace

every morning, i will at least down a large mug of coffee. it used to be 3 cups a day, i am drowning a cup of coffee a day these days, opting for juice or tea in places that arent vegan-friendly. i like my coffee free from sugar. i sip the sweet bitterness of the beverage, many acclaim will be detrimental to my health. watching the vast amount of coffee consumed in every cafe i patronise, the fool might reckon that coffee growers are amongst the richest in the world. hell no. coffee growers have to grow, clean, roast, package the beans. but there’s more in that cup of coffee than you might have thought. it probably also contains a farmer’s concern for his or her family in poor regions of Latin America, Africa, Asia and the Pacific. it may contain their child’s education, which they can’t afford because of the low prices coffee labourers are paid. it may even contain a whole childhood – belonging to the child who has to work on the coffee plantation because he or she has to help the family earn a living.how is it that such a bitter cup can be brewed? one clue can be found in the price of coffee. only a small proportion – 10% or even less – of the price actually gets to the farmer. most coffee-growers do not have direct access to markets. they have to sell their produce to a middleman, who sells it on to larger companies. a coffee grower may get as little as US$0.20 per pound for coffee that sells at over US$8 a pound in the USA, one of the biggest markets for coffee. the solution is to embrace frair trade. a yet another bitter truth many shun to know, i get perturbed easily by whats being taught, whats being picked up in instituitions worldwide, the world's best lessons are just outside your safe shell. step out of the comforts of your home, and watch the world sin, glorify and dream!

i used to say, once i get my first pay check from my decent full time job, i will start to sponsor-a-child in a third world country. and i am still holding on to that vision. kudos to nigel who sponsered 2 girls from Malawi. but seriously, considering your income, you shouldnt have any problems sponsoring another 5 or 6 more. just drive less, shop less, and lower the standards of living alittle. *just being pricky)

he holds me in the palms of his eyes
and that was it
standing in vain
standing in the rain
standing with protruding veins
trying to keep a tight rein
on point blank
and now i stare
blankly on the screen
clicking frantically on the mouse
to be greeted by
the oracular foolishness of the storyteller

thinking can at times be a huge stumbling block.

havent gotten a clue what i should blog today.
maybe the usual, a run down on my program sheet for the day.
i am seriously in need for a decent job though
working full time unpaid for the howard government is taking its tolls.

anyways, hideouts and hangarounds today:
-alexander garden
-king's domain
-royal botanical gardens
-shrine of remembrance
-fed square (jazz fest)
-gopals veggie restaurant
-birrurang marr
*itching alittle all over, must be the flora in the gardens.

by the way, (to make this an educational blog)
have you ever wondered " How do courts swear in atheists?"

In U.S. District Court (to take the most widespread example), the standard oath is amended to: "You do affirm that all the testimony you are about to give in the case now before the court will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; this you do affirm under the pains and penalties of perjury?" After the witness replies, "You got it, Jack," or whatever godless heathens say in such situations, everyone sits back and pretends that the "pains and penalties of perjury" are every bit as intimidating as the wrath of a vengeful Almighty. It's not an ideal situation, if you want my opinion, but I suppose it's the best the judges can do under the circumstances.

many thanks to cecil adams.

*peace.
know the opposite is looming, all the more we should treasure the present, sip the past, and fear not the future.

Don't stray, don't ever go away
I should be much too smart for this
You know it gets the better of me
Sometimes, when you and I collide
I fall into an ocean of you, pull me out in time
Don't let me drown, let me down
I say it's all because of you
And here I go, losing my control
I'm practising your name so I can say it to your face
It doesn't seem right, to look you in the eye
Let all the things you mean to me
Come tumbling out my mouth
Indeed it's time to tell you why
I say it's infintely true
Say you'll stay, don't come and go
Like you do
Sway my way, yeah I need to know
All about you
More about you.
All about you.
Me and You.
*peace. love. hope.

dear friends, chummies, enemies, passerbys, nosyparkers,

i ramble a mean amount about life and its ups and downs.
and the reason i can do so, is because i am well fed, educated and living in a lapse of luxury.
there are many loafers like me, wasting daddy's money
pursuing our own selfish dreams
quenching our desires
brandishing money
there is a group of people
many turn their eyes away from
cos watching them is painful
or they are just enjoying the sweet denial
living in their dreams of a utopia
for this group of people.
be kind. click this.
a click feeds them.

sincere thanks from crumbled.

i call myself an artist. not because of the course i am pursuing. but because of my passion in the arts. i listen to voices of many, dismissing themselves of being termed an artist. i dont believe anyone is only an artist, when he or she is in company of chalks, charcoal, paint, clay, pencils or the like. food is an art, life is an art, friends are an art, even war is an art. we are all artists in our unique way, we paint the streets with a certain medium, we paint our faces with a certain emotion, we sculpt our hair in a certain manner, we compose ourselves to present to others in the way we desire. we stride our feet in a certain fashion, we breath with a rhythm. i salute to all fellow artists in these unsetting times. never fail art, or let art fail you.

was embroiled in a heated discussion last night, in regards to, the justification of woman dolling themselves. my male counterparts were strong in their argument that women dress themselves, doll themselves, starve themselves, to offer an aesthetically pleasing image to the males. the woman dresses to impress, attract, tame, at times, even to send out signals to the males. the discussion i reckon was totally absurb, the reasons cited could be mirrored, and the ball thrown back to the other side of the court. the male does likewise. the whole drama rama about vanity, is impressions. impressions we wanna make count. wanna make worthy.

accents. they cause division. they upset relations. isnt it ironic how your household is filled with all sorts of oddities, the television, the refrigerator, the oven, these electricity consuming machinery have only crawled their way into our lives less than a century ago. the whites, the blacks, the yellows have been around for 20 centuries. yet strangly enough, a saddening truth, you are still coded by your ethnicity, by your colour, by your eyes, by your accent. was deeply morosed when a close chum shared with me his job seeking stint. on the phone, past the electricity line, you are what you sound, your accent. you arrange to meet. your name looks right. thanks to your dad. but you dont look as right as your name. cos you have a taint of yellow. you notice the surprised smile, she peers at your CV, she inspects you, with prying eyes, before she continues her haunting stares. you say, i am of mixed birth, dad's english, mom's asian. you get the job, you know that you arent ostracised, but you know that the colour wheel is still spinning. and i say, its improving.

i love the spanish accent. i love the way salma hayek speaks. i love the way, penelope cruz chats. i love the way, the words are slurred. the way the words are tuned. and i love the way, you came along, and say, you love the way i speak. in my dialect. even though you know not a single stanza of it. i love my company of friends and the sound of how the different accents mingle, yet everyone knows, our hearts are all beating to the same rhythm. the rhythm of life.

vida viva al más lleno.

specially blogged for chloe and trevor plus all nosey parkers or concerned individuals,

long desired typical blog of my sunday activities:
alarm rings (yea. i have to use one!) brushes teeth (braun electric toothbrush), shower, fresh clothes, sunscreen, gulps orange juice, leaves apartment, hops in vintage car (groovy!), blazing sun, gentle breeze, shades, look for a park, hop off vintage car, off to beach, traipse sunday market, wowed, awed, perv, perv, perv, heads to seabath, jumps into soulmama's embrace, munching, filling, toast, toasted, burn, burnt, acland street, carliese street, st kilda road, vic arts centre, chill out tunes, chilled orange juice, good book, cold shower, veggie salad, soy latte, corny teen movie, dumb blog logging.

thanks to all individuals that contributed to a great sunday yet again. the old man in green shorts, the seagulls perching precariously on the rocks, the little kids, the gorgeous babes, the blazing sun, the folks at soulmama, to all i failed to mention and give credits to!
*peace from a burnt crumbled toast!

expectations. anticipations.
i find myself checking the brew every now and then.
i find myself waiting for the soup to boil.
i find myself armed with the ladle one hand, a huge bowl on the other.
i find myself peering carelessly into the pot,
i find myself staring blankly at the flames,
in anticipation of a soup,
i will devour with relish.
many people like to ask me, whats boiling in there,
but i havent gotten the slightest hunch.
i trust my insticts, it would be something good.
some chopped ideas, some cubed laughters,
some fresh spirits, a few drops of esctasy,
some sliced pieces of good wholesome get-togethers,
alittle chunky books,
a cup of coffee,
some julienned conversations,
sounds like a great soup or stew is in the making.
this time around, i wouldnt fan the flame too much,
cos i had bad tasting soups in many previous occasions for doing so.
i cant explain why i still enjoy the sheer torment of standing next to the blazing flame,
its a sweet bitter feel,
expectations of the soup to boil fast,
yet paronoial of the soup being burnt.
bon appetit!

"The animals of the world exist for their own reasons. They were not made for humans any more than black people were made for whites or women for men."
*peace!

someone tell me whats 'Singapore Noodles', whats 'Singapore Streets Noodles' , or 'Fried Singapore Noodles'
i hold a singapore citizenship, yet i havent tasted anything call Singapore Noodles or the such
every single veggie, vegan restaurant i patronise, from Brunswick St to St Kilda's to BoxHills
i get greeted by this familiar sounding, yet alienated dish, and i havent pluckered enough courage to try it.
someone enlighten me, what encompasses a true plate of Singapore Noodles?
* alittle corny, not in a true writer's roll
love.peace.hope.dream.soar.embrace.

what a letdown, i died in the arms of the computer again, aced my on-roads but flunked my stimulation tests.
damnit. damnit. damnit. i knew i was cursed with bytes, monitors, drives and the like!
anyways, boogie on, at least the big barrier's off the road!
chummies. keep the crumbled in your prayers!
next showdown with the computer's on this thur!

*sighs* my time counter is really cranky, seems like its on the other time zone!
peace

i dont know whats this deal with celebs and wannabes. anyways, a few foes asked for a decent list of Famous Veggies & Vegans.
to satisfy their hunger, skip this new blog if this arent your cup of tea. anyways, i am thankful for the understanding and tolerance from my non-veggie, vegan mates!
but its all for a good cause!

the list goes:
Vincent Van Gogh, Vanessa Williams, Vanessa Amorosi, Valerie Hardin (Goth Poet/Writer), Tobey Maguire, Sir Isaac Newton, Buddha, Shaun Cassidy,Shania Twain, Scott Adams (cartonist, Dilbert), River Phoenix, Reese Witherspoon, Richard Gere, Pythagoras of Samos (greek philosopher), Plutarch(Philosopher), Paul McCartney, Pamela Anderson Lee, Natalie Portman(Felicity!), Mya , Michael J. Fox, Moby, Martina Navratilova (tennis player), Liv Tyler, Lisa Loeb, Leonardo da Vinci, Lenny Kravitz, Kim Basinger, KD Lang, Julia Stiles, Jude Law, Guy Pearce, John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Joaquin Phoenix, Jerry Seinfeld, Jean Jacques Rousseau(philosopher), India Arie, H.G. Wells(writer), Erykah Badu, Elvis Costello, Des'ree, Bryan Adams, Bon Jovi, Avril Lavigne, Ashley Judd, Alec Baldwin, Albert Einstein .... ....

there are heaps more, if you guys are really that keen, run a search on googles
but i reckon there's more brewing in ur evil pots
*peace, love and cheers

i remembered an old eurasian lady telling me years ago, a tale about asians. herself being of mixed parentage, she wasnt lost in the blender, but she had this astonshing enlightened insights on the cultures of both. life evolved around the east and west cultures, the fork was used when a certain group of guest arrived, a pair of chopsticks was used when another group of friends dropped by. english had to be spoken to an inpeccable standard, the chinese language cannot be compromised. and the result, is a demure, dainty, rich old lady, rich not in worldly wealth, but in knowledge, principles, love and compassion, and most importantly, a rich knowledge of both the east and the west.

i have been blessed to be in the company of some of these asians residing in the west. and the topics we encircle daily, makes me, an asian in asia, contemplate about many issues. makes me feel blinded to many aspects of the world. makes me scurry through the weeds and thorns of cultures to search for perspectives that i had been missing out on. protected, protective, endangered, thats how i feel at days. morosed how the academics failed to teach these lessons, maybe, we are supposed to search for the answers individually, rather than being waned and fed. maybe. but how many are doing so. how many more are being tugged, how many yellow hands are grabbing the rope, to be pulled, along the smooth paths of life. maybe to many, life itself, is too troubled a path to thread. who needs to be weighed down by others, who wants to be put into other shoes? if you arent gonna give a damn about your fellow yellows, at least be kind in not labelling them, bananas. many are more than meets the eyes, of you, a yellow in yellow tinted lens.

just a little yelp of outrage, more to come, cos i have to fly.
* i might be trying to be Daphne Factotum

i caught the Two Towers, finally.
the ostracising should cease, mates!

Tolkien never fails to spur me to ponder more indepthly at his works. the film should never be taken literally. i wished i had my little black book in the picturehouse, i would have struggled to pen thoughts while moving along with the elves, hobbits and dwarfs. here are just my takes on the film, saves me from having to make repetitions:

with war threading uncomfortably close to us at this moment, how similar are we to the folks in middle earth. we all have this insatiable desire for power, treasures, and fantasies we hide. the inner us is hungry for success and riches. although we stroll pass many fallen ones on the road to success, we still continue the climb, sometimes, in expense of our loved ones, our principles and the like. we all need a sam in our lives, to shift our eyes from the worldly treasures, to allow us to strike that cord for balance, to rope back our principles, to be a hero to the hero. the weapons of mass destruction are umpteen and ubiquitous in every state, every country, but why do we have to resort to violence. peace, is nothing but a flowery word these days, its true meaning has been cast into the deepest of azure waters ages ago. elves, dwarves, hobbits could unite together. whites, blacks, yellows, different races, one kind, mankind. and we rejoice in the spectacle of blood gushes of others? does your blood stream pump in anxiety when blood oozes under your weapon, or has the heart ceased to register emotions, the day the beast handled you, the weapon?

*anyways, disappointment and reflection aside, i am gonna collect my long awaited pressie! cheers world!
think twice if you gonna pop by KFC's.

the lady from a distant land. she stepped into my life, fed me, did my laundry, did the chores.
maids.
they come, they go, leaving memories.
awed. by their sheer bravery, sheer strength, sheer determination.
but these ladies taught me how the society is built upon. lies.
i always thought these ladies were alittle more naive, alittle less streetsmart.
i always thought otherwise when tongues start wagging about their indecent deeds, their alter egos.
eyes shut, ears cupped, mouth muffled.
rumour mongers. i steer clear from them.
till.
i heard news from my gramps. about this new lady she had. i saw her. we exchanged quite alot of conversations. and it saddens me to hear the bitter truths bout her deeds. its the kind of truth you wished you never found out. i wished to see her clothed in white, but the winds gently blew, and the devilish red coat hinted of her alter ego. humans, you, me, him, her, he, she, are such intricate creatures, we wrap ourselves in layers after layers of truth, lies, desires, fantasies, dreams, nightmares. watching how the wind reveals our inner most, hurts and pains me so much.

sometimes, we are so much more attractive, in nude.

if we had a keen vision and feelin of ordinary human life,
it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat,
and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.

thanks all for the pressies, sms-es, e-cards (*duh), physical cards, amazon.com gifts
2 days more to my awesome possem pressie! *exclaims in esctasy
anyways, i guess i am required to come out with a decent birthday blog.
and thats kinda thorny for me. alittle tacky. something outside my league. i will try though.

22 years. are the digits a signifier for all that has passed? lessons learnt. tears shed. wounds inflicted. cries of joy.
i seek to find my social age. i fear a social death. a morbid death is but nothing.
i was branded the second i stepped into this realm.
"your girl's 878, baby ward 7C"
i was branded 2 days later
"name: daphne liang wei-ling
father's name: blah-blah-blah
mother's name: yadda yadda yadda
identification number: 81XXXXXXXX"
i was branded in play school
"that quiet gal that sees spirits!"
i was branded in UK
"that asian little gal staying with the Pauls"
i was branded in high school
"thats your student i.d, dont ever forget it! no one remember names these days, much less faces!"
codes. brandings. identification numbers. alphabets. bar codes. the signfied.
semiotics.
branding surpasses your name. your body. your physical being.
your name is more important than your body. your body is necessary, but your name is more important than your body. your name is important because it exists in the world of names. our names or reputations create and are created by a very strong set of social assumptions and stereotypes. bodies are the same, names distinguish us from one another. beyond my naive psychology lies my basic point: post facto reality is defined by social structures and belief systems. This is not to say that one does not have a personal reality, a body, or an identity. It is to say that our everyday selves shape and are shaped by social, economic, and political structures. i seek my social age. social age equates to the number of carpe diems i had. and i reckon i am still, nothing but a weaning baby, in my social age.

many people had a contribution to my social age. some added a positive digit. others a negative digit.
be it good, be it bad, i still appreciate.
some made me learn to cushion my falls, others taught me to laugh.
alittle yells, alittle cries, alittle sobs, alittle hugs, alittle smooches, alittle tiffs, alittle smiles,
amounted to something incredibly huge,
and its still growing within me.
thanks all.
seriously, life would really have been a literally 4 letter word if i had threaded the path without many of you folks.
*peace.

a paper. the fragility of the paper. the unlimitations of the paper.
doesnt life seems like a piece of paper. didnt we start out all pure, white, unmarred, untainted.
a few drips of ink, some splashes of rain, a blob of coffee, we stained.
a few crumbles, alittle doddles, some creases, we toss ourselves into the trashcans.
but its only human to stain alittle. paper turns yellow naturally. you marred when you claim you are pure.
cos you fell short of humility.
a few of my mates wanted to get to the chairlift, just for a weekend getaway on friday. but one of them was called up for work suddenly, so we had to have a change of plans. boy, was i that close to a freak accident. its truly, things like these that remind one, how fragile life is. how precious each breath is. how we should treasure and be thankful for what we have, what we do and what we have done. i started this year and ended last year with such sombre thoughts, i am amazed somedays, cos i used to live life alittle carelessly, i allow time to trickle pass me. but one can really do nothing if tragedy is striking. war's ringing, cyclone's spinning, but we are still breathing, walking, living. the change doesnt manifest physically, it touches your heart, it chastens you, it pulls you away from some, it pushes you to some. the some are the treasures closest to your heart.
my prayers goes out to all the injured in the Arthur's Chairlift, Victoria, Australia.
*peace

fire inside my shoes. this fire wouldnt die. from venice to the pacific isles. blood clot in my head. this clot wouldnt clear. dreams and wants imbedded deep within. xrays and cat scans show nothing. but i know the doc is wrong. cos i feel something. brewing. newspapers. i read from the sports to leisure and to end it all with morbid news of our world out there, no lack of ghastly details. i dont read news of my birth country. i dont read news of where my family is right now. i dont hear news from anyone there. cos i cup my ears. i shut my eyes. i might be fooling myself, but i have memories of those places, and let i, find out for myself the changes, the good, the worst. share with me your mind, your thoughts. i am tired of the daily dives into the whirlpool, where speech is circling around the known, the proven, the concrete, the inane, the insipid, the vacuous. i seek but hear nothing from the heart, from the mind. i force myself, pass throngs of people, whimpering and striving hard, to pick up thoughts, to pickup the voice from within, but all i hear are voices, echoing what we were taught, what we were forced to watch, what was termed as 'good talk'. class, allow me to announce that class is finally over, and renounce the teachings dead, the learning curve should be ever growing, the freedom of speech is there for a reason, and that brain of yours, i believe should be limitless.

human speech can at times be tormenting. maybe lies are good camouflages. maybe truth never beats denial. maybe the proven is the safer path. the wee hours of the morning, the rustling of the leaves, the gentle sonnets of the flies. all my life, i have listened. not always to a human voice. i hear the dead speak. i hear the lies uncovering themselves, i hear the yawns of the grass, i hear the songs of the night breeze. all when most were asleep. appalling, how many make sense when inebriated. pity, how alcohol liberates the spirit within. disgusting, how fear grapples the heart and locks the true thoughts, if any. tormenting, how upbringing encumbers the you within.

i used to have a love-hate relationship with big chain stores. love them for their prices, sometimes. love them for the freedom, at times. a borders bookstore is opening down my street. i have this odd feel everytime i track pass. a feelin' of lost. i feel for the book owners of Reading's, of Andrew's. alittle challenged. alittle disgusted. i stand aghast. it almost feels like someone has invited himself into my life,without the mere courtesy of asking. it feels like the enemy is just behind the lines. i didnt had such a stronghold when starbucks opened. maybe i havent really fancied starbucks for a start. but the enemy has infiltrated into my borders, yea, my territory. all i can do is stare at the workmen at work in there. i dont feel alone , every glance, every sweep of the eye, of an aged lady, of a young bloke, of the florist's, tells of disapproval. commercialisation. mechanisation. realisation often comes two seconds later. too late.

the forces are closing in. the very fear is near. memories have some how moved ino the real, again. bulldozers, authorities, dictatorship, freedom of speech, the rich, powerful, almighty, they call themselves. the high, the tall, the many, the aplenty, rising from the barren grounds. the history, the life stories, the blood, the sweat, never gone anew. the families, the ties, the relationships, hanging on a string. the rich, famous, with scissors standing by. maybe i shouldnt be in architecture afterall. maybe i should pack my bags and throw in my pens. my passion's in question. i detest watching buildings being teared down. i resent the ballon of dust when the bulldozer moves in. i abhor the actions of many developers. i have a relationship with the barren ground. the yellow soil. i dont see why pampered students have to live a stone's throw from uni. i dont see why the insatiable needs and desires of the rich should be appeased. i cant bear to watch life stories, tumble and crumble, with a mechanical device. no new can totally replace this old. (plans are being approved for a new 70million student accomodation, and extension of the place i am currently putting up at. why this deep sentiments? cos to appease the insatiable wants of the rich, the pampered, and the demandings, history has to be pulled down. clean white sleek walls, that soar high will take its place. once again, like an autocratic, blinding many, robbing many, of the great views, of their birth place, of their blood, of their sweat. a new year but no new you, the same old selfish yous.)

*love, peace, hope
crumbled (not milque)toast

didnt blog consistently for the past few days
but thoughts were stored in my little black book
and now officially publish online

a gloomy murky haze closes in on my periphery. vehicles zoom pass my apartment, drivers dressed in confidence. pedestrians thronged passed me in the cafe. there i was, sipping tea, and reading. under my messed up hair, was a cloudy brain. i was in shanghai, with kashio ishiguro when a lady dropped a huge bag of potatoes, the moment stilled. heads turned. conversations stalled. a laughter. a gentle bending of limbs, a careless brush of the arm, within 3 movements, the film continues rolling.

one night, a glass of red wine next to me. i collapsed on the couch. one book, five pages turned, i smelled cigarette smoke walting in from my window. door slams, muffled voices. i take my wine with me, i dont know why, dont know where. next morning, i woke up on the usual side of my bed. greeted by a gloomy sky once again. the clouds are like shutters. winds are like upset wives. unsure damsels. shutters open. shutters closed. a ray of light belts down, count to ten, and the gloom sets in again. this has been the weather report. the sun only show its face after 5ive. jives.

i carefully positioned my limbs, one after another. no. i am not trodding the streets today. i am not plodding along the way. i am strolling down. just parted ways with a friend, a brolly on a hand, my possesions on the other. the winds picked up the streets' litter, whirling sky high, a dirty plastic bag gets sweeped up and like a mean mother, slaps across a boy's face. laughters, grins, pokings of fun. i laughed and gently passed a remark. two seconds later, i am back strolling. brolly on hand, possesions on the other.

countdowns. resentments. three in one. the last week of december and the first week of the new year always seems too rubbery to me. stretch. expand. moments frozen in time. celebrations of the earthly kinds, christmas, new years' and birthdays. hands felt like someone has oiled them, alittle greasy, too smooth for comfort. words are slurred. speeched is cumbered. by the very fragment that should offer freedom. do you like celebrations all rolled in one. or do you like them all well displaced in your life. do you even have a hold and say. the moth flew off. and it brought with it what i wanted to say next. speechless.

the foggy, mist filled skies had a strong hold on my desires. my body seemed ailing and wailing for a slumber on the couch. it seems like the winds took with them alittle of my energy each time they sweep past me. and after a few gushes, i lay motionless. i slouched. my backbone crumbled. i was about to mumble to Christ, to open the skies again, till i heard a gentle whisper. footsteps crippled slowly, the dragging of boots over dry yellow sand, an old man, in crumpled workwear, a face with lifestories engraved allover, a husky voice, yellow stained teeth, whispering, hope the rain falls for a few more days, its not as bleak,finally. the image and the words, chastened my spirit and heart, i changed my prayer. i find it disturbing, how the winds, while forcing me to slumber on the comforts of my home, brings tales from afar, from dry lands, from chilly lands. maybe slouchy days are good. sitting still with a red wine at hand, is pure bliss at times.

good things in life. do they come in small packages. finer things in life. do they come in shakers. coarser things in life, do they come in sackbags. maybe they do. for many, good things are wrapped in invisible wrap. finer things are wrapped in luminous wrap. coarser things are wrapped in the usual, sackbags. we often do not see the good things in life, which are aplenty, we desire too much of the finer things, we wrap them carefully in luminous wraps, we fail to appreciate many going ons around us, we focus our attention, in disgustingly amounts, on the finer things. we complain, yell, scream at the sackbags, cos they look bad, reflect bad, and give off a strong odour. yet we dont pick the sackbag out and toss them out, we merely exercise our mouths, incessant complains once again, and after it all, i see many standing, next to piling sackbags.

alittle topsy turvy. over the top. cant doze into slumberland.
prior to this blog was a hatred filled blog
which i decided to delete
and i hope no one managed to catch that neurotic prose
anyway since i cant get to bed
might as well do this new year's chore
i decided to get it published online, for all you goofs out there.

I am: not who you see i am (your perceptions' ailing)
I believe: Christ, hope,dreams
I think: 24seven365
I want: peace. seriously.
I wish: for everyone's wishes to come true. yea, even the people i dislike. when wishes come true will you dare to dream and make more wishes.
I hate: to know that i am on your invisible list, DELETE ME! and send me a msg for me to return the favour. arsehole.
I miss: the candid grins of the kashmirians
I fear: wasting time, pondering n entrtaining thoughts that are futile, not livin' every second to the fullest
I hear: the dead speak, everyday.
I smell: freshly brewed coffee.
I crave: the sun (real time)
I search: too hard at times when no logical answers are present
I regret: cutting my last conversation with Andi
I love: whoeva's reading this!
I long: to see my grandkids.
I always: take too much caffeine
I dance: in the shower
I sing: like a crow
I cry: over spilled soya milk
I can`t stand: echos
I lose: my cool talkin to bigots
I like: a hell lot of people, things, books
I listen: whenever i am not yanking
I can usually be found: crappin'
I need: to have less wants
I am happy that: the world's still spinnin' when my eyes open each morning
I should: be more tactless to dumb arses who speak their minds out ... who make social gaffes..
I hope: this is entertaining enough!
I obsess: with my dreams of being that great samaritan, glowing with halos
I am not always: what people percieve me to be.

i used to think that my yearly affair with this survey is totallly a waste of time
i reckon it to be me, flirting hopelessly with flowery words
till i recieved a stack of past years surveys
enlightenment sinks in and you realise that you did changed
sometimes in values, in execution of the language
at times in the things i fancy, the things i take for granted
lets be alittle fair here, you read mine, i should get to read urs
awaiting all u chummies' emails ... especially trev's ... never fails to tickle my fuuny bone!
oiiii .. everyone listen up!
know whats trevor's new year resolution?
" to have more sex and bugger the blisters!"
( i told u i was gonna blog this in BOLD .. since u tarnished my name in ur blog!!)

peaceful new year trev n folks!

2003 must be a year
where i ushered in the new days
with a heavy laden heart
the aftermath of the raving and roving
the aftermath of booze, party and for many, weed
is a heart weighed down by fears,anxiety, desires for the betta
moments of clubbing
moments of drowning in spirits have ended
we welcomed the year
the clock's still ticking as usual
the calendar jumped a figure
fireworks soared the skies
and painted a picture of colours of every kind
but men have been unkind
i am provoked by the masses in
Korea, strikes are ongoing for the gals killed by US troops
Kashmir, violence havent ceased but has been building
Bali, prayers for peace after the mass murder
Philippines, grenade attack during NYE's celebrations
while we were raving, many others were weeping
while we were dancing, many others were sobbing
the white, the black, the positive, the negative
the plus, the minus sign
life's just alittle unkind at times
leaving some hopeless, some in limbo, some in vertigo
in 2003, promise me, that you would be kind.
if you would only grant me one wish
be kind. in deeds, speech, and to all mankind.


i stood in the shower just now
my appreciation of my luxury
appreciated
have you ever showered using a pail and scoop
have you ever showered with your limbs locked
in anxiety that you may have to run the next minute
have you ever showered with murky river water
have you ever showered and drank from the same water source
have you ever showered without warm water in a frigid condition
have you ever counted your blessings for having a decent shower
how will you react if sirens loomed the air while you were showering
alittle nebulous for many
cos this just arent what we are used to
but to many others, having a 5 minutes quickie in the shower
is haven on earth
so be thankful. for the small things.
i am sick of the incessant complains and insatiable whims and wants of some.

*i m on elated! i am going to the australian open '03! managed to get a ground pass and a quarters tix!
*awaiting for my big pressie due to arrive 8jan03! euphoric!