A trend I've noticed recently is that my friends are blogging about how they hate blogging.

Now, a more accurate description of "bloggers' block" would be not be that blogging has gotten old or one has nothing left to write about, but short-term memory loss. Throughout the day, we all experience things that upon seeing, we say to ourselves,"I gotta blog that," but our mind discards it five minutes later, like last week's cheese that's turned an interesting shade of green. When we get home, our mind is blank as my term 4 art project canvas.

I also think that some people (the ones I know at least) are missing the entire point of blogging. Web-based diaries are exactly that, diaries that are on the world wide web. Rather than recording the day's activities, I believe that reflecting on the thoughts that went through one's head would be slightly closer to the mark. I've mentioned this before, just that now it's refined a bit.

Intellectual idiot, I like the sound of that.

Womad was great! Unfortunately, all but two of the friends who came with me left early because their eyes felt like they had weights on them, and they were complaining of strange unexplainable hallucinations despite not taking any sort of alcohol or poppy-related products. What sissies(jk). Phone battery died at the same time I needed it most too... bummer.

N, could you care to explain why and how the hell you happen to know half the people who walk past us at 2 in the morning, at an ulu little coffee shop in Joo Chiat? JOO CHIAT? Go easy on me next week too pls, I'm sensitive.

Dad, if you ever find a Chinese Nasi Padang stall, let me know, and we could set up our Indian Bak Chor Mee stall next to it, and make big bucks. Saying that aloud was hilarious, albeit embarassing for us.

Ode to Candid Cam

I may be naive,
I may not understand your plight.
You may be all broken inside,
But believe me, I don't want to fight.

I thought we were friends?
Help us up when fallen on our face?
But no, you misunderstand and misinterpret,
In this dog-eat-dog rat race.

Maybe you don't know it,
C.D., Tony and South.
We joke but don't mean it,
Just can't control our mouths.

You surely don't know one thing,
Someone's looking out for you.
He's closer than you imagine,
It's true, but I won't say who.

Loosen up a little buddy,
Maybe someone'll jump out and say 'Your'e on candid cam!'
Alright, the joke's on me,
How about that for an idea eh S_m?

1 - 0, to Kanoyt

It was a long and bitter struggle, but through sheer will and determination, Kanoyt prevailed in an epic battle against a hideous monster from the deepest reaches of the earth, where no man has ever trod.

It was a roach. Nasty bugger. Flied around too,

Like a mosquito.

Have you ever seen cartoons where a dopey, loveable character prepares to exterminate an annoying bug (who's always cheeky and sly) with a can of ACME spray, and proceeds to spray himself in the face? That's pretty much what happened here. Then I got flustered and emptied half the can (the right way round) onto the poor but deserving monster. It didnt last 3 seconds. It must've realised the futility of attempting to flee, because it just sat there as I approached it, rather than buzz around like it did when I noticed it's dark presence. Alot of it did get on the floor though.

I have gained from this experience. I walk away now, stronger and braver, with a slimy floor and a funny smell as mementos of my struggle.

Each morning, he gets up,
Heaves a great big sigh.
He works so hard,
But wonders if it's all a big fat lie.

He works so hard,
All the way to the bone.
His hard earned pay,
Eaten by those living in his home.

He's finding himself slowly,
Going back to those golden days.
Of games and running free,
Away from the smoke and haze.

So unappreciated by all,
It's good old dad week.
Mom, brother, say thank you,
'Cos without your love, he'll turn into a sad old freak.

To lengthen a string of rotten luck this week, I sprained my ankle during hockey training.

Idiot me still decided to play soccer during PE today, which resulted in a worse ankle and some blisters on the guard area I was wearing for good measure. And I have this huge patch of white where it was, because all the skin around it tanned by quite a few shades. I'd take a picture but my phone's still broken. Have to wait till the weekend to get it fixed, AND then I have to wait for it to be fixed, AND then I'll have to wait till the next weekend to pick it up. I'm gonna go crazy.

I'm going slightly mad,
I'm going slightly mad.

They are giggling at me.
The babies' faces on daffodils,
I run and play on four limbs.
Over and over the rolling hills,

I'm going slightly mad,
I'm going slightly mad.

The faces are trying to tell me something,
I realise that I'm missing a few screws.
I ain't really in the pink of health over here,
The extent of which I have no clue.

I'm going slightly mad,
I'm going slightly mad.

I'm one card short of a full deck,
I feel like I'm sick at sea.
My brain is melting outta my ear-holes,
I think I've become the banana tree.

I'm going slightly mad,
I'm going slightly mad.

Cold turkey

*twitch*

My phone is broken!!! Woke up last morning and it refused to switch on! It just died on me!

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and dismissed it as the natural waking period of sleep.

I heard the voices of men speaking to each other, from nowhere in particular. The voices seemed strangely familiar. Guessing they came from some neighbours, and they were the reason I woke from my slumber, I tried to return to the land of candy and bunnies.

Then a dull orange blob floated across my ceiling. It changed shape from birds to the face of Freddie Mercury.

I didn't scream, but attempted to sit up and investigate what the amorphous thing was. Failed that. It felt like there was some force pushing down onto my chest. Naturally, having read my share of ghost stories, I tried to scream there, but for some reason my mouth didn't listen to me. I can't remember anything else, except dire panic.

Scary stuff. Must be the ghosts from hell.

It's actually a medical anomaly called hypnogogia, where a person undergoes REM-like brain behaviour but takes in visual signals at the same time. Meaning, I was dreaming with my eyes open, and being asleep, my limbs wouldn't respond to commands. Well despite this scientific explanation, it's still gonna be a rough night tonight.

Runners' High

It's like when you run yourself dead, and then when you feel like you can't go on anymore you put in an insane burst of speed. You'll lose all feeling and it's wonderful. It happens when your muscles can't take any more lactic acid from respiration, and then your body releases it's natural drugs, similar to morphine. But you do get a sort of hangover, your legs after that will feel like jelly and you can't walk for a while. How fun.

First impressions count for much, but they are wrong occasionally. For example, a certain someone I met recently seemed like a nice and warm person, but turned out to be sly and wily, the form of a desperate housewife. In fact, the bloody witch casted a spell on me and now I am incapable of burping my alphabets I'm wary now.

And I'm wearing a tinfoil hat from now on too.

A boy tries hard to be a man.
His mother takes him by his hand.
If he stops to think why,
Oh why, Does he start to cry.

His dreams will never be fulfilled.
Rushing away like water spilled.
If he stops to think why,
Oh why, Does he start to cry.

He thinks that he's no special guy,
But he's only convincing himself of this lie.
Love flashes through his mind,
But in reality, he's gone blind.

Wake up kids we got the dreamers disease.
Age 15 they got us down on our knees.
Sound polite, we're too busy still sayin' please.
Friends, when you're down, stab you in your back.
Same damn thing, it's just a different day.
Phone stolen, we smash their Mercedes-Benz.
First we run; and then we laugh till we cry.
Then we find, they're tears not born of mirth.
But when the night is falling and you cannot find the light.
You feel your dreams are dying.
Hold on tight, it's gonna be a bumpy ride.