I have a cup of water residing on a table in the living room as I type these words. It contains a size four Vandoren Tenor Saxophone reed. It is a new reed -unblemished, untouched by cruel lips nor smouldered in fires before. And there it sits, nestled in a glass cup of water, ripples slowly ebbing and gently carressing the fibres of the wood.

A cup of water was the only thing that told four poor humans in a trailer that a certain T-rex had recieved his invitation to dinner. And you've gotta love premonitions. And calculated risks. You see, a change of reed is a calculated risk. Especially after Band Camp. A reed, if I am correct, takes about a few hours of rigourous usage to be seasoned perfectly, and to be able to produce the best quality tone from the instrument. Personally i judge the seasoned-ness of a reed by its ability to produce a pianissimo tone at first asking. But that's a story for another age.

I am taking a calculated risk, in hoping for the reed to get seasoned enough in these seven or more hours before concert. It raises a tiny thrill inside to not know the quality of the reed till it is too late to change and too late to hope. Putting all your eggs in one basket, the ancients call it.


Thus even as the reed soaks further into the water, and the layers beneath peel and disintergrate, evaporating into nothingness as the fibres slowly melt and mesh together smoothly it looks peaceful, and tranquil outside. The water barely ripples. And that's how it is with my life.

The water barely ripples. A premonition. We do not notice it till dinnertime.

This world is not my home I'm just a passing through my treasures are laid up somewhere beyond the blue the angels beckon me from Heaven's open door and I can't feel at home in this world anymore O Lord you know I have no friend like you if Heaven's not my home then Lord what will I do?the angels beckon me from Heaven's open door and I can't feel at home in this world anymore They're all expecting me and that's one thing I know my savior pardoned me and now I onward go I know He'll take me through though I am weak and poor and I can't feel at home in this world anymore...

"You said that irony was the shackles of youth. "

I am feeling rather heavy laden right now, as I tend to do, the night before I go to Band Camp, as well as during the nights in Camp, mainly because I don't really get much sleep, and when you don't get much sleep, you tend to think. And your thinking is oft heart shaped. And rose tinted.

It's times like these where you wish you had someone, that special someone to send a message to, and your phone would whirr in jubilation a mere two minutes later, or to give a call to and hear a familar voice, shaking off the first moments of sleep and perking up at the sound of yours. It's times like these where you know that you're not alone, that someone across the country's thinking about you the same way you're thinking about her. Your face is lit up by the warm glow of companionship, and the world spins on, but at a pace which neither bogs you down or makes you afraid.

I'm a retard for stayingup late at night in a cold year four classroom wondering if my phone might whirr for the love of all things good, pondering and pining while the rest of humanity sleeps on unperturbed by these feelings of youth, passion and things hoped for but things never attainable.

Have you ever watched a certain episode of Mr. Bean, where it's New Year's Eve and Mr Bean lies in his bed, having gently and lovingly put Teddy to bed in his snug drawer, feeling himself loved, snug and warm under the covers as he had just celebrated a New Beginning with friends, a couple of men, whom he considered, even if they had not, to be companions. Mr Bean closes his tired eyes, a warm smile creeps across his face, but is soon enough erased with the shout of "Happy New Year!" reaching his ears, stinging like a bullet. Didn't he? Wait..Didn't they just.. Wasn't it just..?Why did..?


He's not angry, he's not sad. You can't be angry at losing what you didn't have, nor can be disappointed by someone that never was . He's just thinking, and wondering. A heart shaped thought, rose tinted thought. And I'll bet, that even after the laughter track fades, and the credits roll, even after the screen blackens and he is no more, the man still thinks, and wonders.

And I doubt he'd get much sleep too. I think so much because I know so little, and you won't tell me otherwise.

Brother Liow showed me a once forgotten link, and I treasure that link. It helps me understand stuff.

I salute thee, Grandmaster. Really I do.



"And you know I'm a dreamer, but my heart's of gold?"

Delivered at 12:01 AM;

When the day is long and the night, the night is yours alone,
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on
Don't let yourself go, 'cause everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes

Sometimes everything is wrong.
Now it's time to sing along
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on

'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand.
Oh, no. Don't throw your hand
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone

If you're on your own in this life, the days and nights are long,
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang on

Well, everybody hurts sometimes,
Everybody cries.
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes.

So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on
Everybody hurts.
You are not alone

- cher; Are There Lilac Trees in the Heart of Town?* says:

" Bukahrin <33"

"Bukharin 1) good orator 2)nice sexay bald patch 3)is angmoh 4)wrote a loving testimonial to his wife and kids 5) admitted because he wanted to preserve his wife and kids 5) is brilliant 6) a "golden boy" of the Bolsheviks 7) one of the youngest members 8)had a good (and handsome) head on his shoulders 9)rather clean-cut, responsible, can bring home to mummy 10) his balls are all still intact "




shiver me timbers... cheryl sim raises the standard of prospective suitors.

In a sudden revelation:

Nobody, ever should write at 7.55 on a dreary monday evening, rain outside and you freezing inside a lonely library with only former trees, the odd couple, a random hot chick and an even more random old man for company. And you think you'd get used to it after a while. That's when the hot chick leaves and the old man coughs loudly. But bahhumbug, I was angsty oskays, hence that gall flavoured previous post.

But, as mentioned, in a sudden revelation, I realize that my angst was unwarranted. Unwarranted, because if it's warranted, then it deserves attention and address, which I want neither of. Aiyah this may seem of the cryptic, but it's very simple. Can be exprained via math, which I suck at. NO. Which I used to suck at.

Add the following:

Dreary monday evening
Rain
Igloo Temperature
Disappearance of Heating Element(nah not really)
Sudden pangs of abject lonliness/sim tia

And Subtract:

Rationa lthinking and appreciation of the people you have around you and how much they mean to you


= Unwarranted sacarstic limerickz :(

That makes sense right. If not then drop to math studies lor..

But yeah, take whatcha read with a pinch of salt k? Tis not good, to be overtly emo. Sigh. I apologize

Delivered at 9:54 PM;

hahahahahahaha wow omgeez omgeeezz..hic! Good one, good one. GOOD ONE

Such cruel deception, Such a device
Such kind words, oh wait were you just trying to be nice?
Akin to a dream, too good to be true,
It's hilarious, that I thought I meant something to you.


I really should stop channelling moments of abstract bitterness and disappointment into limericks. The form is fun, but the substance, well, stings. Nah it's not anger, bitterness or disappointment actually. You can only feel bitter about something that's lost. Rather it's just the simple, solitary feeling of watching your castles in the air being washed away by the sudden, gushing, roaring waves of a flushed toilet.

No biggie.

Delivered at 7:51 PM;

Today there was a guy, behind a glass panel at Pasta Mania who stopped placing ham on a pizza, came to the counter and inquired, "Hey remember me?".

Naddah. So I said, hey yeah you look familar, dragging it while doing major thought processing so it came out like haaaayyyyyy...yeeahhhhh yooooou...look..familaaaar. with a look that crosses constipation with intense concentration.

"Desmond, from JS?", he offered.

I remember Desmond. He was never in my class, but we used to do weird things together in primary two and three, like collect army styled erasers. But then again, who didn't collect army styled erasers? The warship was pure gold. Desmond was a good kid, he was always laughing, although he didn't channel as much energy into education as he did with rubber appreciation. And yes, we used to call erasers rubber. A perfect example of ignorant knowledge.

Desmond, circa 2006 wasn't always laughing. First of all, he looked 25 in the black uniform of the establishment. Maybe it was his gold-cropped hair and earrings. He told me, clutching strips of ham that he went to Monk's Hill Secondary after leaving JS, and eventually Republic Polytechnic and well was working as a pizza artist to make ends meet.

And it hits me that Desmond, JS alumnus is doing more for himself, society and Italian food in general than any one of us slogging in the name of education. Success is subjective, and in the long run graduates from the International Baccelaurate program may have fatter wallets or bigger houses,

But at least now, Desmond the pizza artist is being a man, working for his keep, doing something with his life, gold hair and earrings in tow. And suddenly I can't say that I've been there, done that, or am world weary because I haven't been anywhere and done anything worthy to be standing on the other side of the glass panel, slamming salami onto circular dough with the intensity of a seven percent GST hike.

gary moore - still got the blues



I love this song.

I'm updating like the plague. Ah well.


Hey, someone placed a "The Believer's Promise Book" in my room I notice. On the second page it declares : "Your relationship with God through Jesus is very close and very special. This book will help you sense it more deeply, for it brings together His promises, helping you grasp your very personal relationship with God; God's promises for your times of need, and special prayers and God's answers."


No harm trying then. It sucks that as I become more aware of society it's hard to just accept things as truth, and more importantly infallible and constant truth. And personally, especially this year everything that I held on to, or thought was given and constant, or wished to hold on to has been tugged from under my feet.


So it's hard, for me, to just believe again. To just 'wait and see God's plan.' To put it simply, waiting hasn't done me an incredible amount of good in recent times. So it's hard. But I'm learning to walk again.


So I opened the booklet, and the first three verses I see are :


"Surely the arm of the Lord is not too short to save, nor his eye too dull to hear."- Isaiah 59:1

"I am the Lord your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear ; I will help you." - Isaiah 41:13

and "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, our ears will hear a voice behind you saying, "This is the way, walk in it." - Isaiah 30:21.



I sincerely want to believe that. Sincerely.

Delivered at 9:55 PM;

I can't seem to put a finger on what's troubling and gnawing at me , so i'm going out for a run now. Then maybe I'll try to pray.

Delivered at 7:42 PM;

I think my life has meaning. I'm not terribly certain of it, but sometimes when the wind starts to howl and all's chilly within, you do hope that your life has some vestige of meaning. I'd die happy to know that something I've done, something I've said or some random spark of my personality has given someone's day that an ounce of meaning. I want to die happy anyway. A huge grin plastered all over my face as Europe's Final Countdown loops in unadulterated pomp and fanfare. Ah yes. bliss.


I've come to the conclusion that Mathematics is the metaphor for Singaporean Society . To succeed in it, you have to be disciplined, rigid and willing to slog for hours on end for positive resutlts. More importantly, you have to be able to accept rote and formula as doctrine and not ask any questions, because the 'why' aspects are often beyond you and your feeble mind which of course is feeble having been ingrained into the rules of the system And when you finally get the plot, when you finally get the good results, the tangible, material benefits, the only way left to go is up, because you have mastered the way to lead your existence, to prepare for future diversifications and now you have found true meaning in mathematics because you know how to do it. If you haven't you'll just remain in Math Studies purgatory. No standard. No higher, no bungalows in Bukit Timah, just doomed to go round and round in blue collar circles for the rest of your life. To succeed you have to leave your mind and heart and the door, enter and accept all that you're given as truth and fact, slogging till you bleed and working toward an unattainable utopia and finally forgetting that you've ever possessed a mind or a heart. Wow, that's worth 7 points man.



I saw a "Singa the Lion" T-shirt on sale in the library today and I'm gonna buy it, so I can smile for all I'm worth. I attempted being different today, holding the lift open (while smiling okay) for two middle aged men who could have wasted 10 seconds of their life waiting for the next in one instance, and for a yuppie couple in another. And apparently there's a new way of saying 'Thank you' in society nowadays. It's inaudible, and you have to flex your facial muscles a bit. Ok try looking at your facial expressions in the mirror as you take an incredible and angry shit. That's the new way to say "thank you for holding the lift for me stranger" in Singaporean. And while we're on the topic, think you're Adolf Hitler,just for a moment, and that the person standing between you and the mrt train door, the person who is talking a tad too loud in the cinema, or just a man on the street blocking your way from leading a fufilling existence is a godforsaken and cancerous Jew. Rub your mustache, channel all the vile spirits of the Volk and in a moment of wild, contorted abandon shout, for all your one testicle is worth some incoherent german speak.

If done right, it should come out as an "excuse me", in Singaporean.




In other news, conversations and thought has made me realize the lubdub,lubdub thing inside my chest is sustained by fine threads of bandage, plaster and cotton wool. It beats gingerly, not too hard for fear of bursting the material barely holding it together, and not too soft for fear of it just ceasing to beat. I have picked it up writhing and spurting on the floor too many times, placing it in some plastic bag temporarily and sewing it together too often that I don't know if it's the same lubdub, lubdub thing as before.


Tis not a good feeling. I think one more, yes just one more aneurysm, one more heartache, and somebody jolly well get a certain Europe track ready, for play on endless repeat. Oh yeah. When you're digging my grave, could you make it shallow, so that I can feel the rain?

Thanks.

kaneeeeemo out.

I B. Therefore I am.

Muacks.

Delivered at 12:53 AM;

No, I don't think it's pertinent to rehash old issues, give insightful political commentary or lambast every facet of society for the sake that this is a blog, a Singaporean blog, and hence has a duty to do the above whenever something moves from the Straits Times to the internet.

No. I'm posting this because a dear friend found the entire transcript of this young lady's prose on the internet and knowing my stand on Singaporean society kindly passed it to me. I'm placing this here also because I just found out that the young lady's father is my MP. And I feel indebted to some higher species or being from a parallel universe/other planet/future generations/america to use the following as how one would use a time capsule of past generations, for the examination and understanding of the Singapore Zeigiest, circa 2006.
Let 'er rip.




"Thursday, October 19, 2006

mom's friend sent her some blog post by some bleeding stupid 40-year old singaporean called derek wee (WHY do all the idiots have my surname why?!) whining about how singapore is such an insecure place, how old ppl (ie, 40 and above) fear for their jobs, how the pool of foreign "talent" (dismissively chucked between inverted commas) is really a tsunami that will consume us all (no actually he didn't say that, he probably said Fouren Talern Bery Bad.), how the reason why no one wants kids is that they're a liability in this world of fragile ricebowls, how the government really needs to save us from inevitable doom but they aren't because they are stick-shoved-up-ass elites who have no idea how the world works, yadayadayadayada.

i am inclined - too much, perhaps - to dismiss such people as crackpots. stupid crackpots. the sadder class. too often singaporeans - both the neighborhood poor and the red-taloned socialites - kid themselves into believing that our society, like most others, is compartmentalized by breeding. ridiculous. we are a tyranny of the capable and the clever, and the only other class is the complement.

sad derek attracted more than 50 comments praising him for his poignant views, joining him in a chorus of complaints that climax at the accusation of lack of press freedom because his all-too-true views had been rejected by the straits times forum. while i tend to gripe about how we only have one functioning newspaper too, i think the main reason for its lack of publication was that his incensed diatribe was written in pathetic little scraps that passed off as sentences, with poor spelling and no grammar.

derek, derek, derek darling, how can you expect to have an iron ricebowl or a solid future if you cannot spell?

if you're not good enough, life will kick you in the balls. that's just how things go. there's no point in lambasting the government for making our society one that is, i quote, "far too survival of fittest". it's the same everywhere. yes discrimination exists, and it is sad, but most of the time if people would prefer hiring other people over you, it's because they're better. it's so sad when people like old derek lament the kind of world that singapore will be if we make it so uncertain. go be friggin communist, if uncertainty of success offends you so much - you will certainly be poor and miserable. unless you are an arm-twisting commie bully, which, given your whiny middle-class undereducated penchant, i doubt.

then again, it's easy for me to say. my future isn't certain but i guess right now it's a lot brighter than most people's. derek will read this and brand me as an 18-year old elite, one of the sinners who will inherit the country and run his stock to the gutter. go ahead. the world is about winners and losers. it's only sad when people who could be winners are marginalised and oppressed. is dear derek starving? has dear derek been denied an education? has dear derek been forced into child prostitution? has dear derek had his clan massacred by the government?

i should think not. dear derek is one of many wretched, undermotivated, overassuming leeches in our country, and in this world. one of those who would prefer to be unemployed and wax lyrical about how his myriad talents are being abandoned for the foreigner's, instead of earning a decent, stable living as a sales assistant. it's not even about being a road sweeper. these !!^#bags don't want anything without "manager" and a name card.


please, get out of my elite uncaring face."







Majulah Singapura. Goodnight.

The young ones, darling we're the young ones
And the young ones shouldn't be afraid
To live, love, while the flame has sprung
Cause we may not be the young ones very long

Tomorrow, why wait until tomorrow
Cause tomorrow sometimes never comes
So love me, there's song to be sung
And the best time is to sing it while we're young

Once in every live time, comes a love like this
Oh I need you, you need me
Oh my darling can't you see

Young dreams should be dreamed together
And young hearts shouldn't be afraid
And some day when the years have flown
Darling then we'll teach the young ones of our own

Although the Singaporean education system is praiseworthy in many ways, critics have noted that 9 out of 10 Singaporean students fail to notice any change when a Tyrannosaurus is introduced at a school assembly.

hahahahhaha

From the Singapore Uncyclopedia on wiki. gawd.

"To Bid You Farewell" - Opeth
Morningrise (1996)

I am awaiting the sunrise. Gazing modestly through the coldest morning. Once it came you lied, embracing us over autumn's proud treetops. I stand motionless, in a parade of falling rain. Your voice I cannot hear, as I am falling again. Devotion eludes and in sadness I lumber. In my own ashes I am standing without a soul.

She wept and whispered: "I know..."

We walked into the night. Am I to bid you farewell? Why can't you see that I try, when every tear I shed, is for you?

"And he would take a roadside attraction, no matter how cheap, how crooked, or how sad, over a shopping mall, any day."

Delivered at 5:42 PM;

Bad English - When I See You Smile



Sigh, youtube madness again. But, oh how can you resist Bad Engrish?!



This song's for you anyway. yeah you.

Every rose has its thorn

Just like every night has its dawn

Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song

Every rose has its thorn

Yeah it does

Greatest Hits




C'est Magnifique!

Delivered at 1:59 AM;

Name:Slumber Born:16th August


Him.K.anglo-chinese.music for the passionate.marvel.gunners. Orange.debate. long bus rides armed with an eye and a pod.74. philosophizing.dystopia. coffee.Rove.Health.Famary. Buddies. writing.1984. expression.Italian food. journeys.teh-peng. stream of consciousness. witty play on words.musing. accents.the heartrands.performing. being a closet connossieur. a point of view.vigorous interaction with spherical objects. irony&pathos.yum. JS.spirit.a girl that would smile


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