A Tan

My mum has very perplexing ways of amusing me.

I was bemoaning to her about the Essay and how I'm really too lazy to even start on it (the book I'm using for research is fucking like 326 pages of economic glory - even while I like reading about economic theories, 300 odd pages are just too much to stomach at one shot!) and she says, "You can asked your siao siao friend for some tips."

For those who aren't savvy with Singlish, a loose translation would be "your crazy friend".

Okay, so cue the big question marks. What crazy friend?!

"Ah you know, Clare's brother!"

WHAT THE F-?!?!

NO REALLY, MUM. SIAO SIAO FRIEND IS SO NOT THE TERM TO DESCRIBE HIM. HAHAHAHAHAAHAH. I AM AMUSED.

Anyway, uh, I'm slightly depressed because I threw away all my economics essays and notes from last year. Just when I needed them the most. Facefaults. Oh well. Let's see how well Mrs Ng's tuition is in allowing me to recall all the essays and topics I wrote.

Alan Shore said two nights ago (wow, I'm speaking as though I have nightly tete-a-tetes with him :x) and I paraphrase badly now, that words are his best friend, his weapon to use, something that he can use to his own effect and because of his word salad affliction, he feels utterly lost. It's like, he doesn't have the control over his most prized possession anymore.

I feel like that. I love words. But at the moment, I'm at a loss for words. I don't know how to use this... 'power' I have to comfort people or to break people down. I'm just. Speechless. Then again, I've never known how to use the spoken word - or words to interact with others, for that matter - to any effect at all.

So I keep quiet.

I am afraid of repercussions. I am afraid of penalties. I am afraid of silence from others, even though I keep silent myself.

... Anyway, what I'm trying to say here, in my completely un-Alan Shore way is that, when I ought to say some things and I don't - well, just remember that I do think about it. Just that I can't verbalize it.


WOE.

I am missing CSI and that other criminal investigation show to type this and to do the fsking HCI econs prelim MCQ.

But anyhoo. My Phillips 20inch LCD screen broke.

No, I'm serious. Now, actually the base broke a few months ago, but whatever was left still could support the hulking weight of the screen. HOWEVER, it chose today of all days (and the ironic topic I was talking with Rachel) to have the base completely disintegrate and leave my screen TOTALLY without support. It's currently, placed sidewards on my table. Sideways because of the awkward way the power supply is connected to the base which is no longer connected to the screen. A sad ending for my faithful, nearly 5 year old LCD screen. I suspect the old geezer is actually more than 5 years old (which is a millenium in tech-geek terms).

Honestly, I don't know why I'm doing prelim papers when I haven't revised my whole syllabus yet. D: BUT LET'S NOT DISGRESS FROM THE ATTEMPT AT HARD WORK.

We did Measure for Measure during PC today, with one of the scene's where Isabella was thinking about not giving up her virginity to save Claudio. OMFG LEONXCLARE. I mean, the whole brother-sister dynamics just made me turn around and give Clare a big smirk. HEH. HEH. HEH. I am not, I say, interested in Mr Kurtz anymore than... I am interested in paper mache.

OKAY IGNORE THE VERY INAPPROPRIATE ANALOGY/SIMILE/METAPHOR.

Speaking of Shakespeare... I miss doing Shakespeare. I am hardly a purist, but every literature student or simply an avid lover of books and literature needs to get some exposure to pure Shakespeare. Not that She's The Man shit stuff you get in mainstream theatre. Admittedly, the archaic language and the almost pendatic way of things in Shakespearean culture is a bore, a chore, a horrible pain in the neck to go through. THE BLASPHEMY! But even if you don't appreciate Shakespeare, the least you can do is respect him. Him, or that conspiracy of men and women behind him. I don't understand when people cannot feel the compelling nature of the rhythm of his language. Who cares if its trochaic or iambic pentameter or duplets or couplets, the fact is that it rolls so easily off your tongue. It's lyrical, it's natural, its pleasant trying to read it out and listen as your tongue lolls about the vowels and trips around the Ts and hard consonants. I don't know how he does it. The seemingly and near perfect composition of words. I cannot recreate it. And that's why I revel in the sheer ingenuity of it all.

I miss the online life I used to have. D:

I did something remotely insane today and abandoned what little sleep I attain in the afternoon in exchange for finishing Schlink's The Reader. Oh wow. I admit, it was a simple book - poetically simple - but I must bore you with my book reviews and how they all evoke some sort of feeling in me. However, in my opinion, a good book is something that can make you feel. I've read a number of books that didn't allow me to feel anything at all, be it intrigue, excitement, anger or just plain curiosity. Which is why I declare childrens' books to be a wonderful genre/specie of literature. More specifically when reading as a child, you need these sort of feelings and emotions to guide you through. One can plod through pages of unfeeling and stiff prose when you're old enough - but what keeps a child glued to the thin papery pages of a book is just that tense emotion he's feeling. I thrive on that intangible thing.

I disgress. The Reader is really a book worth reading. I don't know if you'd love it or hate it or just be indifferent towards it, but there's something about the straightforward narration, the sincere and reflective prose that just gets at you. This sort of thing makes me crazy enough to want to major in literature.

Something tells me that I should put on hold, all prelim paper work, until I finish revising the shit load of JC1 work which is officially eating my MCQ grades.

And this entry is very very disjointed,

I hope you all enjoyed this edition of PROZAC NATION.

Hallelujah praise the Lord. Economics revision in snap.

Remember this?. Here's the second part, without the PROHOBITIONS. HAHA.

Perfect Competition

Like fish they're so many of you in the sea,
It's unrestricted,
All the same,
I hate the way its like a farm-factory.

You're different, just nearly slightly.
Unbranded,
Unlabelled
Lost in the ocean of similar yet different

I take whatever you give me. Any price you set,
I give all.
Stupid, stoopid, stoopeed
I know.
But what can I do.

I know you all too well. At least
I'd like to think I do.
You know me all to well. At least
As much as you'd like to.

Yet, we're incompatible to take it
To that other level
To prosper
To reap
E. O. S (Eternal. One. Serenity.)
It's just eternally one's solitude for me.

I give you what you supply.
It's an upward sloping task.
I can't take it no more.

... Am I still needed?


THIS IS VERY VERY BAD POEM. AS YOU CAN SEE FROM MY BAD BAD GRAMMAR. But it's a quick, rather rubbishy revision for market structures. I need to think how I can maniuplate Oligopolies and Mono-Comp into random rants like this too.

I actually hate this piece. I love "Monopoly" so much more. It was more whimsical.

I might just be getting back into writing pseudo-poetry again. This means I'm sinking into another fit of pseudo-depression. Just in time for the end of exams too!

I have only one wish. I want to promote to J2. I want to keep the pact.

and i want that old fool to do well for his A levels.