Hey Children! Welcome to the humble abode of the not-so-humble people of 13A-land. We hope you have a good time here, and that you do not spew your coffee / milo / water all over the keyboard while viewing. Have fun!

Sunday, April 24, 2005

f-aith

Something cool: Handwriting Wizard. Hehe ok it's a bit like those astrology charts - you know, where it's vague enough for anything or anyone to fit in, yet it throws in those random bits of specific info. that kind of boggles you.

Anyway. It's interesting at any rate.

Ties! The bane of my life - I can't tie any.

That is the thing I do not really like about ar-jay. How you take a stupid walk in the canteen in a freaky-looking tie and people can say, oh, you're acting cool.

*


P.S. I was suddenly reminded by someone that the national library is slated to be torn down and - :(

Portrait of a Sentenced Library by Alfian Sa'at

So these bricks will be torn down
And books will still not have learnt
To spread their feathers and fly
Like pigeons from a shaken tree.

So this balustrade will be dismantled
Perhaps reassembled somewhere else -
A conch paperweight by my bed is a beach
Each hour from a postcard Big Ben chimes.

This is the logic of nostalgia -
This is what I mean when I say
That my memory is selfish.
Who can guarantee that roaming

Through a tunnel I will find again
The Children's section, where a boy walked
With 'The Little Prince' in his hands,
His smile the first line of a novel

Neither of us had read before?
One cymbal left in Chinatown.
Blueprints and forums and rhetoric ensure
That a firecracker makes no sound.

So the shattered glass of Van Kleef Aquarium
Still magnifies the eyelashes of students.
So the ragged screen of Capitol cinema
Still shudders as a Pontianak drips black blood.

Only in dreams. Under separate stars.
I had one last night; of sitting at S-11
With the usual bunch of affectionate liars,
Skinny artists, red-eyed dreamers,

When suddenly a book appeared in the sky
Like a carrier pigeon that had escaped
From the ruins of the library.
It landed, without a murmur,

On my shoulder. I opened that book,
Expecting a cry for help, a refugee's plea.
What I found instead was this poem
That did not know how to end. Only when.

Friday, April 08, 2005

faith - oy.

I would just like to announce. That when nash is looking as if he doesn't get what's going on. He actually does. And he can be veryvery SNEAKEH about it.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

brid - rmb your econs $ ah

HELLO EVERYONE. hoho are yall enjoying your weekend -_- anyway dont forget to bring $10.80 for econs tys TMR hor. TMR. im ordering TMR. so if you dont bring you can write your own tys HAHA. or you could jus buy it yourself. oh demmit. and if you give me $10.80 all in coins i will slap you then tie your bag of coins to you and throw you in the ri pond