Sunday, September 17, 2006
I Continue Writing A Diary despitethefollyofitall (4)
Well you know recently we've been heavily engrossed in discussing whether the polite ritual of leave-taking is actually polite or not, which makes you wonder why people actually bother to discuss why it's polite since they've already established that it's polite and thus proving the contradictory-ness and hypocrisy (which IS the correct spelling and Nat and Liz gotta eat their laughter) of human beings, which goes on to show that humans really have nothing better to do and are simply wasting time and resources as they breathe oxygen and guzzle junk food while pondering these superficially phsycologically-based questions.
Yeah. Well you know how recently we've been heavily engrossed in discussing whether the ... ritual of leave-taking is actually ... or whatever, yeah. Well I can confirm that whether or not leave-taking is polite, it certainly takes up a) a lot of time, b) a lot of courage, c) should be abolished and yes, d) can lead to death.
Once upon a time, a girl called... the Darkening Dawn for anonymity's sake, had an extremely tiring, brain-wracking, headache-brewing, goobraining, insidamashing, hullylumpyaslasdflsv of a day, and was happy just to get on to a bus where there was only one emtpy two-seater left, which the Darkening Dawn gratefully sank into. And there was another MG girl, who came along up the aisle and sank down on a seat opposite the Darkening Dawn's comfy two-seater, next to a Member of the Public. Well of course the Darkening Dawn knows that it really isn't very nice sitting next to a Member of the Public, which is why she chose a comfy two-seater in the first place and why the government can sometimes be so Concerned about a singaporean's Attitude. And so anyway, wishing to exhibit the Good-naturedness that an MG Girl is supposed to have, the Darkening Dawn invites the girl over to the other half of the comfy two-seater the Darkening Dawn was blissfully occupying.
It was fatal. The girl apparently thought that yet another ritual, that of Making Conversation, was exquisitely important in this case and made several attempts at it in the Adult Manner. Adult Manner = the way of making conversation for the sake of Making Conversation and involves bringing up extremely unimportant statistical facts about a person, eg. what school you're in (which obviously was quite irrelevant at this point in time, but this is normally what adults do, which you must notice if you have been a victim of Making Conversation enough times), what level you're in, what's your favourite subject, and after a moment's pause, what's your favourite CCA etc, etc, etc.
Well the Darkening Dawn's conversation went something like this:
Girl: Hi... *pause**then, in that awesomely gentle, delicately-coiffed way of contouring your voice in a questioning tone* You're in... Secondary...?
DD: 2.
Girl: *pause*Oh... I see... (there's absolutely nothing to see about it! unless you think that the Darkening Dawn is sec 3 or 4, at which she would be so profoundly insulted you'd find yourself back next to the Member of the Public again.* You were from MGS Primary?
DD: Yeah. You?
Girl: Yea...
DD: *fakely astonished voice* Really? Well that's quite interesting. I haven't seen you around before!
Girl: Actually I came to MG at... Primary Six.
=Break= Well FYI, THAT'S REALLY NOT COUNTED BECAUSE IF YOU ASK WHETHER YOU'RE FROM MG PRIMARY ONE YEAR ISN'T REALLY A VERY GOOD EXCUSE TO PROVE THAT YOU TOO ARE ONE, ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE TALKING TO ONE WHO HAS COME STRAIGHT FROM PRIMARY ONE!
DD: *maintains politely interested tone* Oh I see! *then turns to face the window in hopes of shaking off this persistent conversation-maker*
Girl: What's... your favourite subject?
DD: *lapses into normal voice, hoping to inspire more sincere talk* Well actually I don't have a favourite subject because Sciences I suck, Humanities got to memorize a whole lot of stuff and so I don't really like any of them.
Girl: Yeah...
*After which conversation falls into a very pregnant silence, with the Darkening Dawn wondering whether or not it was time to say "goodnight, I'm going to sleep" and - the Darkening Dawn thinks - the girl trying to think of a new topic to talk about or, if she had been a little smarter than she appeared, contemplating the wiseness of starting a new topic. Conversation remains like this until bus interchange, where the Darkening Dawn does a coup de grace and asks the Girl's name.*
- End -
YES so you see how it was extremely detrimental to the Darkening Dawn. In her bid to make the girl stop talking, after the first few sentences, not only did she waste a lot of time thinking about the issue, she also wasted a lot of brain power getting (i) insanely frustrated at the stupid ...ty conversation and even more importantly, (ii) enough courage to tell the Girl that excuse me, goodnight! because I'm going to bed now. And of course the girl would just have said, "Oh... okay, *polite laugh* and inside she'd be thinking "what a complete weirdo".
And I did mention that it'd been an extremely tiring day for the Darkening Dawn. The time spent SLEEPING on the bus was of paramount importance in recharging the Darkening Dawn for the next tiring day. Therefore, if she didn't get her SLEEP, and she didn't, goodness knows what she'd do next.
Like bleargh?!
Yeah. Well you know how recently we've been heavily engrossed in discussing whether the ... ritual of leave-taking is actually ... or whatever, yeah. Well I can confirm that whether or not leave-taking is polite, it certainly takes up a) a lot of time, b) a lot of courage, c) should be abolished and yes, d) can lead to death.
Once upon a time, a girl called... the Darkening Dawn for anonymity's sake, had an extremely tiring, brain-wracking, headache-brewing, goobraining, insidamashing, hullylumpyaslasdflsv of a day, and was happy just to get on to a bus where there was only one emtpy two-seater left, which the Darkening Dawn gratefully sank into. And there was another MG girl, who came along up the aisle and sank down on a seat opposite the Darkening Dawn's comfy two-seater, next to a Member of the Public. Well of course the Darkening Dawn knows that it really isn't very nice sitting next to a Member of the Public, which is why she chose a comfy two-seater in the first place and why the government can sometimes be so Concerned about a singaporean's Attitude. And so anyway, wishing to exhibit the Good-naturedness that an MG Girl is supposed to have, the Darkening Dawn invites the girl over to the other half of the comfy two-seater the Darkening Dawn was blissfully occupying.
It was fatal. The girl apparently thought that yet another ritual, that of Making Conversation, was exquisitely important in this case and made several attempts at it in the Adult Manner. Adult Manner = the way of making conversation for the sake of Making Conversation and involves bringing up extremely unimportant statistical facts about a person, eg. what school you're in (which obviously was quite irrelevant at this point in time, but this is normally what adults do, which you must notice if you have been a victim of Making Conversation enough times), what level you're in, what's your favourite subject, and after a moment's pause, what's your favourite CCA etc, etc, etc.
Well the Darkening Dawn's conversation went something like this:
Girl: Hi... *pause**then, in that awesomely gentle, delicately-coiffed way of contouring your voice in a questioning tone* You're in... Secondary...?
DD: 2.
Girl: *pause*Oh... I see... (there's absolutely nothing to see about it! unless you think that the Darkening Dawn is sec 3 or 4, at which she would be so profoundly insulted you'd find yourself back next to the Member of the Public again.* You were from MGS Primary?
DD: Yeah. You?
Girl: Yea...
DD: *fakely astonished voice* Really? Well that's quite interesting. I haven't seen you around before!
Girl: Actually I came to MG at... Primary Six.
=Break= Well FYI, THAT'S REALLY NOT COUNTED BECAUSE IF YOU ASK WHETHER YOU'RE FROM MG PRIMARY ONE YEAR ISN'T REALLY A VERY GOOD EXCUSE TO PROVE THAT YOU TOO ARE ONE, ESPECIALLY IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE TALKING TO ONE WHO HAS COME STRAIGHT FROM PRIMARY ONE!
DD: *maintains politely interested tone* Oh I see! *then turns to face the window in hopes of shaking off this persistent conversation-maker*
Girl: What's... your favourite subject?
DD: *lapses into normal voice, hoping to inspire more sincere talk* Well actually I don't have a favourite subject because Sciences I suck, Humanities got to memorize a whole lot of stuff and so I don't really like any of them.
Girl: Yeah...
*After which conversation falls into a very pregnant silence, with the Darkening Dawn wondering whether or not it was time to say "goodnight, I'm going to sleep" and - the Darkening Dawn thinks - the girl trying to think of a new topic to talk about or, if she had been a little smarter than she appeared, contemplating the wiseness of starting a new topic. Conversation remains like this until bus interchange, where the Darkening Dawn does a coup de grace and asks the Girl's name.*
- End -
YES so you see how it was extremely detrimental to the Darkening Dawn. In her bid to make the girl stop talking, after the first few sentences, not only did she waste a lot of time thinking about the issue, she also wasted a lot of brain power getting (i) insanely frustrated at the stupid ...ty conversation and even more importantly, (ii) enough courage to tell the Girl that excuse me, goodnight! because I'm going to bed now. And of course the girl would just have said, "Oh... okay, *polite laugh* and inside she'd be thinking "what a complete weirdo".
And I did mention that it'd been an extremely tiring day for the Darkening Dawn. The time spent SLEEPING on the bus was of paramount importance in recharging the Darkening Dawn for the next tiring day. Therefore, if she didn't get her SLEEP, and she didn't, goodness knows what she'd do next.
Like bleargh?!
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>8:07 PM
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
I Continue To Write A Diary (3)
Dear Diary...
Sian sian sian. Okay not that salty, but still quite salty, in the baddish way.
Because life is simply so salty, I have to go to bored.com to cheer myself up by insulting myself online. I must say that their insults are really quite amusing. Especially the phrase 'yo momma'. But of course, after 'yo momma', the stuff that comes after isn't quite feel-good, family bonding stuff at all. Most of the time it's got to do with... vajayjays and punanis. Yes I finally learnt how to spell punani.
Cause and effect. Nowadays my favourite phrase is.... not 'cause and effect'. It's 'Man so irritating, I'm irritated!' Unless you want to tell me something better to say after complaining that something is irritating, because practically everything in the world is irritating if you care to make it so, yeah because the sun's a sickly shade of yellow and the sky is hardly blue anymore, don't say anything. (Don't make a noise. Don't even open your mouth. Sit tight, clench your teeth and grip your chair and... act like Mission Impossible 4 is coming right up, because obviously no one is going to keep quiet.)
Okay sorry! Look, I was just trying to be random, which means everything because everything is nothing and random is nothing, because of Albert Einstein's general theory of relativity etc, etc, etc...
Has anyone else heard the cool new podcast from mrbrown? It's funny. It's so funny I can't even begin to describe just how funny it is. So download it now! But make sure your parents aren't around, because they're sure to ask what's the original song, and when you let them hear the original song they're sure to ban you from listening to that song forever and ever amen.
I know because that's what happened to me. (Yeah, after all my good intentions in trying to cheer up an Adult-Bearing-Great-Responsibilities' day. I mean like? You know? Like eh? Like what? Like the? Like heck? I mean cancha enjoy a good laugh. Without acting all serious and all and mrbrown-is-so-dead, like the little boys in our fascinating new LA poem that I haven't the heart nor brains to complete.)
Btw Gayle... Isn't there supposed to be some kinda rule about using Chinese to comment on Chinese stuff...?
Teachers kill us on teacher's day. Or before teacher's day. Like BLEARGH. I don't have time to complain, or the energy, or the memory space needed to remember exactly what was it that's making me feel vaguely irritated.
Okay brain juices... need to be saved for ylw. (Yeah, like bleargh. You learn fast.)
Bye, peeps.
Sian sian sian. Okay not that salty, but still quite salty, in the baddish way.
Because life is simply so salty, I have to go to bored.com to cheer myself up by insulting myself online. I must say that their insults are really quite amusing. Especially the phrase 'yo momma'. But of course, after 'yo momma', the stuff that comes after isn't quite feel-good, family bonding stuff at all. Most of the time it's got to do with... vajayjays and punanis. Yes I finally learnt how to spell punani.
Cause and effect. Nowadays my favourite phrase is.... not 'cause and effect'. It's 'Man so irritating, I'm irritated!' Unless you want to tell me something better to say after complaining that something is irritating, because practically everything in the world is irritating if you care to make it so, yeah because the sun's a sickly shade of yellow and the sky is hardly blue anymore, don't say anything. (Don't make a noise. Don't even open your mouth. Sit tight, clench your teeth and grip your chair and... act like Mission Impossible 4 is coming right up, because obviously no one is going to keep quiet.)
Okay sorry! Look, I was just trying to be random, which means everything because everything is nothing and random is nothing, because of Albert Einstein's general theory of relativity etc, etc, etc...
Has anyone else heard the cool new podcast from mrbrown? It's funny. It's so funny I can't even begin to describe just how funny it is. So download it now! But make sure your parents aren't around, because they're sure to ask what's the original song, and when you let them hear the original song they're sure to ban you from listening to that song forever and ever amen.
I know because that's what happened to me. (Yeah, after all my good intentions in trying to cheer up an Adult-Bearing-Great-Responsibilities' day. I mean like? You know? Like eh? Like what? Like the? Like heck? I mean cancha enjoy a good laugh. Without acting all serious and all and mrbrown-is-so-dead, like the little boys in our fascinating new LA poem that I haven't the heart nor brains to complete.)
Btw Gayle... Isn't there supposed to be some kinda rule about using Chinese to comment on Chinese stuff...?
Teachers kill us on teacher's day. Or before teacher's day. Like BLEARGH. I don't have time to complain, or the energy, or the memory space needed to remember exactly what was it that's making me feel vaguely irritated.
Okay brain juices... need to be saved for ylw. (Yeah, like bleargh. You learn fast.)
Bye, peeps.
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>10:49 PM
Friday, August 25, 2006
I Continue To Write A Diary despiteallodds (2)
*resigned tone*
Dear Diary,
So sian.
So now I gotta tell you why having a messy classroom is so much more beneficial for its occupants than having a spanking clean classroom.
1) Well there's gotta be some kind of good reason for why a clean classroom is described as 'spanking' right? Maybe a long long time ago the King of Mess discovered his son had destroyed his kingdom. So he had no more kingdom left and was forced to abdicate, and it wasn't a very happy thing to do so he found a new favourite pastime other than rumpling bedsheets and scattering books: spanking his son.
2) It allows Nat to find "spare clothes" in the classroom when she suddenly suffers from a drastic loss of memory and forgets that there is PE that day. The Magical Trash Heap at the back of the class can always procure something for needy people.
3) Other people lose stuff at the Magical Trash Heap due to its influential pull on everything that the people sitting at the back of the class need. ^^ Fyi to the rest of the peeps in 2T; there's a spare science textbook at the back of the class.
4) It allows the three people sitting at the back to harbour the very faint hope
that the pile of white laundry is going to amazingly separate itself into three parts and thus save them from evil science lab teachers who absolutely require lab coats during icky experiments like for example I'm not going to say. (Remember to establish that a faint hope is always better than utter despondency. Ever heard of the Cult of Daoism? The three people subsribe to it.)
5) It allows the occupants of the classroom to conveniently while away five minutes of a period listening to reprimands on the subject of artistically distributed rubbish.
6) It differentiates the class from the class next door.
7) It allows one sublime moment of the at-peace-with-the-world feeling, when you dig through the Magical Trash Heap and find a long-lost, much-needed, my-life-depends-on-whether-I-can-find-that-stupid-thing thing.
Oh yeah. Speaking of spare clothing within a classroom, and then linking it to PE attire in more specific terms, and then in particular those PE shorts I lent off to Nat, I HEREBY DECLARE FRIDAYS TO BE SHORTLESS DAYS.
No no, it doesn't mean that I have overcome my vertical challenges. Shortless as in literally, you don't have shorts.
Up to date, I have suffered THREE days with a lively little wind whipping up my skirt around and up, and upper, and upper, and uppest, and then you don't want to know what you're going to see if I don't hurriedly pull it back down again and stuff it between my legs in a most ungraceful manner.
Oh well. If the 2G peeps wanna wear shorts freshly stripped off a bottom, I'm perfectly fine with it. And I will be at peace with the world, doubt not.
=Another Shortless Day=
the Darkening Dawn
Dear Diary,
So sian.
So now I gotta tell you why having a messy classroom is so much more beneficial for its occupants than having a spanking clean classroom.
1) Well there's gotta be some kind of good reason for why a clean classroom is described as 'spanking' right? Maybe a long long time ago the King of Mess discovered his son had destroyed his kingdom. So he had no more kingdom left and was forced to abdicate, and it wasn't a very happy thing to do so he found a new favourite pastime other than rumpling bedsheets and scattering books: spanking his son.
2) It allows Nat to find "spare clothes" in the classroom when she suddenly suffers from a drastic loss of memory and forgets that there is PE that day. The Magical Trash Heap at the back of the class can always procure something for needy people.
3) Other people lose stuff at the Magical Trash Heap due to its influential pull on everything that the people sitting at the back of the class need. ^^ Fyi to the rest of the peeps in 2T; there's a spare science textbook at the back of the class.
4) It allows the three people sitting at the back to harbour the very faint hope
that the pile of white laundry is going to amazingly separate itself into three parts and thus save them from evil science lab teachers who absolutely require lab coats during icky experiments like for example I'm not going to say. (Remember to establish that a faint hope is always better than utter despondency. Ever heard of the Cult of Daoism? The three people subsribe to it.)
5) It allows the occupants of the classroom to conveniently while away five minutes of a period listening to reprimands on the subject of artistically distributed rubbish.
6) It differentiates the class from the class next door.
7) It allows one sublime moment of the at-peace-with-the-world feeling, when you dig through the Magical Trash Heap and find a long-lost, much-needed, my-life-depends-on-whether-I-can-find-that-stupid-thing thing.
Oh yeah. Speaking of spare clothing within a classroom, and then linking it to PE attire in more specific terms, and then in particular those PE shorts I lent off to Nat, I HEREBY DECLARE FRIDAYS TO BE SHORTLESS DAYS.
No no, it doesn't mean that I have overcome my vertical challenges. Shortless as in literally, you don't have shorts.
Up to date, I have suffered THREE days with a lively little wind whipping up my skirt around and up, and upper, and upper, and uppest, and then you don't want to know what you're going to see if I don't hurriedly pull it back down again and stuff it between my legs in a most ungraceful manner.
Oh well. If the 2G peeps wanna wear shorts freshly stripped off a bottom, I'm perfectly fine with it. And I will be at peace with the world, doubt not.
=Another Shortless Day=
the Darkening Dawn
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>6:05 PM
Friday, August 18, 2006
-+Whispers of Shadows+-
I Continue To Write A Diary (1)
What, Diary, so now I'm supposed to do something like this: (?!?!)
Dear Kelly,
I think I've got a really sick mind. I also live in a very sick environment that is making my mind sick. You know, my class keeps talking about uncles and baskets and bigger ones *aHEm* and leaves that are growing. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound that serious but really if you think about it perhaps you can understand why I actually bother to write to Kelly, Kelly being Kelly as in the *aHEm* Kelly and not other Kellys that I know, no offense to Kellys.
Liddat?
PURLEEZ... +_+
When we went for the media club talk at the Singapore Press Holdings we met this really cool famous cartoonist called Miel that apparently is really very famous, as if I doubted it in the beginning which I suppose I did since I said 'apparently', and he can draw really cool cariacatures (spelling unknown) which are portraits of people with exaggerated features and he DREW A CARIACATURE OF MISS TAN.
When he came to the evil eyes and big-ish mouth, Gayle and I nearly died from trying to stifle our laughter, and yes this was one of the rare times when you really can't look at what's going on or you'll laugh really, really, REALLY loudly because it's just so funny and you'll embarrass MG.
Yeah. EMBARRASS MG. Doncha dare.
Like we don't have a bad enough reputation already?
Bimbos + himbos?
Um, hello?
I REFUSE TO BE MENTIONED IN THE SAME SENTENCE AS THESE B-H PAIRS.
And then today while the whole class was complaining about stuff and stuff, Nat told me about Ways To Get Across The Message That We Are Going To Be Late For Something If We Don't Stop Wasting Time Here.
To counter Mrs Ng's pep talks (45min): Tap your watches and do that 'tuttut' thing real loud. Stare at your watch face in the digits like they're trying to cheat you of your time. I'm supposing that those who actually do sacrifice themselves for this good cause of getting across the message of (see above) go cross eyed very easily as they would have to simultaneously stare at their watches and at Mrs Ng at the same time.
To counter Miss Tan's class-complaint session (1 and 1/2 h): Flip the pages of Emily of Emerald Hill really obviously next to your ear and listen hard for something like you're trying to make out some sounds of big prawns squealing. ^^ And remember to exclaim: "Mmmm, I smell the clean, crisp pages of my literature text, especially the fresh and white pages of the book that we haven't gone through yet!!!"
AHAHAHAHAHA sorry that's why I was laughing all the way through the class-complaint session, important though I know it be.
Dear Kelly,
I think I've got a really sick mind. I also live in a very sick environment that is making my mind sick. You know, my class keeps talking about uncles and baskets and bigger ones *aHEm* and leaves that are growing. Yeah, I know it doesn't sound that serious but really if you think about it perhaps you can understand why I actually bother to write to Kelly, Kelly being Kelly as in the *aHEm* Kelly and not other Kellys that I know, no offense to Kellys.
Liddat?
PURLEEZ... +_+
When we went for the media club talk at the Singapore Press Holdings we met this really cool famous cartoonist called Miel that apparently is really very famous, as if I doubted it in the beginning which I suppose I did since I said 'apparently', and he can draw really cool cariacatures (spelling unknown) which are portraits of people with exaggerated features and he DREW A CARIACATURE OF MISS TAN.
When he came to the evil eyes and big-ish mouth, Gayle and I nearly died from trying to stifle our laughter, and yes this was one of the rare times when you really can't look at what's going on or you'll laugh really, really, REALLY loudly because it's just so funny and you'll embarrass MG.
Yeah. EMBARRASS MG. Doncha dare.
Like we don't have a bad enough reputation already?
Bimbos + himbos?
Um, hello?
I REFUSE TO BE MENTIONED IN THE SAME SENTENCE AS THESE B-H PAIRS.
And then today while the whole class was complaining about stuff and stuff, Nat told me about Ways To Get Across The Message That We Are Going To Be Late For Something If We Don't Stop Wasting Time Here.
To counter Mrs Ng's pep talks (45min): Tap your watches and do that 'tuttut' thing real loud. Stare at your watch face in the digits like they're trying to cheat you of your time. I'm supposing that those who actually do sacrifice themselves for this good cause of getting across the message of (see above) go cross eyed very easily as they would have to simultaneously stare at their watches and at Mrs Ng at the same time.
To counter Miss Tan's class-complaint session (1 and 1/2 h): Flip the pages of Emily of Emerald Hill really obviously next to your ear and listen hard for something like you're trying to make out some sounds of big prawns squealing. ^^ And remember to exclaim: "Mmmm, I smell the clean, crisp pages of my literature text, especially the fresh and white pages of the book that we haven't gone through yet!!!"
AHAHAHAHAHA sorry that's why I was laughing all the way through the class-complaint session, important though I know it be.
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>8:13 PM
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Diary's Reluctant Response
Dear Darkening Dawn.
It has come to my notice that you have been persistently bursting my mailboxes, flooding my boxes and whatever unfortunate box I happen to own with these little bloggy things in the hopes of attracting my much sought-after attention, unreasonably demanding for a reply.
I will make this brief, my time being far more precious than yours, as you no doubt know, but I will proceed to explain in a moment regardless, and to concurrently make clear the reasons why you are being, in every sense of the word, unreasonable (synonyms perverse, unfair, difficult to deal with).
This is because I am called Diary. This is obvious. Yet you fail to realise the immediate connotation of this fact! I am called Diary. From the time when the concept of 'diary' was conceived, to the time when the world will end, and (hopefully) the idea of diary as well, my ancestors, my descendants and I have been, are, and will be forced to take up the role of Defult Correspondent. You realise that, just as you have done, so have hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of people done as well, and whenever they need 'a friend in a pocket' - assuming that people keep their diaries in their pockets, which most don't, but nevermind - they immediately turn to us, the Friends To All. We have been written to, written at and written about for the longest time ever and I tell you now that this is absolutely no joke and you should see what some people write to my poor abused family sometimes.
They write us lectures on BOREDOM itself. Can you beat that? I mean like how boring can that be, writing about boredom? Like duh you're bound to get bored, the nature of boredom itself is that it's boring. Oh yes, I mean oh no, we did not know that before.
Yeah. Well at least some people have realised the depth of our sorrow and misery in our quest to offer life affirmation to the General Population, and finally decided to change correspondent and write instead to people more suited to their condition, eg. Dear Kelly.
I advise you to take up your keyboard, grit your teeth and start writing to someone else, I wouldn't know who, Dear Slug or Dear Geniuswannabe, and see what you say about yourself? Yeah, and just as a psycologically safety measure, be sure that when you shape your resolution for this traumatic (as it will no doubt be) change, you remember to clench your fists as well, so that you fingers are screwed in a ball and completely robbed of their ability to communicate through written (or typed) language, and so you can't write to yourself and will never know what you think of yourself either, and well that's just too bad.
Unsincerely,
Diary and co.
It has come to my notice that you have been persistently bursting my mailboxes, flooding my boxes and whatever unfortunate box I happen to own with these little bloggy things in the hopes of attracting my much sought-after attention, unreasonably demanding for a reply.
I will make this brief, my time being far more precious than yours, as you no doubt know, but I will proceed to explain in a moment regardless, and to concurrently make clear the reasons why you are being, in every sense of the word, unreasonable (synonyms perverse, unfair, difficult to deal with).
This is because I am called Diary. This is obvious. Yet you fail to realise the immediate connotation of this fact! I am called Diary. From the time when the concept of 'diary' was conceived, to the time when the world will end, and (hopefully) the idea of diary as well, my ancestors, my descendants and I have been, are, and will be forced to take up the role of Defult Correspondent. You realise that, just as you have done, so have hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of people done as well, and whenever they need 'a friend in a pocket' - assuming that people keep their diaries in their pockets, which most don't, but nevermind - they immediately turn to us, the Friends To All. We have been written to, written at and written about for the longest time ever and I tell you now that this is absolutely no joke and you should see what some people write to my poor abused family sometimes.
They write us lectures on BOREDOM itself. Can you beat that? I mean like how boring can that be, writing about boredom? Like duh you're bound to get bored, the nature of boredom itself is that it's boring. Oh yes, I mean oh no, we did not know that before.
Yeah. Well at least some people have realised the depth of our sorrow and misery in our quest to offer life affirmation to the General Population, and finally decided to change correspondent and write instead to people more suited to their condition, eg. Dear Kelly.
I advise you to take up your keyboard, grit your teeth and start writing to someone else, I wouldn't know who, Dear Slug or Dear Geniuswannabe, and see what you say about yourself? Yeah, and just as a psycologically safety measure, be sure that when you shape your resolution for this traumatic (as it will no doubt be) change, you remember to clench your fists as well, so that you fingers are screwed in a ball and completely robbed of their ability to communicate through written (or typed) language, and so you can't write to yourself and will never know what you think of yourself either, and well that's just too bad.
Unsincerely,
Diary and co.
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>8:12 PM
Sunday, August 13, 2006
I Begin To Get Bored Of Writing Diaries (1)
Dear Diary,
(For lack of a better pen-pal, I postpone my termination of any intercourse between you and I, ungrateful, unfeeling though you be.)
Boredom. Is linked, extremely closely, to misery. Boredom causes misery, and in many cases, though one may not realise it, misery results in boredom, because you spend so much time moping and sitting down and staring at a very aesthetically displeasing object, commonly patches of a wall or floor, possibly the two largest, plainest parts of a house (photographs and pictureframes aren't counted; they are not part of the wall, but hung on them with a detached identity).
Boredom is lethal. It is a most peculiar drug. If taken in excess, Boredom can cause both severe pain and an encompassing, complete numbness, the former to the mental processes of the consumer, who then suffers from great psycological stress when trying to think up different ways of overcoming these symptoms of the said drug, for example coversation, when there is no one around; a computer game, when there are none to be played; or perhaps a storybook, when all books have already been read, and of course this situation is not augmented by the constant, heightening belief that one is getting fatter and fatter just sitting there eating and eating (for at the end of the day, indeed gastronomical pursuits are the only escape), or that one is getting smellier and smellier sweating in the turgid heat, and the latter (refer to above for the relative definition of this expression) applied to bodily functions - in general - of the consumer. The loss of will to move, the loss of purpose to move, all adds up to a bent over figure slumped either on the sofa or in bed, refusing to get up, and this refusal will be deep, so very deep that the person gets bored with being bored and this will eventually start that person off on a lecture on how getting bored with being bored is a debatably and reasonably meaningful, if not inconsequentially random but psycologically-based topic.
Man, am I bored.
Ever,
the Darkening Dawn
(For lack of a better pen-pal, I postpone my termination of any intercourse between you and I, ungrateful, unfeeling though you be.)
Boredom. Is linked, extremely closely, to misery. Boredom causes misery, and in many cases, though one may not realise it, misery results in boredom, because you spend so much time moping and sitting down and staring at a very aesthetically displeasing object, commonly patches of a wall or floor, possibly the two largest, plainest parts of a house (photographs and pictureframes aren't counted; they are not part of the wall, but hung on them with a detached identity).
Boredom is lethal. It is a most peculiar drug. If taken in excess, Boredom can cause both severe pain and an encompassing, complete numbness, the former to the mental processes of the consumer, who then suffers from great psycological stress when trying to think up different ways of overcoming these symptoms of the said drug, for example coversation, when there is no one around; a computer game, when there are none to be played; or perhaps a storybook, when all books have already been read, and of course this situation is not augmented by the constant, heightening belief that one is getting fatter and fatter just sitting there eating and eating (for at the end of the day, indeed gastronomical pursuits are the only escape), or that one is getting smellier and smellier sweating in the turgid heat, and the latter (refer to above for the relative definition of this expression) applied to bodily functions - in general - of the consumer. The loss of will to move, the loss of purpose to move, all adds up to a bent over figure slumped either on the sofa or in bed, refusing to get up, and this refusal will be deep, so very deep that the person gets bored with being bored and this will eventually start that person off on a lecture on how getting bored with being bored is a debatably and reasonably meaningful, if not inconsequentially random but psycologically-based topic.
Man, am I bored.
Ever,
the Darkening Dawn
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>11:48 PM
I'm Still Trying To Write A Diary Here (1)
Dear Diary.
You know it's really depressing when your correspondent doesn't respond. It's like when you scratch your pen across a piece of a paper. No matter how much it hurts your hand to feel the scratchiness of the pen, the paper never ever squeals in pain at being scratched on by a scratchy pen.
Diary, if you don't say something soon, I shall have to change my pen pal. Yes, I'm serious, and no, the fact that you can't respond ain't going to melt my heart.
Despite this, I shall continue to amuse myself on the keyboard. This night I touch on the topic of... Okay let's start again. Recently I've been reading... PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. You know I'm really, really amazed that this extremely short plot of society, society, society societysocietysociety... elopement, then more society and finally marriage, can actually take up a book approximately two fat fingers thick.
Explanation: I shall give an analogy. Imagine that you wanted to express anger at a particular individual, for, let's say, the usual charges of being irritating.
"I am thoroughly and irrevocably pissed (for lack of a better monosyllable with the same meaning) with you, and rest assured that this statement was not arisen from unfounded prejudice, but rather conceived from abuse suffered as a result of your selfish and irresponsible accusations, your offensive language, and in general your unforgivable inability to govern your emotions, or even display the meanest attempt at maintaining a civilised, tolerable diposition, defects which have caused unwonted distress to many."
Compare this to the following sentence, which has the same gist:
"You suck."
Really now. But I guess that this is a result of progress, of rapid advancement and all that stuff you get when you're a fast developing society. (Yes, society.) Perhaps this was the reason why bad words were invented: To cut short the time taken for the reprimandation of whatever the reprimanded individual needs to be reprimanded for. Maybe this is where the true offensiveness of vulgarities lie; they imply that the person who uses them doesn't think the victim of them worthy of his time, even time taken to correct a mistake.
Dear, dear, dear.
Yes, because in doing that we would lose one invaluable hour of some 674, 520 hours - assuming that the average lifespan of a person is 77 years.
And would you like to consider at this point how exactly we spend our hours. I wouldn't even dare to start calculating exactly how many of these said hours we throw away on exams every year, not even counting common tests.
Bleargh! (Which, incidentally, can be de-translated to: The general insensibility of it all overwhelms me; the fact that we, the leaders of the future, should be put through such annual mortification, whereby we are obliged to perspire and trouble ourselves over twenty pages or so of problems designed for the sole purpose of humiliating our intellect and injure our self-esteem; some of us, with latent genius, cannot force intelligence, cannot speed brilliance. In such unfair and unequalised circumstances are we all judged. Finally the only real conclusion to be gleaned from this survey is who can, and who cannot, withstand pressure. And yet is this the peresquite of the one to guide your tomorrow? Should we not be tested instead for logical minds, a perception for aesthetics? I tell you... Full article in the process of composition)
Get the point?
Ever,
the Darkening Dawn
You know it's really depressing when your correspondent doesn't respond. It's like when you scratch your pen across a piece of a paper. No matter how much it hurts your hand to feel the scratchiness of the pen, the paper never ever squeals in pain at being scratched on by a scratchy pen.
Diary, if you don't say something soon, I shall have to change my pen pal. Yes, I'm serious, and no, the fact that you can't respond ain't going to melt my heart.
Despite this, I shall continue to amuse myself on the keyboard. This night I touch on the topic of... Okay let's start again. Recently I've been reading... PRIDE AND PREJUDICE. You know I'm really, really amazed that this extremely short plot of society, society, society societysocietysociety... elopement, then more society and finally marriage, can actually take up a book approximately two fat fingers thick.
Explanation: I shall give an analogy. Imagine that you wanted to express anger at a particular individual, for, let's say, the usual charges of being irritating.
"I am thoroughly and irrevocably pissed (for lack of a better monosyllable with the same meaning) with you, and rest assured that this statement was not arisen from unfounded prejudice, but rather conceived from abuse suffered as a result of your selfish and irresponsible accusations, your offensive language, and in general your unforgivable inability to govern your emotions, or even display the meanest attempt at maintaining a civilised, tolerable diposition, defects which have caused unwonted distress to many."
Compare this to the following sentence, which has the same gist:
"You suck."
Really now. But I guess that this is a result of progress, of rapid advancement and all that stuff you get when you're a fast developing society. (Yes, society.) Perhaps this was the reason why bad words were invented: To cut short the time taken for the reprimandation of whatever the reprimanded individual needs to be reprimanded for. Maybe this is where the true offensiveness of vulgarities lie; they imply that the person who uses them doesn't think the victim of them worthy of his time, even time taken to correct a mistake.
Dear, dear, dear.
Yes, because in doing that we would lose one invaluable hour of some 674, 520 hours - assuming that the average lifespan of a person is 77 years.
And would you like to consider at this point how exactly we spend our hours. I wouldn't even dare to start calculating exactly how many of these said hours we throw away on exams every year, not even counting common tests.
Bleargh! (Which, incidentally, can be de-translated to: The general insensibility of it all overwhelms me; the fact that we, the leaders of the future, should be put through such annual mortification, whereby we are obliged to perspire and trouble ourselves over twenty pages or so of problems designed for the sole purpose of humiliating our intellect and injure our self-esteem; some of us, with latent genius, cannot force intelligence, cannot speed brilliance. In such unfair and unequalised circumstances are we all judged. Finally the only real conclusion to be gleaned from this survey is who can, and who cannot, withstand pressure. And yet is this the peresquite of the one to guide your tomorrow? Should we not be tested instead for logical minds, a perception for aesthetics? I tell you... Full article in the process of composition)
Get the point?
Ever,
the Darkening Dawn
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>1:32 AM
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
I'm Trying To Write A Diary Here (3)
Dear Diary,
You know ah, my school, boliao until dunno what already. I mean, like, you know, when, during, like, yeah! Really ah, want to make people scream and tear out hair lah. You know what they did for national day or not? Dunno right. Well I'm telling you now ah diary, they got DEBATE wan you know. I tell you ah, can die! Some more got this girl ah, she go up and spit a lot of trash at the judges you know, like she so smart liddat, like we dunno what she talking about liddat. She went and call everyone stupid you know! Like we put our heads in a brand of washing machine called Prim And Proper. I mean ya-lah, some of us really got a lot of eardirt, but I think ah, in this case eardirt is really very useful you know, because the things she say ah, need to be censored wan you know. For her own good also lah. Seriously ah, this kind of thing, can get used!
Really ah diary, sometimes I really don't understand ah, how come people call people stupid then still bother to go and talk to them. I mean ah, if you think they stupid then don't mafan yourself go talk to them right or not! Waste of time, what say you?
I mean like she say we got no opinion wan you know. She say that's why that brand of washing machine so popular. But you know ah, that is like not true! She donno what she talking about lah. We know that washing machine is good lah! Can wash eardirt very well wan you know! And then right, which stupid person goes and chooses a washing machine without looking at the other washing machines first, then also must compare to other ancient machines in the past right or not. Make our life very convenient also you know.
I tell you ah, some people dunno how to appreciate. But of course lah, what does she know about us. She doesn't even use washing machine lah. Dunno how she clean her eardirt. No wonder she dunno what she say.
Nothing good to say don't say lah! Goodness. What do kids learn in primary school nowadays?
de Dakeneeng Don.
You know ah, my school, boliao until dunno what already. I mean, like, you know, when, during, like, yeah! Really ah, want to make people scream and tear out hair lah. You know what they did for national day or not? Dunno right. Well I'm telling you now ah diary, they got DEBATE wan you know. I tell you ah, can die! Some more got this girl ah, she go up and spit a lot of trash at the judges you know, like she so smart liddat, like we dunno what she talking about liddat. She went and call everyone stupid you know! Like we put our heads in a brand of washing machine called Prim And Proper. I mean ya-lah, some of us really got a lot of eardirt, but I think ah, in this case eardirt is really very useful you know, because the things she say ah, need to be censored wan you know. For her own good also lah. Seriously ah, this kind of thing, can get used!
Really ah diary, sometimes I really don't understand ah, how come people call people stupid then still bother to go and talk to them. I mean ah, if you think they stupid then don't mafan yourself go talk to them right or not! Waste of time, what say you?
I mean like she say we got no opinion wan you know. She say that's why that brand of washing machine so popular. But you know ah, that is like not true! She donno what she talking about lah. We know that washing machine is good lah! Can wash eardirt very well wan you know! And then right, which stupid person goes and chooses a washing machine without looking at the other washing machines first, then also must compare to other ancient machines in the past right or not. Make our life very convenient also you know.
I tell you ah, some people dunno how to appreciate. But of course lah, what does she know about us. She doesn't even use washing machine lah. Dunno how she clean her eardirt. No wonder she dunno what she say.
Nothing good to say don't say lah! Goodness. What do kids learn in primary school nowadays?
de Dakeneeng Don.
-+Darkening Dawn+-dreamingat >>1:49 PM