Saturday, November 14, 2009

Father: Your mother's not taking you out for dinner, so find something to eat okay.

Me: *stares* That's a really fugly shirt.

Father: Huh?

Me: That's a really fugly shirt.

Father: Funny?

Me: Fugly. 

Father: What's that?

Me: As in... really ugly. Why do you even like that shirt?

Father: Not nice ar?

Me: Something about it screams ghey!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

"And then your brother sent me an sms ending with i love u."

I stared at my mother, wide-eyed, jaw hung and mind struggling for words. "Uhm, I guess, fraternisation with Westerners have - have altered his Asian ... Asian non ... non- confrontatio..."

Words failed me.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun
The higher he's a-getting
The sooner will his race be run
And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Time still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time
And while ye may, go marry
For having lost but once your prime
You may for ever tarry.

- Robert Herrick, To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Admittedly, I have been indulging in Dead Poet's Society again.
I will show you something different from either 
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you
I will show you fear in a handful of dust

- T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land

Currently a little obsessed with reading old works. Vonnegut, Woolf, Whitman, Lovecraft, Faulkner. 2BR02B by Vonnegut is an absolute keeper, by the way! It's downloadable at Project Gutenberg.

Monday, November 9, 2009

(Thisis so screwed up, but darn if it isn't funny!

Watch it nao!

For realsies, babe. For realsies.

Jim Bones

This is dangerous. 

I'm floating away like the balloon that is accidentally cut off from the rest of the bunch and try as I might, I cannot regroup with the rest. The metaphor is poetic, unlike the real situation at hand. 

Mother called yesterday and it took me ten minutes to convince her that I wasn't dying in my own filth while surveying the general orderliness (or lack thereof) of my apartment. Chocolate wrappers shoved to one side underneath strips of leftover scrap paper, discarded coffee cans - some only half empty, strips of dried acrylic paint adhered to the parquet and the thumb drives hidden in nooks and corners I could never seem to find. 

Yep, the situation was bad. 

Jee slapped me on the head during the one time she visited, asking me to get a grip and clean myself up. But I don't think they have rehabs for conditions like these. They have parents' homes.