Bwomp
I dreamt of you last night.
I was walking, middle of nowhere, destination unknown, on and on.
Feeling very low, for reasons that are not within my reach.
You appeared out of nowhere, and ran, and caught up with me, and walked by my side.
I was sad. You couldn't tell at first, until I had actually told you straight in the face that, "I am sad."
"All right," you said, "Let me cheer you up! Make you smile!"
I did not know why I relented. But I did. And so, you tried to entertain, with your own low-brow way.
Low-class jokes, about bad hair, bad taste, bad people.
Back-stabbing, kniving the poor 'bastards' that I knew.
Criticising, and judging people I knew. If only you only knew better.
Crying foul, crying evil, crying.
But behind that smile, a greater evil lurked.
Still, I walked on, and instead of making me better you made me even worse.
I gave a sickly smile, trying to compromise.
Somehow you saw through it.
The condescending smile. Thought it went right under your ass.
You ran forward, stopped in front of me.
I tried to continue walking, but you pushed me away.
I stopped. Looked at you.
You waved your arms, agitated, spewing insults at me.
Talks of betrayal, by a loser like me.
Talks of suffering, him, that is.
Talking, talking.
All of a sudden, a scraping noise.
A black dot of a shadow appearing on your body.
You continued.
Tiny whistling sound, but getting louder and louder.
The black dot was enlarging too.
Rapidly.
Still, you paid no heed.
The sound was deafening now. The shadow enveloped your figure.
Now, you took some notice. You looked up.
All you saw was blackness.
BWOMP!
You disappeared right under.
And then I smiled.
enervate, exit highland.
How to care for a potted plant
It really couldn't be that difficult to care for a potted plant. God made them, they could very much take care of themselves if you really allowed them to. But no, you had to do something about that. So, all right, you took care of it in your own way.
You know, if you own something like, say, a dog, and you cared for it, giving it food and watering it but also by petting and hugging it and squeezing and irritating the hell out of it, it wouldn't die. It would maybe just bite your hand off the next time you petted it for the millionth time, and then you could just go to a hospital to have your hand re-attached.
But, no, plants do not bite. They may sting, they may poison you when you touch them, but then again, it would all not matter to you because of your stubborn mind. And so, you care for it by petting it, hugging it and squeezing it and irritating the hell out of it. You care for a potted plant the way you might care for an animal, say a dog. You do give it enough nutrients, sunlight and water. But you continue to pet it, stroke it, hug it, talk to it incessantly, trying to make it 'feel' better so that it could grow better or at least maintain its 'good' health.
Then one day you find the plant limp, or even rotting, stinking to high heavens, dead. And you are left there, wondering, and could not, for the life of it, figure out just what had happened.
enervate, exit highland.
A truth of life
You know, I think opinons of people are like assholes. Everyone has one. And some people's are louder, some are softer, and some don't even make any noise. Some are spew foul... stuff, others are give out rather tolerable stuff, while some don't even give out any. Oh well... so much for philosophising...
enervate, exit highland.
Imaginations
A poet's weapon is his imagination, or so i've heard. All rite then. Then imagine you are a poet. You are sitting near the window at your apartment, trying imagine things for your next work. Suddenly you seemed to have found something right. You start to imagine along that path. You imagine that you are a poet trying to imagine ideas for his next work. And in that imagination the poet finds his source of inspiration and start to imagine... that he is a poet that is imaging that he is a poet that is imagining for his next work. And that poet in his imagination's imagination is imagining that he is a poet and is imagining for his next work. And so the poet is imagining that he is imagining that he is imagining that he is a poet imagining for his next work. And in that imagination the poet imagines that he is a poet imagining for his next work. So, the poet's imagination is that he is imagining that he is imagining that he is imagining that he is a poet imagining for his next work... and so he goes on...
Boy I'd like to see a poet develop his thoughts from here...
enervate, exit highland.
What is your meaning of life?
enervate, exit highland.
Other poets, my 2nd and 3rd
You are Carl
Sandburg
You see the world in a different way than your peers
and are able to find beauty in the most unusual places!
Take the Which Poet are You? Quiz -
brought to you out of boredom and pretention!
I got 3 poets actually. Wierd.
You are e.e.
cummings
Your use of the English language is not bound to any
grammatical or even logical standards. You live your life with rhythym and passion and find yourself constantly
searching for meaning by traveling or in new relationships.
Take the Which Poet are You? Quiz -
brought to you out of boredom and pretention!
enervate, exit highland.
Staring At The Light
Times up heading for a brighter light
The foreign waters put the fire out
No one ever asked you
Wasn't meant to end this way
To end this way
You're not alone now
You're closing in now
Staring at the light so easily denied
Staring at the light released before your time
Staring at the light look on the other side
You never knew why it wasn't up to you
Some may relish in the afterlife
Dancing slowly on the edge of a knife
Sipping wine of the poisonous kind
Overdose on loneliness
Have no fear now we're on the case
Beyond there lies a better place
Where knowledge ends and faith begins
A hell to stand by and a heaven within
Not alone now
You're closing in now
Staring at the light so easily denied
Staring at the light released before your time
Staring at the light look on the other side
You never knew why it wasn't up to you
You're not alone now
You're closing in now
Staring at the light so easily denied
Staring at the light released before your time
Staring at the light look on the other side
You never knew why it wasn't up to you
You never knew why it wasn't up to you, to you
Times are heading for a brighter light
enervate, exit highland.
You are Sylvia Plath
You are Sylvia
Plath
No matter how much you struggle, you can't manage to
shake off depression. You use symbolism to express yourself and have a knack for getting the most out of gas
ovens.
Take the Which Poet are You? Quiz - brought to you out of boredom and
pretention!
enervate, exit highland.
Looks make a musician?
Went to a class pot-luck just now. It was all right, I guess... anyway, I had brought my bass guitar along, because I had went to a jamming session with Darren, Zhuang Hui, Mark, Jonathan... and Pak. =)
Someone asked whether I played bass, to which I replied with a yes. She took a look at me and said, "Yah, you look like only a bassist. You don't look like anything else."
Look like a bassist? I don't know whether it was a compliment or not. I didn't know there was specific looks for the guitarist, the drummer, the singer... I mean, how could you tell? Was it the face, the hair style, the dressing style... the figure... what was it?
So its the looks that makes the musician, and not the skills? Hmm... too bad my bass skills still sucks though.
enervate, exit highland.
Changes
I knew I couldn't be a lawful good bard/ranger. I knew it. Shitty software.
enervate, exit highland.
I Am A: Chaotic Good Human Bard Ranger
Alignment:
Chaotic Good characters are independent types with
a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and
other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such
groups.
Race:
Humans are the 'average' race. They have the shortest
life spans, and because of this, they tend to avoid the racial prejudices that other
races are known for. They are also very curious and tend to live 'for the moment'.
Primary Class:
Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance,
and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They
also tend to dabble in magic a bit.
Secondary Class:
Rangers are the defenders of nature and the
elements. They are in tune with the Earth, and work to keep it safe and healthy.
Deity:
Finder Wyvernspur is the Chaotic Neutral god of the
cycle of life and the transformation of art, although he leans heavily towards Good.
He is also known as the Nameless Bard. Followers of Finder believe that everything
must change in order to grow and thrive. Their preferred weapon is the bastard sword.
Find out What D&D Character Are You?
enervate, exit highland.
Apologies
Sorry for putting so many tests here. As you can probably tell I'm just terribly bored.
enervate, exit highland.
| I am one of the most popular flavours in the world. Subtle and smooth, I go reasonably with anyone, and rarely do anything to offend. I can be expected to be blending in in society. What Flavour Are You? |
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Victims were tied to you, then you were rotated slowly over some body of water. They either confessed, or drowned. Pretty tame, actually... you're fairly forgiving once people can admit they were wrong.
What torture would you be?
enervate, exit highland.
Second your thoughts
Ben, I totally agree about what you said about liking bands like Slipknot, Mushroom Head, Disturbed... and also Static-X, Ill Nino, Drowning Pool... whoops, rambling...
I could just pop the CD into the stereo and bounce along to it. You can't do that with a Westlife CD.
The violent energy just make you want to get up and rock along to it. The limpy shitty stuff that Westlife does just makes me want to pick up the stereo and throw it out of the window.
See the difference??
P.S. Pak listens to that stuff to. Wonder if u knew that.
enervate, exit highland.