Changes
I pray, pray, and plead, to God, that he be merciful upon us kids from Singapore and bring in these brands and shops into Singapore, so that us Singapore kids need not stare and ogle at those 'ang mos' for the cool and great-looking stuff that they are wearing.
I wish that...
Alchemy Carta.
Macbeth Shoe company
Attitude Clothing Co. UK
Atticus
Famous Stars and Stripes
Serial Killer
Pornstar (the stuff here are all rip offs or really outdated items)
Prank
Bless this child
Toxico
Semtex
Dickies
Criminal Damage
Scary Miss Mary
Roman Dirge
Ruby Gloom
Hot Topic
Omen
SDL
New Rock (Join the new way of walking!!)
Airwalk
Triple five soul
Alpha Numeric
Adio
Axion
Ben Davis
OK 47
... would come to Singapore tomorrow. So that all the ugly bengs and lians can get decent clothing and not stuff from 77th street.
Glint of sunlight, glint of glare
'But of course we never see the beginning. We come in the middle, after the lights have gone down, and try to make some sense of the story so far. Whisper to neighbours, "Who's he? Who's she? Have they met each other before?" We get by.'
Yes. We have always walked down the same old path thousands and thousands times over and over again, never pondering each time why we do so. There has to be some sort of reasoning each time our lives cross with each other, the path so dusty from the travelling footsteps of each soul so sucked in by wanderlust. Yet for all its' worth, we stare blankly at the patina and the image fleetingly, and rather conveniently, slips away into oblivion, nevermind the fact that we never have a good two-handed grip on it in the first place.
The stars are maligned against you, the Sun beats down mercilessly, raking on your pallid sun-burnt flesh reeking from envy and discerning immaturity. How you wonder that such a tormented figure would draw awe and hold others' gazes upon you, seeking out all the dramaticism in all histronic glory. But that figure stands, tall, however bent over and cankered. Believing he is the hero of the story, he seeks to leave a mark, however unnoticable or forgettable it may be, upon the dusty path, not caring if the mark would be trodded on until it disappears with no lingering or regretful memory for this unfortunate character.
Maybe once in a while, in the year of God knows when, that a murmur on the winds would be heard. Pray that it would be your name, that the susurrus of the gossiping vultures would raise your name in their sparring once in a good moment. Pray that they would know, and more importantly, understand you for all the suffiecient tergiversation you made.
I listen to the Catch 22, yet I could not make out its words nor its meanings. I understood you want, or you think yourself as a fin de siecle, that you are the exemplar that all would have to behold and frame up in their punctured canopies of their frail mind. At least, I think I have understood, but you have equivocated yourself so successfully that you have become an enigma to everyone around you. I say this from my mind, from what I believe, but as I have never proofed to be vatic nor oracular, I know there is still indeed a supassingly large amount of information that I have not processed nor have the capability to do so. Yes, my dear, elfin dear, I do not understand you truly. I might have only began to scratch the surface of it all. No. I don't think I might have. I think I have really only began to do so.
However, I think names come and go, collection is my hobby. For this window period, please bring yourself down and descend from your ivory tower. These are mortals; so are you. Make yourself useful; this is my litmus test for you. For when my patience is tried and the window closes, I will reave, or rather, relieve you, of your possessions. Your icy grip upon things you hold so dear to you; the veil would be drawn across your senses; the miasma would take it away from you. All you have left, albiet shaken and disturbed, would be your fear. Fear hold you dearly. Fear grip you dearly. Fear strangle you dearly. Fear lay you down dearly. And I would be observing, directing the cut of the story. I would leave you know, in your own machinations. I propose that you ruminate upon your endeavours, lest I return and be infuriated by your inability. Reckoning taste bitter, especially on the end of a silver tickler.
If you ever need me, to offer some questions of you own, you are duly welcomed. Find me at Grub Street.