Dog Ear!
Time to hit the books again!
Monday, January 23, 2006
Some bull
I was flipping through the chinese horoscope of the cow for the Year of the Dog for 2006 when i came across the disposition of the people who are born in the year of the cow.
"The character of the Cow is steady, conservative with strong inner self and has a sense of responsibility. He has a good creditability and honors his word. He is loyal and worships one principle. " Hmm, I like to think that I possess those traits.
"He enjoys being in a serene environment and has the temperament of the Cow. " I dun need a serene environment. I just enjoy idling around.
"Sometimes, it is hard to get along with them.He will be able to listen when he has calm down. "
Cow People like me are rather obstinate. They just refuse to acknowledge that they are wrong even when the facts are presented. Maybe we are even worse than mules.
"He is diligent at work, but will only be able to finish his task only under instructions. He does not have the courage to try out new venture. They do not have the patience and courage to earn too much money. Hence, the Cow works hard and silently. "
Heres my interpretation of the Cow:
A thickheaded, servile and bovine creature which only knows how to slog. He derives masochistic pleasures from the throes of constant flagging and dragging plough across the fields, chained to the cumbersome yoke, which he has gradually grown accustomed to. He knows that he is not like the hens n cocks who just mate and lay eggs. Nor is he like the gregarious parrot who knows how to carry the farmer's balls and talk himself out of situations. Hence, he has to work.
Sometimes, he dreams briefly about lovely pastures and sexy cows with milk-dripping nipples but often dimisses his dreams quickly with guilt for harbouring those lazy and filthy thoughts. He thinks the dreams he have are akin to the pile of manure that he just defecated. Full of bullshit. Hastily, he shakes his head to jolt himself back to reality. He lifts his eyelids desultorily to glimpse at the afternoon sky.
The sun continues to blaze at the field.
Fucking hot weather, he thought to himself. Cant wait for nite to cum.
Sure and steadfast, he continues to thread through the fields, hoping that every step he takes will draw him closer to dusk.
He mumbles and grumbles but never voices his complaints. The woes of the moo goes unheard because he is afraid of incurring the wrath of the farmer and disrupting the harmony.
Suffering in silence, quietly beneath the scorching sun.
I was flipping through the chinese horoscope of the cow for the Year of the Dog for 2006 when i came across the disposition of the people who are born in the year of the cow.
"The character of the Cow is steady, conservative with strong inner self and has a sense of responsibility. He has a good creditability and honors his word. He is loyal and worships one principle. " Hmm, I like to think that I possess those traits.
"He enjoys being in a serene environment and has the temperament of the Cow. " I dun need a serene environment. I just enjoy idling around.
"Sometimes, it is hard to get along with them.He will be able to listen when he has calm down. "
Cow People like me are rather obstinate. They just refuse to acknowledge that they are wrong even when the facts are presented. Maybe we are even worse than mules.
"He is diligent at work, but will only be able to finish his task only under instructions. He does not have the courage to try out new venture. They do not have the patience and courage to earn too much money. Hence, the Cow works hard and silently. "
Heres my interpretation of the Cow:
A thickheaded, servile and bovine creature which only knows how to slog. He derives masochistic pleasures from the throes of constant flagging and dragging plough across the fields, chained to the cumbersome yoke, which he has gradually grown accustomed to. He knows that he is not like the hens n cocks who just mate and lay eggs. Nor is he like the gregarious parrot who knows how to carry the farmer's balls and talk himself out of situations. Hence, he has to work.
Sometimes, he dreams briefly about lovely pastures and sexy cows with milk-dripping nipples but often dimisses his dreams quickly with guilt for harbouring those lazy and filthy thoughts. He thinks the dreams he have are akin to the pile of manure that he just defecated. Full of bullshit. Hastily, he shakes his head to jolt himself back to reality. He lifts his eyelids desultorily to glimpse at the afternoon sky.
The sun continues to blaze at the field.
Fucking hot weather, he thought to himself. Cant wait for nite to cum.
Sure and steadfast, he continues to thread through the fields, hoping that every step he takes will draw him closer to dusk.
He mumbles and grumbles but never voices his complaints. The woes of the moo goes unheard because he is afraid of incurring the wrath of the farmer and disrupting the harmony.
Suffering in silence, quietly beneath the scorching sun.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Was clearing my cabinet during my room spring cleaning session today. Its amazing when you look at the paraphernalia of junk goods and useless stuff that i keep- scrap paper, half written letters, printouts of song lyrics, several outdated copies of I-magazines, Newman (which I tot featured not-too-bad photos), broken stationery which still exhibited some aesthetic value, smelted mentos covered with ants, Econs handouts which I forgot to distribute to my class because I misplaced them (zzz).
I discovered some buried 'treasures' amid all the junk. Dug up my sec 1 chinese file. Lucky thing it hasnt been devoured by silverfishes. 1998. 8 yrs...wad have I done during this 8 yrs?!
My file's content page. With my assessment and test papers that I'm proud of. Probably the only subject that I truly loved during my school days but the O lvl results disappointed me.
My file's content page. With my assessment and test papers that I'm proud of. Probably the only subject that I truly loved during my school days but the O lvl results disappointed me.Used to spend inordinate amout of time decorating and writing those journals/ random musings for my Chinese teacher to grade. A pity most of the pieces have been "kidnapped" from my file. Up till now, I still do not know the whereabouts of the pieces that were originally meant to be sent to publishers.
One of the remaing inferior products.
Found a tabloid newspaper which we did as part of our English assignment. Enjoyed doing groupwork during those years, especially during brainstorming sessions where people churn out all sort of wacky and wicked ideas.
I've noticed that the older I get, the more cluttered my cabinets and drawers become. I become more reluctant to discard useless items that just take up space even though they serve no practical purpose. Its like these objects still retain some soul, a part of me, within them. I dunno. Maybe the sentimental self just wants to retain a part of history that I've experienced.
Time seems to flow in a different dimension after you pass 18. The gigantic clock seems to tick faster. You get the feeling that you have to clutch onto these little pieces of mementos before your memory of the past starts to fade out of existence as you draw towards adulthood.
Friday, January 13, 2006
First blood
Anyone who plays DOTA loves first blood. When a player's hero executes the 1st hero kill of the game, he/she will get extra 200 gold and also the "First blood" verbal acknowledgement. They are some players who go to all costs just to gain that first blood satisfaction. It feels damn good when you get the first kill, especially when you blast your audio speakers and listen to the sound of 'First blood' reverberating throughout your room.
Everyone loves coming in first or being first. First to spear the joystick into the altar at the break of dawn of Chinese New Year , first to board the bus. First in the queue to be served the lousy food in the camp canteen. Sometimes, I wonder what's the obsession with being first? Is it due to the 'kiasu' nature of Singaporean? Perhaps the winning mentality has been deeply entrenched and infused to us since young, given the competitive society that we are in, that it has become a subconscious part of us.
Some people enjoy setting records by doing crazy things like downing 50 bottles of Guinness stouts just to get into the Guinness record or becoming the first Asian to scale 7 greatest peaks in the world. They brand their acts of temerity as a form of challenge and purports with loads of silly reasons. Just ask Annabelle Chong why she wanted to do the feat of having sex with 251 men in 10 hours. Alas, I've heard two women have broken her record. Its standing at 500 men now. Records will always be shattered because there will always be crazier people than you.
I saw a piece of depressing news in Today yesterday. It reported that vaginal reconstruction is now widely embraced and the most sought after plastic surgery. They can even tighten the muscles there and reconstruct the entire hymen from scratch (not that scratch) with hymenoplasty aka revirgination. No flaws. Just like a squeaky clean virgin even though you have seen more than a thousand visitors to your abode. I reckon the word chastity will be removed from the dictionary in no time. Hymens no longer = authentic virgins. :(
Maybe being first is not so necessary after all.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
Fixing the pieces
Hopefully we can finish this by tonight and move on to the next. Then we have to find a way to get this up onto the wall..still need to shop for a decent frame...and also pump in money to get the frames.... sigh. ..Hobbies like these are real costly.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Dun fuck around with Std
I should have heeded advice and not taken the risk. There's a threshold to the amount of deterrence that protection can provide. Now, I'm afflicted with this terrible, chancrous, itching rash that's all over my body.
I cant pinpoint the source which triggered the rash to swarm my entire body. However, I suspect its an allergy either to the medicine I took or the excessive wine/ alcohol which I consumed during Christmas. I believe it's the latter because my body has a low tolerance level towards alcoholic drinks. This disgusting rash is depriving me of my sleep and causing my body to twitch wildly in the office.
I used to have a rather severe case of eczema. For those who dunno what is eczema, it's a skin condition due to excessive reaction by the immune system producing inflamed, irritated and sore skin. I'm sure you've seen people with flaky, raw, bleeding skin. I call it the crocodile skin. That's why I liked reptiles when I was young because I thought I resembled them. Trust me, it's a mentally and psychologically troubling disease. You have to cope with the stares, your torn self esteem, your own anger/frustration, the 100s and 1000s of weird concoctions and remedies 'guaranteed' to cure your condition (but always fail to work) and the worst part, the itch. Luckily for me I managed to grow out of my condition when I hit puberty.
The itch is infectious. It begins with a minor prickling sensation. Your hand slide down to assuage the itch., by generating some friction on the skin. That little action is enough to spark off a disaster to your poor skin and bring about a severe case of dermatitis. The more your rub and scratch, the redder the patch starts to become and you start to derive a sick form of pleasure from the scratching of your skin. You start to intensify and accelerate your clawing strokes but you are oblivious to these because you are experiencing a semi-orgasmic-scratching pleasure. The blood starts to flow and stain your nails. You don't care. Not even the flowing blood can stop you from prolonging your pleasure. In fact, the pleasure is heightened with the addition of fluid since it serves to lubricate the friction. However, just like every wonderful moment must come to an end, your end comes when your hands get too wet and the metallic iron smell of your blood hits your nose. The aftermath is enough to make your feel a little guilty and giddy. When you raise your hands and you notice that it's all bloody. You dun even want to bother examining your wound. All thanks to that little itchy bitch.
I should have heeded advice and not taken the risk. There's a threshold to the amount of deterrence that protection can provide. Now, I'm afflicted with this terrible, chancrous, itching rash that's all over my body.
I cant pinpoint the source which triggered the rash to swarm my entire body. However, I suspect its an allergy either to the medicine I took or the excessive wine/ alcohol which I consumed during Christmas. I believe it's the latter because my body has a low tolerance level towards alcoholic drinks. This disgusting rash is depriving me of my sleep and causing my body to twitch wildly in the office.
I used to have a rather severe case of eczema. For those who dunno what is eczema, it's a skin condition due to excessive reaction by the immune system producing inflamed, irritated and sore skin. I'm sure you've seen people with flaky, raw, bleeding skin. I call it the crocodile skin. That's why I liked reptiles when I was young because I thought I resembled them. Trust me, it's a mentally and psychologically troubling disease. You have to cope with the stares, your torn self esteem, your own anger/frustration, the 100s and 1000s of weird concoctions and remedies 'guaranteed' to cure your condition (but always fail to work) and the worst part, the itch. Luckily for me I managed to grow out of my condition when I hit puberty.
The itch is infectious. It begins with a minor prickling sensation. Your hand slide down to assuage the itch., by generating some friction on the skin. That little action is enough to spark off a disaster to your poor skin and bring about a severe case of dermatitis. The more your rub and scratch, the redder the patch starts to become and you start to derive a sick form of pleasure from the scratching of your skin. You start to intensify and accelerate your clawing strokes but you are oblivious to these because you are experiencing a semi-orgasmic-scratching pleasure. The blood starts to flow and stain your nails. You don't care. Not even the flowing blood can stop you from prolonging your pleasure. In fact, the pleasure is heightened with the addition of fluid since it serves to lubricate the friction. However, just like every wonderful moment must come to an end, your end comes when your hands get too wet and the metallic iron smell of your blood hits your nose. The aftermath is enough to make your feel a little guilty and giddy. When you raise your hands and you notice that it's all bloody. You dun even want to bother examining your wound. All thanks to that little itchy bitch.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
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