So I just finished watching Trust and watched about 11 minutes of Love at First Hiccup before I was so turned off I just couldn't continue.
First is Trust. I like the concept and stuff, but really, if I was the dad I would've punched the complete shizz out of the daughter and the mother. It's basically about Annie being raped by an internet predator and blah blah. Seriously, she's such a dumbass who obviously has no regard to her father's feelings.
Love at First Hiccup has a really nice trailer, but is a complete letdown. Basically about the main character Victor losing his virginity and nabbing this really "hot" senior despite being a nerdy freshie.
Get this, Victor "falls in love" with the senior JUST BECAUSE SHE IS ATTRACTIVE. "That beautiful smile" "those eyes" blah blah blah FUCK YOU. All that matters is the looks huh? No, you can't fall in love with the nerdy senior. At least in Trust she wasn't all that pretty (then again, she wouldn't be online).
Our AMERICAN society is based on how one looks. THIS IS STUPID UTTER BULLSHIT. Argh, I'm so pissed because I'm not pretty and I probably wouldn't make it big in this society. SEE I THINK LOWLY OF MYSELF JUST BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE GOOD LOOKS. If a thirteen year old is thinking this MAN SOCIETY U GOTTA CHANGE CAUSE U FUCKED UP
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Raised hopes
Well, this was fairly stupid.
So um, my class had a gathering thing and me being the over- eager loser wanted to "participate" too, by like skyping in.
I stayed up till 1. Which was very very dumb.
It's not their fault though. They probably didn't have internet. Or they couldn't risk bringing a laptop.
I'm just a little upset because I really, really, wanted this to happen. I hope they had fun though.
So um, my class had a gathering thing and me being the over- eager loser wanted to "participate" too, by like skyping in.
I stayed up till 1. Which was very very dumb.
It's not their fault though. They probably didn't have internet. Or they couldn't risk bringing a laptop.
I'm just a little upset because I really, really, wanted this to happen. I hope they had fun though.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
How to get a boyfriend
So I came across this rather interesting tumblr the other day, www.allthingslighthearted.tumblr.com
And it has a rather educational article teaching you to get a boyfriend
WHO AM I KIDDING THAT'S MY TUMBLR GO VISIT NAOOOOO
And it has a rather educational article teaching you to get a boyfriend
WHO AM I KIDDING THAT'S MY TUMBLR GO VISIT NAOOOOO
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Christmas and Family
So... It's that time of the year where mostly every American participates in the consumer jerk circle. Nope, it's not Valentines, it's CHRISTMAS!
Merry Christmas everyone! Happy birthday Jesus! Happy New Year! And to all my awesome and smart Jewish friends, Happy Hanukkah! And Kwanzaa! And "insert holiday greeting" to whoever I missed!
My presents this year are terrifically fantastic, from 5 dollar Walmart necklaces to "real" green-ing earrings to XXI shirts.
Love my parents. They gave me love and care and money.
My sister also made me a little collage of pictures by freakishly stalking a certain someone's social network page, which was really sweet of her. Oh gosh it really cured me. Love my sis so much.
I honestly prefer the handmade gifts to the store bought ones. I actually handmade a bracelet/ friendship thingy thingy but my efforts were sorely not appreciated and I'm pretty sure it's chucked aside now.
Douchebag.
Merry Christmas everyone! Happy birthday Jesus! Happy New Year! And to all my awesome and smart Jewish friends, Happy Hanukkah! And Kwanzaa! And "insert holiday greeting" to whoever I missed!
My presents this year are terrifically fantastic, from 5 dollar Walmart necklaces to "real" green-ing earrings to XXI shirts.
Love my parents. They gave me love and care and money.
My sister also made me a little collage of pictures by freakishly stalking a certain someone's social network page, which was really sweet of her. Oh gosh it really cured me. Love my sis so much.
I honestly prefer the handmade gifts to the store bought ones. I actually handmade a bracelet/ friendship thingy thingy but my efforts were sorely not appreciated and I'm pretty sure it's chucked aside now.
Douchebag.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Raindrops on roses and calico dresses
My mood is pretty much split into halves right now. Well, quarters maybe. 3/4 ECSTATIC and 1/4 uber pissed off.
So the ecstatic part comes from a wish fulfilled and lavished attention. Basically my serotonin was increased by a series of events
And the uber pissed part comes from my money being stolen by my school. So I bought candygrams for my friends and spent five dollars. They had a promotion 5 dollars for 6 candygrams. Out of the 6 I sent, only 2 people received them. Seriously?? The rest were "filtered out" because I guess they were deemed "inappropriate". I spent good money on that shit and I expect it to be delivered. I can buy 20 candy canes for a dollar, and only went through the school out of the goodness of my heart.
Gosh my school is seriously deteriorating right in front of my eyes.
So the ecstatic part comes from a wish fulfilled and lavished attention. Basically my serotonin was increased by a series of events
And the uber pissed part comes from my money being stolen by my school. So I bought candygrams for my friends and spent five dollars. They had a promotion 5 dollars for 6 candygrams. Out of the 6 I sent, only 2 people received them. Seriously?? The rest were "filtered out" because I guess they were deemed "inappropriate". I spent good money on that shit and I expect it to be delivered. I can buy 20 candy canes for a dollar, and only went through the school out of the goodness of my heart.
Gosh my school is seriously deteriorating right in front of my eyes.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
50 posts!
Can you believe it? I've hit the 50th post mark!
Well, actually I hit it wayy before but let's now split hairs shall we?
I'm pretty proud of myself to have kept this blog going( again, let's not split hairs) for 2 years!
No, 3!
Or whatever.
I must say I'm pretty loyal to this one, and only started another blogspot just recently.
But still, that other blogspot has only a 2 sentence post, so it doesn't really count.
I mean, compared to my 4 tumblrs (-_- yes I know, I have a such an exciting life) it's nothing much.
But yeah, time passes fast doesn't it?
I mean, everything seems like just yesterday. But it's not, it's been a week. A month. A year. 10 years.
I remember my kindergarten friends. I wonder, where have they gone?
Are they still fine? What school have they gone to?
Probably better off than me academically.
It's 2011. Numb isn't overplayed anymore. DJ got us falling in love is old.
No one remembers Japan. What happened in Haiti?
Youtube has VEVO and ads. Silly bands are silly.
In class, I would often look at the digital clock and will it to change. I swear, it's a miracle that it doesn't have holes bore into it already the way I stared at it.
But then, I would go home and realise "Say, I had a nice day.Now I'm stuck at home boo hoo because no matter whatever shizz I say about shcool it is actually rather, kinda, a little fun."
I would fervently wish for Friday to come about, but when Saturday hits I go "Oh, this is sorta boring. I wonder what would happen if I was at school."
I guess humans can never be satisfied. Sigh.
Well, actually I hit it wayy before but let's now split hairs shall we?
I'm pretty proud of myself to have kept this blog going( again, let's not split hairs) for 2 years!
No, 3!
Or whatever.
I must say I'm pretty loyal to this one, and only started another blogspot just recently.
But still, that other blogspot has only a 2 sentence post, so it doesn't really count.
I mean, compared to my 4 tumblrs (-_- yes I know, I have a such an exciting life) it's nothing much.
But yeah, time passes fast doesn't it?
I mean, everything seems like just yesterday. But it's not, it's been a week. A month. A year. 10 years.
I remember my kindergarten friends. I wonder, where have they gone?
Are they still fine? What school have they gone to?
Probably better off than me academically.
It's 2011. Numb isn't overplayed anymore. DJ got us falling in love is old.
No one remembers Japan. What happened in Haiti?
Youtube has VEVO and ads. Silly bands are silly.
In class, I would often look at the digital clock and will it to change. I swear, it's a miracle that it doesn't have holes bore into it already the way I stared at it.
But then, I would go home and realise "Say, I had a nice day.Now I'm stuck at home boo hoo because no matter whatever shizz I say about shcool it is actually rather, kinda, a little fun."
I would fervently wish for Friday to come about, but when Saturday hits I go "Oh, this is sorta boring. I wonder what would happen if I was at school."
I guess humans can never be satisfied. Sigh.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Crying increases Seratonin and it cheers you up
Do you know
how it feels,
To see a
loved one fall before your eyes,
Unable to
do anything except watch in moronic silence?
Do you know
what it is like,
When the
world you know is torn into halves,
And you’re
on neither side,
Just free
falling through the air?
Can you
imagine,
Your
childhood dreams and innocent hopes,
Dashed by
reality while you are a child?
To hear
sobbing late in the night,
Desperate
laughter to stop the tears,
That pour
anyway?
To climb a mountain
higher than sky,
On the
shoulders of a weary father,
Because the
pony has fallen?
And when
all is silent,
The quiet
rips you apart.
Because you
know what the silence means,
The words
unsaid.
The bitten
lips to control speech.
The pain
that torments you,
That steals
your ability to cry for help.
And when
all is silent,
Your tears
start to fall.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Lights
Looking back, her life was one big mess stretched over a large cold surface of twenty five years. Forgettable birthday celebrations, forgotten friendships that were once promised to last forever, days that ran into months. It was a blur of names, and sounds. And lights, shining lights that pushed faces into the recesses of her memory.
When she was five, she knocked over a priceless vase, shattering the treasure into slivers of porcelain. The sound as the vase hit the floor, sent her adrenaline pumping. The sound of the shriek form her mother that followed was ear- piercing. The sound of the tight slap across her face echoed throughout the hallway, multiplying the shame a thousand times. She remembered the way the light glinted off the ceramic pieces as she kneeled on the wooden floor, picking up each one, occasionally drawing blood from her fingers.
That was her first memory of her mother.
When she was fifteen, a boy began wooing her. He would approach her with a smile everyday and help carry her different binders and books. He was two years older than her with a larger than life personality. Charming, with a glib tongue, she fell in love with her handsome suitor. They shared a first kiss in a dark cinema, a romance flick playing on the projector screen. Lights of different images vanished as she closed her eyes and leaned in for a taste of his pillowy soft lips.
That was the first movie she remembered.
Then she turned seventeen, as cigars and sex began to color life a fiery shade of red. Sweat dripped down her face as she laid across the grimy tiles that made up the floor of a dilapidated apartment bathroom. Her legs spread, she exerted all her might to push the baby out of her. A pair of scissors lay beside her, later to be gripped in a trembling hand to cut the cord. Screams were unwittingly ripped from her throat, warm liquid pooled around her butt, soaking her dirty nightgown in blood. Cries of a newborn punctuated a scream and the moonlight seeping in through patches of dirt on a window swirled her mind to darkness.
That was the first time she felt the urge to live.
Her child gurgled in her arms. His skin was pale and yellow, thin and fragile. His mother was celebrating her eighteenth birthday squatting on the pavement outside his father’s house, shielding the baby from the harsh wind that blew from all directions as she waited for the man who had promised never to leave her. Twin streams of tears ran down her cheeks, smearing her mascara on the way down. She pleaded, begged, threatened, insulted and used every trick in her book to try to get some money out of the bastard who impregnated her. All she got were bruises, spit on the face, and a wasted trip. The young mother sat outside her “home”, which was really just a rundown shack, the incessant cries of the infant forming a lullaby with the traffic, watching the auburn glow of the men’s cigarettes.
That was the first time she got on her knees.
She held the boy until he turned cold in her arms. Her eyes remained dry; she did not cry. She would not cry, nor could she. Whimpers escaped from her closed throat as she caressed the baby’s face. Her head shook furiously, desperately denying the truth that lay before her eyes. Her screams tore across the night, above the din of the traffic and the nightclubs, filled with inhumane pain. She was never going to see her child’s eyes twinkle again.
That was the first time she would hold a dead child in her hands.
She was twenty five, and had seen too much of the uglier side of this world to smile. Seven years of working the streets, every ounce of dignity burned to ashes. Seven years of accidental pregnancies, three stillborn babies held in her hands. The wind blew lightly, ruffling unkempt hair. The skyline of Chicago was beautiful tonight, especially from the rooftop of building 54-storeys above ground. She looked up at the night sky, and found thousands of stars winking back at her. Her facial muscles twitched, forming a facial expression that she had last used seven years ago. Smiling, she took a step forward, her foot closing in on empty space. Downwards she fell, spreading her arms like a bird’s wings, feeling the wind rush pass her as the ground neared. The streetlamps lit up her final destination. She closed her eyes.
That was the last time she would smile.
When she was five, she knocked over a priceless vase, shattering the treasure into slivers of porcelain. The sound as the vase hit the floor, sent her adrenaline pumping. The sound of the shriek form her mother that followed was ear- piercing. The sound of the tight slap across her face echoed throughout the hallway, multiplying the shame a thousand times. She remembered the way the light glinted off the ceramic pieces as she kneeled on the wooden floor, picking up each one, occasionally drawing blood from her fingers.
That was her first memory of her mother.
When she was fifteen, a boy began wooing her. He would approach her with a smile everyday and help carry her different binders and books. He was two years older than her with a larger than life personality. Charming, with a glib tongue, she fell in love with her handsome suitor. They shared a first kiss in a dark cinema, a romance flick playing on the projector screen. Lights of different images vanished as she closed her eyes and leaned in for a taste of his pillowy soft lips.
That was the first movie she remembered.
Then she turned seventeen, as cigars and sex began to color life a fiery shade of red. Sweat dripped down her face as she laid across the grimy tiles that made up the floor of a dilapidated apartment bathroom. Her legs spread, she exerted all her might to push the baby out of her. A pair of scissors lay beside her, later to be gripped in a trembling hand to cut the cord. Screams were unwittingly ripped from her throat, warm liquid pooled around her butt, soaking her dirty nightgown in blood. Cries of a newborn punctuated a scream and the moonlight seeping in through patches of dirt on a window swirled her mind to darkness.
That was the first time she felt the urge to live.
Her child gurgled in her arms. His skin was pale and yellow, thin and fragile. His mother was celebrating her eighteenth birthday squatting on the pavement outside his father’s house, shielding the baby from the harsh wind that blew from all directions as she waited for the man who had promised never to leave her. Twin streams of tears ran down her cheeks, smearing her mascara on the way down. She pleaded, begged, threatened, insulted and used every trick in her book to try to get some money out of the bastard who impregnated her. All she got were bruises, spit on the face, and a wasted trip. The young mother sat outside her “home”, which was really just a rundown shack, the incessant cries of the infant forming a lullaby with the traffic, watching the auburn glow of the men’s cigarettes.
That was the first time she got on her knees.
She held the boy until he turned cold in her arms. Her eyes remained dry; she did not cry. She would not cry, nor could she. Whimpers escaped from her closed throat as she caressed the baby’s face. Her head shook furiously, desperately denying the truth that lay before her eyes. Her screams tore across the night, above the din of the traffic and the nightclubs, filled with inhumane pain. She was never going to see her child’s eyes twinkle again.
That was the first time she would hold a dead child in her hands.
She was twenty five, and had seen too much of the uglier side of this world to smile. Seven years of working the streets, every ounce of dignity burned to ashes. Seven years of accidental pregnancies, three stillborn babies held in her hands. The wind blew lightly, ruffling unkempt hair. The skyline of Chicago was beautiful tonight, especially from the rooftop of building 54-storeys above ground. She looked up at the night sky, and found thousands of stars winking back at her. Her facial muscles twitched, forming a facial expression that she had last used seven years ago. Smiling, she took a step forward, her foot closing in on empty space. Downwards she fell, spreading her arms like a bird’s wings, feeling the wind rush pass her as the ground neared. The streetlamps lit up her final destination. She closed her eyes.
That was the last time she would smile.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Second hand chances
I'm so jealous of you. I'm so jealous of everything you have.
I hate playing second fiddler to you, being in the background playing the scenery while you shine in the limelight twirling around in your princess costume, preening and posing.
I'm not supposed to feel like this and everyone would condemn me if they knew, but I hate you sometimes so much I end up hating myself afterwards. Then other times I get memories of what we used to be and I smile.
Why do you do this to me? I can't even justify what I feel, only using pitiful excuses. I hate you for being so close, so close that I start to depend on you. I seek comfort and solace in you rather than my own blood kin. Then you leave and you start buddying up with new people, and I'm left all alone, my crutch suddenly taken from from and I collaspe. I'm left gathering scraps of fond memories, secretly spying on you to see how you're doing and getting jealous. And finally one day I pick myself up, and right when I'm getting back on my feet, finding new people to smile and laugh with, you come back beaming from ear to ear. And of course I welcome you back with open arms, thinking that this would never happen again, but soon you leave and you return, repeating this cycle until I get angry and mad at myself for being such a desperate fool.
But look at me now. Am I any better? When you talk to me I pretend like everything's fine, but I badmouth you behind your back and hate on you when I'm lying in bed unable to sleep. I can't bear to drop this friendship, which I know you can in a heartbeat.
No one says I'm pretty or that I'm model material, but they all praise you for having good looks and say "Oh, she's my pretty friend." And you're so social and everything but when I meet new people I shut up and keep away like a loser. You're so smart and popular but here I am at 11 in the night typing away like a nerd, wasting away my eyes.
You're so much talented compared to me, I feel like dirt. I embrace schadenfreude, oh gosh someone help me.
I want, but I can't have. I don't deserve anything, and nothing is my right.
I hate playing second fiddler to you, being in the background playing the scenery while you shine in the limelight twirling around in your princess costume, preening and posing.
I'm not supposed to feel like this and everyone would condemn me if they knew, but I hate you sometimes so much I end up hating myself afterwards. Then other times I get memories of what we used to be and I smile.
Why do you do this to me? I can't even justify what I feel, only using pitiful excuses. I hate you for being so close, so close that I start to depend on you. I seek comfort and solace in you rather than my own blood kin. Then you leave and you start buddying up with new people, and I'm left all alone, my crutch suddenly taken from from and I collaspe. I'm left gathering scraps of fond memories, secretly spying on you to see how you're doing and getting jealous. And finally one day I pick myself up, and right when I'm getting back on my feet, finding new people to smile and laugh with, you come back beaming from ear to ear. And of course I welcome you back with open arms, thinking that this would never happen again, but soon you leave and you return, repeating this cycle until I get angry and mad at myself for being such a desperate fool.
But look at me now. Am I any better? When you talk to me I pretend like everything's fine, but I badmouth you behind your back and hate on you when I'm lying in bed unable to sleep. I can't bear to drop this friendship, which I know you can in a heartbeat.
No one says I'm pretty or that I'm model material, but they all praise you for having good looks and say "Oh, she's my pretty friend." And you're so social and everything but when I meet new people I shut up and keep away like a loser. You're so smart and popular but here I am at 11 in the night typing away like a nerd, wasting away my eyes.
You're so much talented compared to me, I feel like dirt. I embrace schadenfreude, oh gosh someone help me.
I want, but I can't have. I don't deserve anything, and nothing is my right.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Faerietale part 2
Thick tendrils laden with leaves and assorted vines hung over the entrance to the village of the forest fairies. A dilapidated wooden sign, overtaken by moss and fungi, warning creatures that did not belong to the forest fairy family to keep out in faded red paint, hung shakily on the trunk of a large ancient tree.
The elf gingerly pushed the curtain of overgrowth to the side, and peered into the darkness while a musty pang of rotting vegetation assailed her nostrils. She looked over to the sign and gulped nervously, before making small but confident steps into the abyss.
***
"I... I would like to settle in this village. I am willing to work for lodging and food." The elderly fairy narrowed her eyes at the young elf before her, whose body was trembling but eyes determined.
"Elves do not belong here; Why are you here?"
"I... I quit my job as a servant. I do not have anywhere else to go."
"Ahh, you think this is a place for refuse? Unable to stand the strenuous work of being at the beck and call of those higher ranked than you?" The village chief smirked through her many wrinkles.
The elf reddened, then swallowed. "I am not refuse. I-"
"What makes you think you'll be able to stand the work here?" The fairy cut her off. "Do you think you can just flounce in here with a waggle of your hips and rule this village?"
The elf lowered her eyes to the floor. "Please help me."
The chief sighed. "I'll arrange work for you as a servant in the Ethar Manor. They will provide lodging and food for you. Work hard, little one."
The elf gingerly pushed the curtain of overgrowth to the side, and peered into the darkness while a musty pang of rotting vegetation assailed her nostrils. She looked over to the sign and gulped nervously, before making small but confident steps into the abyss.
***
"I... I would like to settle in this village. I am willing to work for lodging and food." The elderly fairy narrowed her eyes at the young elf before her, whose body was trembling but eyes determined.
"Elves do not belong here; Why are you here?"
"I... I quit my job as a servant. I do not have anywhere else to go."
"Ahh, you think this is a place for refuse? Unable to stand the strenuous work of being at the beck and call of those higher ranked than you?" The village chief smirked through her many wrinkles.
The elf reddened, then swallowed. "I am not refuse. I-"
"What makes you think you'll be able to stand the work here?" The fairy cut her off. "Do you think you can just flounce in here with a waggle of your hips and rule this village?"
The elf lowered her eyes to the floor. "Please help me."
The chief sighed. "I'll arrange work for you as a servant in the Ethar Manor. They will provide lodging and food for you. Work hard, little one."
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
A faerie tale (Neopets FTW)
There once was an elf who lived within a giant castle. The elf was a she, and she had a close circle of elf friends whom she cared for very much. The elf and her friends were all servants for the King and Queen of the castle. They had rigorous training everyday to ensure that no mistake was to be made, and one day, the elf could no longer stand the harsh lessons and she quit. She threw in the towel and quit.
But what could she do, other than being a servant? Her cooking skills were up to some standard, but not to the top- notch standard of a palace cook.
The castle could not forever provide free lodging and food without recieving something in return. They cast her out, not soon after.
She stood outside the large brick castle, watching the iron gates close off the only place she had ever known from her, helpless. A tear rolled down her cheek and fell off the slightly uneven surface and down into the soft green velvet grass. She stood there for a long time, before she finally picked up her small silk bag and made her way downhill. The silk bag contained nothing but a snowglobe from her friends, and a pari of extra wings.
There was nowhere she could go other than the dwelving of the forest faerie folk, for the only village reachable was inhabited completely by humans, and she had long been taught that the humans were prejudiced against the magick beings.
So she journeyed toward the forest, a yearn in her heart for her past life, and a growing dread inside.
But what could she do, other than being a servant? Her cooking skills were up to some standard, but not to the top- notch standard of a palace cook.
The castle could not forever provide free lodging and food without recieving something in return. They cast her out, not soon after.
She stood outside the large brick castle, watching the iron gates close off the only place she had ever known from her, helpless. A tear rolled down her cheek and fell off the slightly uneven surface and down into the soft green velvet grass. She stood there for a long time, before she finally picked up her small silk bag and made her way downhill. The silk bag contained nothing but a snowglobe from her friends, and a pari of extra wings.
There was nowhere she could go other than the dwelving of the forest faerie folk, for the only village reachable was inhabited completely by humans, and she had long been taught that the humans were prejudiced against the magick beings.
So she journeyed toward the forest, a yearn in her heart for her past life, and a growing dread inside.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
The mirror is dirty, look!
Mirrors show you truth. They show it crystal clear.
But sometimes, mirrors get dirty.
Am I who I think I am when I look into the mirror?
When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see a blurry image of a girl with oily, unkept hair and a pair of tired eyes.
Sometimes I see a clear image of a nerd with fat cheeks.
Sometimes I see a pretty image of a teenager with long dark hair.
I want a paper doll, to draw perfect features on, a wonderful figure, the prettiest dresses.
But when I start drawing, the eyes are crooked, the smile looks like one of a pedo, the head is five times larger than the rest of the body.
And I realise, I cannot become beautiful just by myself.
But sometimes, mirrors get dirty.
Am I who I think I am when I look into the mirror?
When I look in the mirror, sometimes I see a blurry image of a girl with oily, unkept hair and a pair of tired eyes.
Sometimes I see a clear image of a nerd with fat cheeks.
Sometimes I see a pretty image of a teenager with long dark hair.
I want a paper doll, to draw perfect features on, a wonderful figure, the prettiest dresses.
But when I start drawing, the eyes are crooked, the smile looks like one of a pedo, the head is five times larger than the rest of the body.
And I realise, I cannot become beautiful just by myself.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
:D:D:D:D:D
..................
omg do u see the layer of dust on this??
*feeds blog a cassia leaf/ revivial potion*
*dusts dust off*
*coughs*
YOYOYOYOYO
Guess what babies?
omg do u see the layer of dust on this??
*feeds blog a cassia leaf/ revivial potion*
*dusts dust off*
*coughs*
YOYOYOYOYO
Guess what babies?
I'm bAcK
Who's back?
I'M BACK!!!
I guess that's it.
yeahhh, you built up just to crash me down
i swear that's some lyrics to some song
i can't remember the title
damn.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Your false smile belied your red rimmed eyes dar.
How innocent are we? Where has the purity of childish innocence gone?
Perhaps we have thrown it away, carelessly, without realising how important the veil of childhood, that has shielded us from the cold- hearted truth, was.
The world that we, 21st century learners, live in is a cruel, heartless world.
Those with a black heart reign supreme, beccause they were able to backstab and step over their peers, while those with hearts of gold are the ones backstabbed, hurt, and broken.
To be able to survive in such a world, we have no choice but to follow suit, to wear the clothes our society has set out for us.
If we do not, we will simply be torn from our roots by the waves of this ever-changing society, like trees in a flash flood. Kill, or be killed.
The comedy movies, they always show the happy-go-lucky doe eyed pretty chick doing all sorts of silly things that always turn out right in the end. Kind of like watching little Pumpel your Poodle do the little doggy tricks that make you want to sigh in boredom and puke over the cuteness.
But hey, I'm going off topic.
These days, even 12 year olds know all the swear words, the raunchy sexual stuff. They all want the pretty girls, wait no, scratch that. Lemme put the little quotations. They all want the "pretty" girls, really just girls who put on their make- up right, wear the clothes that are just tight in the right places, abuse hairspray and eye shadow, perfect the "slut-walk" and flirt like crazy. Coincidentally most of these girls turn out to be bitchy and rude. Hmm....
The cheerleaders want the jocks. The jocks want the sex. Virginity is underrated and overrated.
Freesias everywhere are probably wilting right now.
Perhaps we have thrown it away, carelessly, without realising how important the veil of childhood, that has shielded us from the cold- hearted truth, was.
The world that we, 21st century learners, live in is a cruel, heartless world.
Those with a black heart reign supreme, beccause they were able to backstab and step over their peers, while those with hearts of gold are the ones backstabbed, hurt, and broken.
To be able to survive in such a world, we have no choice but to follow suit, to wear the clothes our society has set out for us.
If we do not, we will simply be torn from our roots by the waves of this ever-changing society, like trees in a flash flood. Kill, or be killed.
The comedy movies, they always show the happy-go-lucky doe eyed pretty chick doing all sorts of silly things that always turn out right in the end. Kind of like watching little Pumpel your Poodle do the little doggy tricks that make you want to sigh in boredom and puke over the cuteness.
But hey, I'm going off topic.
These days, even 12 year olds know all the swear words, the raunchy sexual stuff. They all want the pretty girls, wait no, scratch that. Lemme put the little quotations. They all want the "pretty" girls, really just girls who put on their make- up right, wear the clothes that are just tight in the right places, abuse hairspray and eye shadow, perfect the "slut-walk" and flirt like crazy. Coincidentally most of these girls turn out to be bitchy and rude. Hmm....
The cheerleaders want the jocks. The jocks want the sex. Virginity is underrated and overrated.
Freesias everywhere are probably wilting right now.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sobe Mango Melon
I don't hear the tinkle- tinkle of your bell,
My ice cream man.
I have the cash right here for my popsicle,
Where are you, my ice cream man?
Heyoooooo.
It's close to the end of winter now. Can you wait for SPRING??? WARM WET WILD AND CARAZY! Much better than the freeezing cold.
Ahh, yes, I'm feeling a bit more expressive than usual.
YOU KNOW WHY????
Because I'm HOT sick of the cold.
Literally.
I'm sick.
AGAINNNNN
FFFUUUUU
FMLFMLFMLFML
This post is horribly nonsensical and bimbotic huh.
Ahh well.
My ice cream man.
I have the cash right here for my popsicle,
Where are you, my ice cream man?
Heyoooooo.
It's close to the end of winter now. Can you wait for SPRING??? WARM WET WILD AND CARAZY! Much better than the freeezing cold.
Ahh, yes, I'm feeling a bit more expressive than usual.
YOU KNOW WHY????
Because I'm
Literally.
I'm sick.
AGAINNNNN
FFFUUUUU
FMLFMLFMLFML
This post is horribly nonsensical and bimbotic huh.
Ahh well.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Time doesn't pass here, because the world is quiet here.
I love you more, I'm sorry for those lies.
Bye bye. I'm sorry, but I love you, that's all I'm gonna say.
It's January 22. 10:31 am in Delaware.
I miss Singapore so much.
But time passes us all by, if you don't catch up it'll take you anyway.
Don't fight what you can't win, darling.
You told me dragons didn't exsist, then led me to their lairs.
Been wishing something would happen, been hoping.
Let go.
There' nothing more for me to hold onto.
http://taylorswiftsg.getmusicasia.com/vid143
Please click?
I hope you die btw.
Bye bye. I'm sorry, but I love you, that's all I'm gonna say.
It's January 22. 10:31 am in Delaware.
I miss Singapore so much.
But time passes us all by, if you don't catch up it'll take you anyway.
Don't fight what you can't win, darling.
You told me dragons didn't exsist, then led me to their lairs.
Been wishing something would happen, been hoping.
Let go.
There' nothing more for me to hold onto.
http://taylorswiftsg.getmusicasia.com/vid143
Please click?
I hope you die btw.
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