of long hair and gp papers.

god. i think the way rules are being enforced in our school is simply ridiculous. plainly speaking, i'm not a rebel who intentionally goes out to break every single rule in the book (i have my classmates for that) though i do bend a few rules from time to time. in this case, its the rule about long hair. i know that i have long hair, and i know that i have to go and get it cut. but oh my fuck, it's so pointless to go cut my hair when i'm only coming to school once in 2 weeks! by the time i'm back, my hair would have grown long again! what is the point of wasting fifteen bucks on doing something so brainless and pointless. what's worse, was that the teacher sent me OUT of school and prohibited me from using the damn school gym! now where's the sense in that? he absolutely refused to listen to my perfectly logical reasoning and flatly drove me out. what a pity. in an education system where students are taught to discern for themselves, the very same students are disallowed from applying such skills in daily life. what a pity. can't really blame the teacher in mention though, must be hard to come up with things to do especially considering that this teacher's job is capped by its sheer uselessness.

on another note, gp went as i predicted. i'm barely going to scrape a B. this time though, i'm waiting to see what kind of marks i'm going to get for my essay. well any essay that begins with, " greatness is the name written at the top of this paper" is bound to breed much anticipation. as for my compre, well let's just say that my marker is going to think that i wrote my application question in greek. it was that bad.

if i get fat and unhealthy and if all my arteries get choked up with copious amounts of fat and blubber, i shall look back upon this day, the 28th of August 2006, and blame the teacher who stopped me from using the gym. hah! may the guilt cause the-teacher-who-must-not-be-named many sleepless nights!

delayed post-

well let's see. the weekend's over, and i've not had my haircut nor have i started on the mock epic. so much for my weekend's itinery. its rather frustrating come to think of it, i'd start a day with all these plans and at the end of the day i would only have completed a quarter of it. roar.

same applies for my readings actually. well not like school notes and stuff, but you know, books in general. so many open books and unread pages. and instead of finishing them all, here i am planning to buy more books! but you can't really blame me. kino has this delectable array of new books by chomsky and fukuyama. what else, i have my eye on this stiglitz book and the friedman book ah ho has been going on and on about. as usual though, i bet i'm going to buy these book and instead of reading them, i'd be stuck on the xbox playing winning 11 (god's gift to men. well after fiona xie and denys rodney tan).

by the way, tomorrow marks the start of the highly anticipated preliminary examinations (best blockbuster this fall! - chicago times) , and in typical fashion i think i'm gonna barely scrape a B for it. well that's if i'm lucky. i'm betting one of these days, one of the markers will realise that i've written crap and all my examples have been cooked up. my, i'd be lucky to escape with an F after that i tell you.

i shall try to push my luck tomorrow, and insert some jokes into my essay. after which, i'm going to pray that the marker has a sense of humour. either that, or i get awarded bonus marks for my dashing wit and boyish charm (its true! - chicago times). well that's all for today-

may god have mercy on our souls. discuss.

the adams family

shall try my hand at a mock epic over the weekend, dont know how it'll turn out though. rite about now, that fuzzy wuzzy inspiration that always hits me (at the most awkward of times mind you) hasn't really kicked in yet. anyway was looking through some of the crap that i wrote in sec school and god, it was so funny how i tried so hard to imitate the petrarchan style of poetry. the metaphors were so belaboured and obtuse and essentially, i didn't really make much poetic sense. tenses were all over the place, grammar was so screwed up, poet was so handsome, you know all the usual stuff. sigh, guess some things just never change--

anyway by the power of the Tan, i must now go and snip off my precious locks. and here i was thinking that i could have gotten away with it till like next year or something. such a pity though, i like the way my hair is right now. its all long, thick and fluffy and its a pleasant distraction from the harsh reality that i have a hereditary problem of male pattern balding in my family. imagine that! me with this huge bald spot on my head. now that would be one hell of a sight.

though, i'd still pay lots of money to see divyesh as a skin head. he would honestly look like fester adams from the adams family. tell you what, now THAT would be one hell of a sight.

colour me pretty-

people always ask me why i like to sing. sometimes, they ask me why i sing the songs i sing. at other times, they just ask me to shut the hell up.

i guess, singing is like an outlet of sorts for me. whenever i'm just sitting down and doing nothing, i'd just burst into some random song. usually, it'd be a sinatra or a martin but if i'm in the mood, something more modern i.e. a buble haha. but seriously, when you sing, you just feel so enlightened, so free, so light, so you. its as though all your troubles and worries rise along with the notes, slide through the air and just evaporate. back to the nothingness that it came from. then slowly, as the final note of the song too echoes its last breath, the troubles and worries slowly pile up again. que sera sera.

the african americans used to sing their blues away back in the days of slavery. singing their thanks for life, or maybe just singing to court death. it just makes so much sense. though i admit, i am a but a poor comparison, it all just makes so much sense. in a world, where a true word is a sacred yet shunned commodity, where the revelation of feelings is an act tantamount to suicide, where one knows not where to turn to or to confide in, where one knows that the only solution; that is to let thoughts and emotions fester within, is a self destructive addiction, where one knows that the only way to live, is to be smart, there will always be times when that sword and shield would be too heavy a burden. at those times, all we can do is to find that quiet spot within ourselves and sing our blues away.

we will always be on our guard; sword and shield. but for that few minutes when our soul weeps or cheers, the world becomes a much more wonderful place. one where intent, malice, sorrow, joy, and people are not concerns, but words that flow in a melody. the world then exists in lyrics and tune.

what am i trying to get at here? well, nothing really. just thought it'd type out something as i croon to sinatra's 'my way'.

i faced them all and i stood tall, and did it my way--

simmering like a pot of stew-

if there's one thing that i hate, its incompetency. specifically, my own incompetency.

i dont really give a fuck what people think. i set my own standards, and if i think i failed, means i did. no two ways about it. having been vilified by the national press when i was in sec school taught me enough not to care about what people say, and hell, people spin untruths half the time anyway.

i hate proving people right. what got to me was not the smirks that whispered "told you he cant do it", but that i knew they were right. deep down, i knew that my inadequacy was for all to see. disgusting.

if there's something else i picked up in life, its never to reveal your emotions. so before i say too much, i shall end this little rant.

mark it.

magic johnson & johnson

enough of poetry, though i must admit the last one got me pretty excited. anyway, i hereby declare that i am a basketball GOD. that's right, it seems that i have all the makings of an all time great. in fact, i'm all set for the NBA. a tad unpolished, but hey that can be worked out. all i need to do now is learn how to shoot, pass, block, steal, dribble and not make a fool of myself and poof i'll be playing ball with people like dwayne wade and mcgrady! give me a few years and who knows, they might call me the new royal airness! hell, theyre already calling me his airness now looking at all the air balls i shoot from 2 feet away.

jordan eat your heart out-

at a glance

Child’s Play

will someone please replace the batteries in my
halo?
its fluorescent glow seems to have worn off-

its light no longer shelters the dark flower
that blossoms on the spleen; slow conclusive growth
whose leaves reach out for the heart and blankets it like
a thick, hot, green quilt. unfortunate union-

or machiavellian matrimony, they say,
that with the subtlety of words too brittle for
sunlight,
the herd is coaxed to bleat in unison;
manufactured thaumaturgy.

sad though, that a child’s disposition would
rattle earth and sky and force wisdom to
a muzzled jamboree. one,
where castratos mourn memories of imagined
inamoratas.

let shy ambers choke through the night,
as the world awakes to hell in the morn.

the halo burns bright again-
smile wide for the camera.

much ado about mugging

it starts with A

like a wheel that turns with the predictability
of a singpost- postman,
our turn comes, again, at the end of a revolution,
face- first into gravel; groaning under newtons,

slipping through cracks of white, emblazoned
with words; dates; numbers; terms; logic
that jump at you from every page that greets
like a humbled doorman, then
cling to slivers of brain matter, like
an abandoned mistress;
too old to fuck

yet not old enough to win this race of
alphabets, too important in signifying
nothing at all-

as necks crane and bathe in arthritis, we question
the questions that stream like tears
from nowhere; as leisure slowly wilts like a wintery
flower
in singapore’s botanical misery.

i crave laminated and embalmed glory. don’t we all?

ooh i like this one-

cupid’s call

cupid gulps down a bottle of beer; idle fat man
dead to the world and drowned
in bitter fermentation.

she pleads ‘hello’ from a nothingness that
demands
shape and form; 2 eyes;
mouth; nose; long hair that
cascades with the elegance of falling water,
bitter with reality-

familiar, sweet stranger who waits like
a prophecy, shaping a promise with her lips
that no prophet will deliver; fat man

waiting, like a wizened fetus for a delivery that
courts the scorn of light- and a slap on the buttocks.
juvenile hopes, driven like a bus by an old lady
to nowhere in particular,
a predilection for a passenger that stops more than a double- decker.

my heart ticks like a clock, staggering
under influence.
pass the bottle-

i was bored

Night Terrors

when the night beckons, and the darkness
coaxes our eyes to a blinding submission
like an annoying, monotonous habit;
reality giggles and wails, hanging on to the vulva; dearly.
enchanting new birth- serenaded by fallacies
as lyrical as ghazals, Man knew no better.

bermimpi, the malays say-
a word as soft and light as its tongue
that knew no better than itself; lost in translation
and sense.
cocooned in its saliva of delusion, we taste the asphyxiation
with our eyes, and see untold prophecies that do little
than giggle; dearly.

a flurry of light and sound; that travels
no further than Venus’ trap, we toss turn tremble
at the mercy of our simulacrum-

i am no prelapsarian warrior. i grow tiresome too.

i need to mug. badly.

my handphone sits there, like a still- born cadaver, breeding expectations that know nothing but its own faded outlines.

i dont even know what i'm waiting for actually-

back in the world of the living, i'm just bumming around and being surprised by the fact that anxiety and stress hasn't come knocking on my door yet. its interesting really, i'm unnaturally calm. too calm some might say. just to correct certain misconceptions, its not that i'm so confident of myself or that i've mugged everything 10 times over or something, its just that the reality of prelims being just 23 days away or that the much anticipated As are a mere 63 days away hasnt really hit home yet. funny, no?

been reading a bit here and there, but that's about it. lit and history remain untouched and i've barely made headway into econs. but it's all good. i should think that i would be able to pick things up soon- i hope. in some ways, i think that being calm and unstressed is a good thing. no point rushing and panicking and ultimately not absorbing anything. anyway, i'm just gonna go out there and just have fun with the papers. i guess its a gamble but hey, what's life without its little calculated gambles here and there.

anyway, i wanna see how long i can get away with having this long mop on my head. my bet is, i'd be able to go all the way till after prelims and after which, mr tan and his minions would come a- chasing with their mini hatchets (sponsored by adidas no less).

oh one bad thing, i think i've been eating too much! its a tragedy i tell you. right about now, i look like an obese civet cat on weed who's bursting out of its uniform. pretty soon i'll get so big that i would ably satisfy the libido of a blue whale, and not long after that, i would be as big as bertrand (gasps!).

well that's about it, i need to get back to work. this dastardly thing called the origins of the cold war just brandished it own mini hatchet, so gotta run-

bugger king

i say, double whoppers rock. big time. pity the offer to put everything on it has expired. o well, they still rock.

i need sleep

my eye- bags have gotten so bad that if i'm going on any flight, i would have to check them in-

curse you triple eye bags. roar.

the theory of lala

u noe, i seriously need to find a way to have dinner everyday in school without a) busting my pockets and b) dragging my entire kitchen down in a john-esque fashion.

on a brighter note, i now have damn amusing company for my psuedo- mugging sessions, though something deep inside me says that having dance- offs with andrew or karaoke breaks with denys arent doing my prelim targets any good. but hey, if i do go down, mite as well do it in a blaze of fun-

and oh yea, after seeing denys "in action" with a girl, i'm starting to think that leslie's cross continent video camera exploits arent that bad. wait, lemme correct that. they both need serious help (start with the TIACT boys). and o yes, sad breaking news. haiz. daryl gan's prolific hurdling career has come to an end right when it was about to peak (i am so gonna get my head knocked in for this) as amoz the hor cruelly smashed daryl's foot with a crutch. i think that's the singular form for crutches. should be right? haha-

adding to the commentary of this "life" that i have newly adopted, i must say that poline is highly highly amusing company to have. quirky mannerisms, weird monikers, bad hygiene, rowdy temper, short fuse, bad fashion sense, almost non existant sense of humour, man what more is there to ask for? (haha again just asking for a beating i tell u)

on a final note, FIONA XIE is like the hottest chic around-

sing a song of merry men

i am god damn tired. anyway as promised:

mugging progress for the day: 2 pages of balance of payment notes!

hohoho at this rate i should be ready for the A levels in 2020, Malaysia Boleh!

mugdonalds

well, national day euphoria still hangs in the air and in the spirit of all things singaporean, i have decided to initiate a mini ritual in anticipation of the A levels. and still keeping with that spirit, i have also decided to give it an acronym- IR (Imran's Ritual).

let's see, to keep my muggerish peers on their toes and to hopefully inspire those still bumming around and playing DoTA, i shall detail my daily mugging progress. that's right folks! for the first time ever, the public shall have access to such secret information! starting today in fact-

mugging progress for the day: 1 whole page from the balance of payment notes

hohoho fear me! grade A here i come-

meet my playmate; boredom

you know that something is wrong with your day, if the most exciting thing that happened was that you finished a plate of rice under 7 minutes.

oh joy.

our nation's most lethal weapon

just when we thought that the world has seen enough horrors to last a lifetime (e.g. war, Beloved, cake under harris' armpit, chayhim etc.), channel 5 comes along ups the ante.

they brought back my sassy neighbour.

yes folks. that sad excuse for a comedy with a teaser trailer that's about as enticing as sauteed rooster balls for dinner. i still don't get it man. by now, i would have thought that someone in mediacorp would have enough brains to realise that my sassy neighbour's overall viewership of 1 would be reason enough to can the damn thing. but no, they decided to stick with the show.

the script is about as funny as an amputation and the actors are as comical as swiss cheese. how bout that lead actress? that self righteous aunty? well she holds a punchline the way bertrand holds in his stomache (no offence brudda). the only reason i can think of for them to continue persisting with the show would be that they needed more miracle cases for their highly acclaimed series Life Story. you know, "HEY! i survived my sassy neighbour AGAIN! Such strength! This is my life story!"

hell. at the rate theyre going, the only series that's gonna have more cases would be True Files.

if that wasnt enough, they introduced rated E. yes folks! that show that reeks of boundless promise. the one where they claim to have the "insider scoop" to things and be the Singapore equivalent of E!. rite about now, the only scoop theyre getting is from the uncle selling ice cream from the back of his van.

that michelle woman is a complete plank and shan's efforts at trying to be witty falls flat because it just bounces off that woman. hell, the only way theyre gonna get any form of chemistry, is if they brewed something up from those do-it-yourself chemistry sets that you get at Toys-R-Us. its that bad.

c'mon people, singapore has more than its fair share of good entertainment but what's happening is that theyre all being swept under the carpet. at this rate, i mite actually be forced to turn to other channels to quench my thirst for good entertainment, specifically comedy. rite now though, suria isnt exactly the black entertainment television equivalent and what more the actors there massacre lines like tutsis. channel 8? well 'nuff said (lao shi zao an!).

channel 5; its good to be home.

of good mornings and little brothers

you know you are in a desperate need for a good shave when you wake up one fine morning and your little brother greets you with:

"Good morning Yatiman Yusof!"

now where is that damn shaving blade.

count on me singapore

look at it this way, i'm about as patriotic as the next 18 yr old singaporean lining up for national service, but honestly speaking the national day parade didnt exactly puff my chest up a bit more with national pride.

well where do i start? hrm there were 3 things that really irritated me.

1) tapdancers. like c'mon. tapdancers? performing in an open-air stadium in front of tens of thousands of people? like c'mon. you can't possibly be serious abt this.

2) whats up with the formations and all man.

commentator 1: what does this particular formation mean?
commentator 2: well it symbolizes the vibrancy and enthusiasm of today's youths!
*cues bored looking kids wearing yellow reject shop costumes flapping their arms*
commentator 1: yes! we can see how theyre all having a ball of a time! (mind you, she said this with the confidence of a 500 pound wrestler going into a fight against denys)

honestly folks. not only were they trying to force through meanings with these random formations and not only were the costumes so god damn ugly and weird, the sad thing was that the true meaning of national day was obviously lost on the kids. i highly doubt that they saw their participation in the parade as anything more than CIP hours and a chance to make friends who are possibly better looking than them.

we have got to find another way to not only celebrate the independence of our nation but to also make the youths of today appreciate what it means to be independent. i dont have the answers with me, but when i do i'll make sure i blog abt it. heh.

3) whats up with the bastardized national day songs! since when was stand up for singapore so techno! blasphemy! whoever was responsible for such gross inhumanity shall be made to pay!

i shall write to my friendly neighbourhood MP and complain *nods* together we make a difference!


the only redeeming factor in the entire parade was the fact that i managed to catch amoz's dad's drum invention in action. boy was it damn cool.

anw i started on my mugging today (gasps! hard to believe but true!) and i juz realised that i'm in quite deep shit. taking a leaf out of yining's mum's book (lao zhi zao an!) i went and weighed my box of notes and it was a whopping 8.4kg!

curse you 200 years of history. grumbles.

shake that thang-

from time to time we always get this sinking feeling where we noe that something is not quite rite, u noe, that feeling that something is missing from our lives and that there's absolutely nuthing that we can do abt it. blooey.

i would have loved to have gone to school for the celebrations, but after weighing things up i decided that the opportunity cost was simply far too great (fear me! i am using econs jargon!) hence, i spent the time wisely snoring away, dreaming of things that i noe i can never get even if i snag that degree in tribal dancing.

i guess the coming hols would either make-or-break my prelims, but i have a funny feeling that i'm gonna end up stoning away again or writing pointless blog entries that merely amuse bored souls wandering around the internet. well hey, at least i can put this as one of my top 3 achievements, alongside 'wearing ties every friday without fail' and 'running faster than mr goh's grandma'.

oh btw i'm taking bets. who's willing to risk the dough betting that i would actually finish an essay during the hols?

any takers? =]

long live McDonalds delivery

haha so much for lit study grp. but o well at least had some fun psuedo-mugging with andrew and denys.

u noe what? at the rate i'm going rite now, the only uni i can hope to go to at the end of NS would be the University of Timbuktu, learning tribal dancing.

woe is me!

haha this is a complex one

Me & God

I think God said: ‘worship me.’
and sharing the gravestone of my thoughts
as desolate as an old cow’s puckered cry,
the face- that- is- not- mine wept
till it lay at the
bottom of things.

nothing existed besides the broken eyes (closed) between
relaxed hands.
then, embracing a tremor that shook nothing but itself-
life stirred and pieced wordy earth together.

Hope, like an idle warrior, festered in wombs
and reeked of cantankerous blood. then silently,
like a lover’s call reverberating through contemned hills
it unfurled its colours; bunga mangga, to touch
the
depths
of
me
that
roared into shape; the broken eyes open.




poet's note: apparently blogger cant compute the breaks i put between words. so my poem looks quite screwed up rite now. if anyone noes how i can solve this lil problem i would be grateful. in the meantime if u want the proper version, juz ask from me online. cheers-

poetry,oh poetry how gay art thou.

Owl

like an idle carcass the owl waits
for skulls, deathlike- with ‘Man’ tattooed in his armpit
under the wing too heavy to fly.
he stretches- and an ecstasy tightens over his skin
and dissolves, distilling inertia thickened
with fish mucus and algae.

sensing his belly like a butterfly, sadness in the glory of its fronds
unfurls a gesture to the unseemly huge shadow
of the owl-
that twitches across the floor.

cowering under leaves, it grabs the tip of its heart- nerve
and crashes.

he is in hopeless feathers.

friday nights

i love talking to moz. its so easy talking to him and like it can go on for hours at an end. now if only he came to school more often hahaha-