ugh, don't know what i signed up for..FCP (flying circus project) sounds like a total nightmare. no pay; no food; no cip hours; no rest. seriously, the job at famous amos had better conditions, at least i got to da pao unsold cookies, on top of getting paid!!!! i mean, i don't reaaallly have a "passion" for theatre, especially not this sort of experimental types.. pose in awkward positions for 30 mins and call it art?!?! i might as well go peek through the glass at california fitness centre when they conduct yoga classes. the strangest thing is, some of the "performances" are scheduled at 2.00 am(?!?!) wth's coming?!?! oh well, i'm being mean here, and belittling what some of these artists have been working for a major proportion of their adult lives. ack, but i'm only 17, i can't work 25 hour days...mugging for promos just about killed me already.

BUT, will attempt to see the good side of this... some of the palestinian artists will probably be performing about homeland issues, i heard the performances are going to be abt terrorism and other Big Issues. So, that will probably make me feel alot better abt the world right now.

excerpt from theatreworks writeup:

Theatreworks asks, What is Asian in this age of globalisation, internationalization, modernisation and urbanisation? Its work exists on the tension between modernity and tradition; local and global. It hopes to rethink what is Western, what is Eastern, what is first world and what is third world: Do these dichotomies continue to make sense in the new millennium? Representing the continuum between tradition and contemporary, the work is unafraid to be exotic and yet conceptual. Theatreworks' aesthetics projects the hybrid identity of the modern Asian and embrace the multiple realities.

Apart from intercultural concerns, Theatreworks' recent works have challenged accepted history through a genre of docu-performance. Such works question the process of documentation itself. It points to the slippage when translation occurs: linguistic translation, translation from fact into history into myth into performance. These works, the latest being 'The Continuum: Beyond the Killing Fields', ultimately deal with the realm of myth making in modern societies.


ommmm...will go off to Meditate and attain Artistic Nirvana

Been busy with the law firm attachment for the past 2 weeks, met at ton (ok, really, actually 6, generously speaking…) of wonderful ppl.minor fan girl syndrome kicked in when I got to know Mr. Chandra K Nair Mohan, PBM. Senior counsel, NMP, part of (hellishly evil, at times hopelessly incompetent, but still…) MOE team. (PW?!?!?), proud father of 2 children (one especially gorgeous acjc rugby team captain I‘ve never seen before, but believe to possess aforementioned characteristic, if he‘s anything like his dad..haha, I‘m disgusting.) anyway, being the shallow cheapskate who’s easily bought over with copious amounts of food, I have formulated the very profound opinion that all people who contribute to the Feed Tong Wei Scheme are Good People. :D Learnt loads, and am bugging mr mohan to let us (stacy hcjc, arika vjc and me) to tail him for another 2 additional days. Can’t wait to see him in action, defending for this partially blind guy who “accidentally” molested some girls on a bus. Rena (temasek poly attachee) picked out some loopholes in his case eg

Blind man: no one helps me!!
Blind man again: I’m v independent! I take public transport on my own everyday!
Blind man yet again: I’m partially blind !!
Mohan: where’s your medical cert?
Blind Man once more, getting slightly irritating n irritated: dun haf.

Eeps. Not v convincing right? Though I was initially on his side, cos the plaintiff sounded like an overzealous LV toting piece of shit, complaining about someone brushing past your behind on a crowed bus… then, discovered that that there were many more plaintiffs (gasp!) sueing him as well.

Right, so that seems pretty interesting. ugh, quite disgusted by voyeuristic tendencies (being molested and traumatised isn't something you want everyone to know), but i can't help it...

Anyway. Film soc’s first full fledge short film is finally completed!!! Yay!!! Horrifying number of crises cropped up eg no camera, kena scolded by ah peks for being disrespectful to the gods when filming near a temple, no money, no tape, never save movie properly, looming possibility of being sued by wong kar wai for flouting copyright rules (but, you see, legitimate reason: the 2046 soundtrack covers flaws in the film by distracting pple..lol) etc etc. oh well, but I guess it turned out ok. Highly impossible that we’ll win anything though, cos the whole film has completely NO dialogue. It could account for itself to be one of those motions that speak through the silence (v Pintersque) communicating the oppression of jaded city dwellers in some artistically warped fashion reflecting the film makers' depravity. No, not really… but whatever, am starting to crap. haha, happy we got sth done at last.

Probably will be busy with theaterworks internship next month (The Flying Circus Project). Come watch! Then it’s mugging for next yr. Sigh.

I can’t believe j1’s over.

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note -
Amiri Baraka

Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelopes me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad edged silly music the wind
Makes when I run for a bus...

Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars.
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
And then last night I tiptoed up
To my daughter's room and heard her
Talking to someone, and when I opened
The door, there was no one there...
Only she on her knees,
peeking into
Her own clasped hands

***********************************
haha, oh well, not really suicidal, just bummed about promos and sucky results. two more to collect. argh..going crazy.

The Three Oddest Words


When I pronounce the word Future,
the first syllable already belongs to the past.
When I pronounce the word Silence,
I destroy it.
When I pronounce the word Nothing,
I make something no non-being can hold.


Wislawa Szymborska (1996 Noble Literature Laureate)

yay! in my opinion, she's way better than this year's nobel literature laureate. i mean, "The Piano Teacher" is kinda high class porn....what with sex for violent gratification, self mutilation of your genitals (?!!!?)..right....


in other news, i finally found a job with famous amos selling their cookies. working hours are on weekends from 6pm-11pm. yep, it's quite late, so my mum's a bit worried that i might not be able to cope, and i'm starting to see some sense in her reasoning. i should probably get another job in queenstown (anchorage...) that has earlier working hours. qing, what did your parents say abt the job?

am relatively happy, though still mugging for chinese ao. lao shi is so friggin nice that if i don't do well, i'll most probably kill myself out of guilt.love lao shi....hmmm, we should all work hard since it's her last year of teaching (scandal: she can't stand the hod,so she's quitting in protest..BUT she'll forfeit 30 yrs worth of govt pension for civil servants.*gasp*)

oh, by the way, will join in the unanimous chorus:

pw sucks!!!!!

an island emerges, and the future peeks out

promos are over, therefore, am temporarily (very) happy. went to bedok jetty in east coast with friends (i never want to forget, so, : huizhen,shuki,xy,nurul,penny,peck,ruimin,faith,anthony)

took alot of pics, with various people standing by the sea, holding their catch. even though it drizzled for a while and the sunset disappeared before we noticed, fishing was still wonderful. i had imagined that all of us would be standing in the magnificent backdrop of a placidly setting sun, but it was grey by the time we got there (around 6). somehow, the diminished sky was not reflected on our moods, the wind thrashing the paper plates , the satay (love nurul), the coconuts. perhaps it was due to the weather, but the waves seemed exceptionally loud, crashing and receding.

i was just taking a look at the pictures, they were beautiful. we were beautiful.
not in a supermodel milla jovovich way, but in our own youth at seventeen, the glamour was/is overpowering. yes, we were all stinky and sweaty, zhen's hands stank from handling the fishes, but we were, or at least i was, happy. stupidly, dastardly happy posing beside our 10 cm long fishes no one would normally eat. (in our defence, they were small, but we caught quite a few) (haha, they were an awkward size, too big to be eaten as ikan bilis, but far too small to make a decent meal)

an unknown virtual thanks to them (the people, not so much the fishies) for making the first thing i do after promos so enjoyable, esp zhen (for suggesting it, for sending us back, and for general "zhenness"..haha couldn't be more accurate, if translated to chinese); nurul (for providing satay for all us bums, we love you because of that, and so much more);anthony (for bringing the rods, without which we wouldn't be able to fish....duh)

good grief, i sound like i'm writing an eulogy. it is, in a way, i think, a fitting way to commemorate the night. i hope that's not the peak, cos then it would mean there's only downhill to go.

right, bottom line is, i'm in love with fishing! not so much the activity perhaps, but the company one has.cheers to the 04a15 peeps.(:

to the chemmers: (it's quite entertaining)

http://www.enzine.cyborgcow.net/exam/

Five Ways To Kill A Man
Edwin Brock


There are many cumbersome ways to kill a man.
You can make him carry a plank of wood
to the top of a hill and nail him to it. To do this
properly you require a crowd of people
wearing sandals, a cock that crows, a cloak
to dissect, a sponge, some vinegar and one
man to hammer the nails home.


Or you can take a length of steel,
shaped and chased in a traditional way,
and attempt to pierce the metal cage he wears.
But for this you need white horses,
English trees, men with bows and arrows,
at least two flags, a prince, and a
castle to hold your banquet in.


Dispensing with nobility, you may, if the wind
allows, blow gas at him. But then you need
a mile of mud sliced through with ditches,
not to mention black boots, bomb craters,
more mud, a plague of rats, a dozen songs
and some round hats made of steel.


In an age of aeroplanes, you may fly
miles above your victim and dispose of him by
pressing one small switch. All you then
require is an ocean to separate you, two
systems of government, a nation's scientists,
several factories, a psychopath and
land that no-one needs for several years.
These are, as I began, cumbersome ways
to kill a man. Simpler, direct, and much more neat
is to see that he is living somewhere in the middle
of the twentieth century, and leave him there.

*********************************************

haha, or leave her/him in mugger hell. perdition or what you will.(; good luck for promos pple!

Fragmentation
Harriet McCulloch


That summer words came broken to their lips,
falling in pieces, their mouths unheard, sly -
or else choked by the sprouting freckles, shy
colour in the down of their forearms.
Eclipsedby the glance of a hand on the sheet, the
moths and the white noise hum of heat in the air,
aching and battering the light: bare,
beaten, drumming down the sun. Persistently,
the air hung closer, insidious, sweet,
pinning arms to sides, clothes clinging, sheened.
Drowsy wasps murmured, jolted, gleaned
from the air, falling sacrificial at their feet.


From the air, falling, sacrificial at their feet
drowsy wasps, murmured, jolted, gleaned.
Pinning arms to sides, clothes clinging, sheened -
the air hung closer, insidious, sweet,
bare,beaten, drumming down the sun. Persistently
aching and battering the light: bare
moths and the white noise hum of heat in the air.
By the glance of a hand on the sheet, the
colour in the down of their forearms eclipsed,
or else choked by the sprouting freckles, shy.
Falling in pieces, their mouths unheard, sly -
that summer, words came broken to their lips.

***************************************************
what the hell, how did she do that?!?!?!
humph, jealous.

her·pes sim·plex Pronunciation: -'sim-"pleksFunction: nounEtymology: New Latin, literally, simple herpes: either of two diseases caused by herpesviruses (genus Simplexvirus) and marked in one case by groups of watery blisters on the skin or mucous membranes (as of the mouth and lips) above the waist and in the other by such blisters on the genitals. Usually sexually transmitted.


Right.
Well, guess what, I've been diagnosed with Herpes.
On my Forehead. What the hell does this entail?!?!
To top this whole thing off, my doctor just happens to be my next door neighbor. I can practically imagine the pleasantries he'll be exchanging with my parents in the morning:
" So, your daughter 16/17 already hor? She very sexually active ah? Aiyoh, hwachong so havoc meh?"

To which my parents’ reply will take on a very Pintersque nature- cue the nanosecond of silence before said "information" registers in my father's brain and he faints from the exertion of picturing me with some lewd guy in XXX Hotel.

Tong Si and Jun Yong have taken to calling me "Herpes Girl", which does, admittedly have a striking twang. I can just imagine those hardworking taxi drivers at their quarterly hour break at Soon Kee Kopitiam at 11.23 pm, going "Tiger ger down dere, Carlsberg zharbo here, eh, where the Herpes ger ah?"

Clarification: No I did not engage in any unlawful promiscuous activity during the miserable one week holiday, Thank You Very Much. The doctor postulates that the virus was transmitted to me when I stupidly wiped my face with a dirty towel/let my dog lick it etc. Furthermore, if this infection were to be sexually transmitted, that would have to mean…..which is entirely ridiculous. Not that I would know anyway, since the karma sutra is rumored to be very radical, for all you know, it may be stance 69 or something. BUT, this completely detracts from my point.

Anyway, the ghastly cloister of red bumps had better disappear in time for MAF. Would very much NOT like to spend the moon-gazing season with everyone staring at my forehead instead.
Interestingly, the blotch has taken on a highly symbolic shape (weird mutated/deformed flower/lightning/post-intergalactic implosion/explosion star etc , which seems to tickle my mother and various other individuals highly. This morning, she (mom) took one look at me in the rearview mirror of the car and started in this grotesque hacking laughter, pointing her index at my reflection. As you can probably picture, that was an extremely compromising position, and an even more precarious stance to adopt when Driving One’s Precious Children To School. That bizarre act was either the manifestation of a premature onslaught of menopause (wait, I thought they were supposed to be moody….), or she choked on her saliva etc, because my pain is not to be giggled at. Humph.

Distasteful humor has never been so cringed at, with the influx of Harry Potter/ GuanYin/Bao Qing Tian jokes. Seriously, Yang Gui Fei’s exquisite tattoo on her forehead probably took the tattoo artist the whole of a staggering 15 minutes, however, my blotch has taken 72 hours to form, with the inclusion of stimulus action (dirty towel episode), viral incubation period, cream applying effort, pill-guzzling and waiting at the doctor’s (thankfully there weren’t many patients around at that time). And I haven’t even included into the calculations all my whining and moaning.

The wonderful cream has set me back by $30, so it had better not leave any scarring. Otherwise, it will be Tremendously Difficult for my neighbour to continue his practice thereafter.

Argh, will stop bitching and go mug. Being ugly and therefore disadvantageous in society does not entitle one to brownie points with the tutors during the promos.
On the bright side, (Yes! Tw is eternally optimistic!!) I probably could use this emotionally trying time as a stepping stone to spur me on to greater heights! Gain a foothold in the world of Anti-discrimination Against the Ugly activism, become chairman of FAT!SO?Society (alliteration! haha) And include it my testimonial to be sent out to Various Universities.

May they be converted. (shouldn’t be too difficult, considering the fact that most of them identify with my cause.) Lol…

To my mother(,with resignation and determination):

The Years

To-night I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me--
The years before I saw your face
Go by me with a wistful grace;
They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.
The years went by and never knew
That each one brought me nearer you;
Their path was narrow and apart
And yet it led me to your heart--
Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years,
That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.

Sara Teasdale


To my mugging (,with hope):

Conversation Among the Ruins

Through portico of my elegant house you stalk
With your wild furies, disturbing garlands of fruit
And the fabulous lutes and peacocks, rending the net
Of all decorum which holds the whirlwind back.
Now, rich order of walls is fallen; rooks croak
Above the appalling ruin; in bleak light
Of your stormy eye, magic takes flight
Like a daunted witch, quitting castle when real days break.
Fractured pillars frame prospects of rock;
While you stand heroic in coat and tie, I sit
Composed in Grecian tunic and psyche-knot,
Rooted to your black look, the play turned tragic:
Which such blight wrought on our bankrupt estate,
What ceremony of words can patch the havoc?

Sylvia Plath

To my Dog (, with love):


The Dog

The truth I do not stretch or shove
When I state that the dog is full of love.
I've also found, by actual test,
A wet dog is the lovingest.

Ogden Nash

it's 2.06 am and i'm still not asleep yet.

it's one thirty and i'm still not asleep yet. the coffee doesn't usually work this well. i stood against the railing for a full 20 secs. it's a really long time if you do it alone in the middle of the night. the smell of cigarette smoke intertwined with black, sugarless coffee swirled up the stairwell. i do wish he wouln'd smoke that much. i didn't dare to go disturb him just now, when he was still awake, still downstairs. i could hear mahjong tiles colliding against one another. it's a beautiful, lyrical sound to hear when 3743584 friends are over at your house. it just occured to me that i don't know how to play mahjong, neither does my family own a game set. i must sound insane, rambling on about non-existent mahjong sets.

i want to go up to the extension on the third floor, but i'm afraid. you have to climb over the window sill to get to that little slab of whitewashed cement there. i always fantasized about sitting up there, reading by the moonlight or doing some painfully cliched thing and still enjoying myself. it would be my guilty indulgence, going up to the faux rooftop.

but getting there is difficult, and the moon isn't very bright. i would have to switch on the stair lights to find my way up. everyone knows that light isn't supposed to desecrate something as holy and spontaneous as this. well, not electric lights anyway.

i can just imagine the emerald sky, a few hours before dawn, there wouldn't be any birds, so late that even the crickets have silenced. the infallible bridge of darkness is not the least bit forbidding, instead, it provides stolid, staunch security. it is during this month that the nights are most magical. the long gone friends, relatives, brushing shoulders with chang e and the jade rabbit, with you right in the middle of all of them, singing your weird mantra, a mesh of getai favourites and traditional moon hymns.

you (yes, now it is no longer i, for the magical, transient transcendence does not concern itself with physical entities, even if this stasis is only momentarily). you would be thinking about lunchtime love on a schoolbus, the ariel who offers you the milky side of an oreo cookie.
sheeps fly about with their wolly wings, and the luckylass who catches some of their shedded fleece becomes the most popular girl in school, at least for the next few hours. the golden flecks stick onto her skin like diamonds. (no, not glitter, how could you possibly be thinking about glitter.)

then the matron would rev up the engine and send all the kids home, right up to their front doors, where mothers left out baskets for the deposition of their children. lawns were an unnecessary wastage. yes, school ends after lunchtime.

the matron then returns to her old but grandiosely furnished office in school. a coffee stain on her book forms a warm, indelible bookmark. nobody sees her using 12 different keys to unlock her labyrinth cupboard, carrying out the glistening golden girl, unconscious but still beautiful. at least for the next few hours.

too lazy to write an entry, so copy and pasted from various sites

from One-Way Street by Walter BenjaminThe Writer's Technique in Thirteen Theses

I. Anyone intending to embark on a major work should be lenient with himself and, having completed a stint, deny himself nothing that will not prejudice the next.

II. Talk about what you have written, by all means, but do not read from it while the work is in progress. Every gratification procured in this way will slacken your tempo. If this regime is followed, the growing desire to communicate will become in the end a motor for completion.

III. In your working conditions avoid everyday mediocrity. Semi-relaxation, to a background of insipid sounds, is degrading. On the other hand, accompaniment by an etude or a cacophony of voices can become as significant for work as the perceptible silence of the night. If the latter sharpens the inner ear, the former acts as a touchstone for a diction ample enough to bury even the most wayward sounds.

IV. Avoid haphazard writing materials. A pedantic adherence to certain papers, pens, inks is beneficial. No luxury, but an abundance of these utensils is indispensable.

V. Let no thought pass incognito, and keep your notebook as strictly as the authorities keep their register of aliens.

VI. Keep your pen aloof from inspiration, which it will then attract with magnetic power. The more circumspectly you delay writing down an idea, the more maturely developed it will be on surrendering itself. Speech conquers thought, but writing commands it.

VII. Never stop writing because you have run out of ideas. Literary honour requires that one break off only at an appointed moment (a mealtime, a meeting) or at the end of the work.

VIII. Fill the lacunae of inspiration by tidily copying out what is already written. Intuition will awaken in the process. IX. Nulla dies sine linea -- but there may well be weeks.

X. Consider no work perfect over which you have not once sat from evening to broad daylight.

XI. Do not write the conclusion of a work in your familiar study. You would not find the necessary courage there.

XII. Stages of composition: idea -- style -- writing. The value of the fair copy is that in producing it you confine attention to calligraphy. The idea kills inspiration, style fetters the idea, writing pays off style.

XIII. The work is the death mask of its conception.

ok, nice lit stuff is over. cue bloody politics :) (much of it i don't really understand...:/)

Let the hundred flowers bloom
What follows is an extract from the recent National Day Rally Speech in which Lee Junior actually refers to a policy introduced by Chairman Mao, which eventually led to a crackdown on political dissenters in China.

"The second thing we are going to do is to open up the Speakers'Corner where you can go and make any speech you like and we are going to say, 'Well, if you want to go there and have an exhibition, go ahead.'

Once in a while, Think Centre says they want to go to the Speakers' Corner and they want to plant 100 flowers there,let the hundred flowers bloom.Well, I think go ahead. They want to water the flowers, go ahead. They want to turn the flowers down, go ahead.I mean, free expression as long as you don't get into race and religion and don't start a riot.It's a signal that speak, speak your voice, be heard, take responsibility for your views and opinions. "Of all the quotations in the "Little Red Book", by Chairman Mao, none is more inspiring or chilling than this. It comes from a brief period of reform in the fifties known as the "Hundred Flowers Campaign" during which Mao encouraged complete freedom of thought, including criticism of the Party.

The result was much more vigorous debate than Mao had expected and the period ended with an abrupt crackdown against those who had raised their voices in opposition. It could stand as a critique of the failures of the Cultural Revolution itself, which tried to settle ideological questions by force under the guise of debate.

You have been warned.



oooooh.....

edition of letter i wrote with the intention of "di sheng xia qi", but which i couldn't resist inserting some of my sincerest feeings:

Dear Sir,
My sincerest aplogies for any inconvenience caused. Since we are unable to reach a consensus on the meeting time, I request that we conduct the interview via email, in which case we will mail you the questions, and you mailing back your answers. Any further queries will be mailed to you after we have analysed your response.

This system of communication seems to be the most effective in light of this situation, as shown by your great efficiency in bitching.

Since you love checking your mail so much, i'm sure we'll receive the answers in no time.You are free to answer the questions in your own time (that is, of course, within a logical and viable time period).

We do not think that this mode of communication would compromise the quality of your answers in anyway. unless, of course, your answers are lousy in the first place.


Yours Sincerely

Ooi Tong Wei

*****************

cleaned up version of what i eventually sent out:


Dear Sir,

My sincerest aplogies for any inconvenience caused. Due to over-extended school hours and limited availability of internet excess, I am unable to check my email as frequently as I might desire.

Since we are unable to reach a consensus on the meeting time, I request that we conduct the interview via email, in which case we will mail you the questions, and you would then mail back your answers. Any further queries will be mailed to you after we have analysed your response.

This system of communication seems to be the most effective in light of this situation.

You may then answer the questions in your free time, subsequently sending us your reply within the next week or so. (If you have problems in meeting this projected deadline, please feel free to inform us.)

Please indicate your consent to this form of interviewing.

Thank you for your help regarding this matter, it is much appreciated. Once again, we are sorry for any inconveniences.

Yours Sincerely
Ooi Tong Wei
Hwa Chong Junior College

*************

sigh,the things i do for my education.

excerpts from email messages between Tong Wei and YEW PENG SOH

*****************


Dear Sir/Mdm,

My name is Ooi Tong Wei and I am a JC1 student from Hwa Chong JuniorCollege. I am currently involved in Project Work (PW), part of the required"A" Level syllabus.My group is doing a project on Advertising Trends, and we would like to schedule an interview with an expert in this field.We understand that your hectic schedule may not make allowances for other activities, but we would greatly appreciate it if you could kindly spare us15-30 minutes of your time to answer a few questions pertaining to thetopicof advertising and the media.The interview would ideally be scheduled in the late afternoon (preferablysometime within the next week - 23rd - 28th Aug 2004) to accommodate yourwork schedule. My group members are also willing to make a trip down to thePolytechnic so as to save you the hassle of traveling. Please kindly reply soon to indicate your consent for granting us an interview.

Thank You for your attention.

Yours Sincerely
Ooi Tong Wei
04A15
Hwa Chong Junior College
22nd Aug 2004
3.30 pm

***************

Dear Sir
I am terribly apologetic, but my group members and I will not be able to conduct the interview tomorrow, due to school activities. (sorry!) However, if you are free either this Friday (27 Aug 2004) from 4 pm onwards, or on Saturday (28 Aug 2004) from 8-9 am or after 2 pm, we could conduct the interview then.
Thank You for your help, it is much appreciated.

Yours Sincerely
Ooi Tong Wei
04A15
Hwa Chong Junior

****************


Tong Wei,

To be frank, it's very "unprofessional" or poor time management on yourpart.Please re-read your request below:
"The interview would ideally be scheduled in the late afternoon (preferably sometime within the next week - 23rd - 28th Aug 2004) to accommodate your work schedule." When I re-arranged my schedule to conform to your request, I do not expect you to have other "scheduled activities". After all, I followed your time-table.On one hand, you claimed to have understood our busy schedule, but on the other, you took close to 12 hrs to reply this e-mail and asked for a change of meeting time at the last minute!!! This means I have to re-schedule my appointments again!

Tell me, how should I react?

YEW PENG SOH

*****************

Dear Mr Yew Peng Soh (your name is indeed befitting your great brilliance),

Please understand that I had to liaise on behalf of all my fking lazy pw group members who don't give a damn about anything, all of whom have varying schedules. I would also like to to note that I checked my e-mail the moment I got home yesterday night (yes, i reached home at 9.00 pm). Prior to that, I had to reconfirm the meeting time with all my group members. I would also like to take the time to point out that you sent out your mail at 2.49 am. Do you expect my life to revolve around securing a PW interview with you, you sad fking anal piece of shit with zero sex life.

I understand that this shit is no business of yours, but if you could just be a tiny bit more understanding and considerate abt this matter, it would greatly alter your bitch rating.

You Bitch.

Look what you've done, you've ruined the night for me, in addition to everybody else's, including yours. I would now have to transfer your bitch energy down the chain. And unlike nature's norms, energy doesn't decrease as it's being transferred down the chain, contrarily, it friggin quadraples. Do I have to teach you sociology/biology you imbecelic ignoramus.

Plus the new date I very politely requested stuck to my original schedule I sent to you. For Pete's sake, I devoted the whole Saturday to you. Tell me, which decent, sane-minded girl has done that for you in your 40 odd years of virginal existence. I positively let you choose the friggin dates, so why the hell are you being irritating?!?!?!

I would seriously suggest that you don't stay up too late to surf porn, instead, generate your excess energy to comply with innocent students' requests, otherwise please channel your potency (I hope the irony is sorely unmissed) towards fking yourself you sad loser.

Thank You for your kind attention regarding this matter.

Please rest assured that you will be accurately quoted for our project, after which a copy of our analysis of your insightful speech will be sent to MOE and circulated among its staff.

Yours with Great Pleasure,

Ooi Tong Wei
04A15
Hwa Chong Junior College

got the cap mentorship, so i went to moe headquarters in orchard to check out details. found out that my mentor is ..........ho poh fun.

yes, she may sound alien, but let me bring you back to about a year or so ago, when this very wonderful lady got embroiled in a typhoon of media scandals. apparently, her venerable status at rjc as one of the most hated teachers led to a (v brilliant n tech savvy) student to film her (secretly) tearing up some homework, throwing the sheets onto the floor etc, basically, behaving like uber bitch. anyway, the video somehow got leaked out and the media stirred up this big brouhaha abt it. i remember mdm kuan spent a whole lesson discussing the philosophical n societal implications of conflicts between innocent students n bitchy teachers. yep, that is the clandestine ms ho's claim to fame. except now that the poor camera man has already graduated, she'll have to direct her energy (ies) toward terrorizing us. have been thinking on how not to thread on her toes. she apparently(note the constant usage of this word, cos what i've heard abt her--ALOT-- have all come from ppl whom she has been an ass to...so it's not a v nice pic.) is still an old virgin, so maybe nudging her to indulge in some luurve (preferably with a consental male partner) would better her temper.

things she's apparently against:

-homosexuality
-writing about homosexuality
-hinting about homosexuality (i don't know how this is going to work out... she censored someone's "grass swaying in the wind", cos it was too erotic...i mean like huh???!!?! a poem which goes "happy bobbin birds, happily gay and bobbin together" must be FULL of innuendo to her.)
-sex
-writing about sex
-hinting about sex ("i sucked and sucked the juice all night" is NOT going to work with her)

-she likes cutting..( no, not that sort).. censoring whole chunks out. "pls delete stanzas 1-3"

so there's gonna be nurul, jy (vjc guy) and me under her charge. we're gonna have SO much fun. really.
*insert irrelevant pt here* qing! your animal welfare friend got in too...her name's grace. ing a bell?

*plus another irrelevant piece of gossip here.* vivian(from vjc...aiyoh, the girls down there all so wild one ah? lol:p) flashed han during cap. she did it a la sharon stone in basic intinct, crossing and uncrossing her legs really...um...bigly (perfect word to describe it)..um obviously/sensually/disgustingly etc to reveal her "kinky underwear". haha, cldn't stop laughing when i heard abt it. apparently the stupid ass han turned his head at the wrong time and missed the whole show. unfortunately, others at the v crowded table got an eyeful (wahlau, be more subtle can? at least go to some corner lar..tsk tsk)

anyway, have decided to give her (ms ho, not the v sexy vivian..hello, am relatively straight k..anyway, i'm out of her (vivian) league, even if i do say so myself.haha, kidding lar) a chance. maybe her reputation precedes her real personality. she's probably an old, lonely spinster yearnin for some sweet lovin (ooooh...that was bad:p). deep down all she really wants is to see her mentees ...um, i dunno, be able to hold a pen/breathe in her presence/do both at the same time etc? yep, anyway, if anything should go wrong (ohgodihopenotcosiwannabealiveaftercap) i'll just pretend to be her long lost niece/lesbian admirer(i figure she'll settle for anything)/plain sucker/bootlicker. umm, yup. or i could dedicate all poems to her or sth: ode to ms ho. elegy to fun (haha).

meeting her next sat for "mentorship tea session". i hope food's provided.

Where


Oh Dog, if you should
Die one day,
Please don’t do it in the house.
for the stink of your beautiful carcass
would never leave my nostrils.


Don’t Do It in the garden either,
because then I would be arrested
by foolish American utopian-suburb romanticisms,
and decide to bury you there.
How gruesome to have you lying there
beside the spinach patch
for all eternity.


Don’t Do It within a 2.4 km radius of my house
because walking home,
back from some
Gothic heaven
would be even more disappointing than it already is.
You have taken away
my sorcerer’s stone of poetry,
of idyllic days and idle nights.
I would have to face your bridle presence,
knowing that you are somewhere better,


But without your blanket.


Oh Dog, this seems to leave the vet’s as the last option.
but you must think that cold black table
much too harsh for your baby navel.
It occurs to me that I would have to
schedule an appointment with the Doctor.
Mengele has awoken from the grave of Auschwitz,
and arrived at Clementi.


Together with my
wellpaidharlotaccomplice
I will tenderly plot,
over the phone, the
timedatevenue
of your Swan song,
Dog song,
Morning song,
Death song,

Or whatever it is you like to call your final bark.
My howl is that of a dishonored samurai,
Accompanying your lissome whine.


Then doggie bone to ashes,
after we have all
Done It Together,
You would be plucked,

gently,

flake

by

flake

and placed in my pencil box,
for you are more important than poetry.
Perhaps you would eventually fossilize
in that cuboidal domain,
Finally, then, can I truly write and love with you.

My bedroom provides the ideal conditions,
there, your scent can diffuse,
continue to mingle with my
Food, Clothes, books, hair, tongue, heart.
At least crystallization takes place within my lifetime.


I will cradle you in the sweet gutter of my bloodied arms,
mangled and tainted,
but still loving.
My fingers will wrap around,
licking the angular urn
tracing out your name.


Aren’t these hands familiar dear dog?
It wasn’t the bitter needle that you last felt,
But these very hands.
I cradled you then as I do now.
Oh dog, you died at home.

feel like i'm being buried under all the work. some oxonians (apparently, that's what those good folks call themselves there at oxford) came by today to show off there academic achievements/ promote their stinking university(ok, fine, i'm being bitterly sour here). anyway, found out that the too cheery female promoter is our grand-grand senior from 01a15....starting teasing us abt barnard in mock earnestness. argh. irritated. wanted to ask if she was on a scholarship, but was afraid to do so, lest it provoked the wrong reaction ie. the govt rejected her and daddy had to pay for everything.

unfortunately, that is very well how i may end up, and perhaps even that is an over-positive forecast. nus law fac is not such a breeze to get into either. according to mdm kwan (sec 4 chinese teacher, whose beauty pagaent contestant daughter is currently studying there) only 200 friggin ppl get in, amongst millions (ok, maybe nus isn't THAT hot) of applicants.....

smu....possible option. sigh. ahwellwhatevernonotreallybutstill.

http://www.petitiononline.com/hwachong/petition.html