i know i claimed that i would stop the narcisstic posts about myself and my opinion

but yeah
cant help myself

lols

anyways
a bunch of sch mates were like bringing up the question of what characteristics i like in a girl

and it dawned on me today(the events are quite far apart)
that what i would look for in a partner would be inspiration
i think if you do get together with someone
that person should be someone who inspires you to be better than you are
better than you think you are or can be at any rate

im making it sound like im asking for a joan of arc or a mother theresa
but anyways
it seems like wishful thinking
cause if i really do meet someone amazing who inspires me
i doubt id be much of an inspiration myself

oh wells
hopeful thinking is free isnt it

a song,

dedicated to memories bittersweet

and to moving on

to having the moral courage to face the day ahead

and to being human

Oh, how I've tried to get you out of my head.
And I lied, broken words I said.
Never thought I'd walk on this street again.
Standing where it all began.

Tried to forget when I left this town,
But it takes me right back when I come back around.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm back there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

Oh, how I find every subtle thing screams your name.
It reminds me of places of times we shared.
Couldn't live locked in these memories.
Now I'm chained to my thoughts again.

And I tried to forget when I left this town,
But I'll take you right back if you come back around.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm back there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

I need some shelter, I need some safety.
Photographs, they haunt me lately.
Chasing shadows as the evening takes me.
I'm still searching, but the picture's fading.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
I'm back there by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards, still counting backwards.

And no where else has ever felt like home.
And I can't fall asleep when I'm lying here alone.
I replay your voice, it's like you're here.
You move the earth, but now the sky is falling.

Retrace the steps we took on that long summer night.
In my mind, I'm back by your side.
Retrace the steps we took when we met worlds away.
Counting backwards while the stars are falling.

Falling slowly
I don't know you
But I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me
And always fool me
And I can't react
And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You'll make it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
Moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black
You have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you had a choice
You've made it now
Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing along

Again another blogpost i cant identify with but for the sake of rememberance
they showed once on the tv in the hotel in KL

and yeah i fell in love with the whole idea of the show
shaky camera shots
dialogue so real, its trivial at times
everyday dialogue where we dont say what we mean,

and the bittersweet ending
how love is an impossibility and an incovenience at times
how we just go on living

if u havent heard the song u should

Invictus
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

well as u probably can guess, this is the poem in the movie invictus
a favorite of mendela during his time of imprisonment
i think the magic of the movie was more of mendelas story than the boks but thats just me
i wish i could identify more with this poem but i think i fall rather short


anyways... i thought id let this blog die, but i gather maybe i should at least make an update once in awhile
mmm
maybe the age of narcissism has died out
or maybe i dont have an opinion anymore
whatever the case

check out invictus
if not for the fake rugby
for the story of a man who after 30 years in jail came out ready to forgive those whom put him there

back from a 5 days 4 nights camp at changi
so i had no mid term break effectively

not that it was a total waste of time
i mean sure
i managed to get over things i never thought myself doing
but no who really talks about those kinda stuff
like anybody really cares if i overcame my fears

but i think i did learn more about life
and i did meet some interesting people

an excerpt from a book im reading
bits of me are falling apart by William leith
humourous, but i have no idea why im reading it
since its abt some middle age guys crisis

I stride on, holding today's baton. It contains the woes of the world, stories about guns, about young people with guns, about the nervous market, about this year's good exam results, which are the result of a con, a Ponzi scheme, and which, therefore, are not good exam results. They are bad exam results. The baton tells me about the death of love and the end of sport and the baton asks why.

The baton does not know.

The baton does not really want to know.

The coffee has made me waspish and edgy. But the endorphins from walking are making me loose and relaxed. A perfect combination you may think. It's like speedball, the heroine to make you loose and the cocaine to perk you up- I was going to say poor man's speedball, but thats not what i mean.

I dont do drugs now.

Now i do my 15000 steps every day.

Now im marching along, towards the river and supermarket, with its Alpine cupola, passing the specialist underwear outlet, holding the baton that contains the woes of the world.

'Why?' says the baton.

But the baton does not want to know. Everything falling apart, kids with guns, banks not able to explain where their money's gone, house price's crazy, monogamy on its last legs, levels of unhappiness soaring, levels of clinical depression off the scale, graffiti everywhere, perverts looming, children missing. What was it Joan Didion said? The centre is not holding, that's right- the centre is not holding, a quote from somebody, Yeats i think, not sure but I tinhk it's Yeats, Didion writing about the San Franscisco of 1967, telling us about the coldness and alienation that went along with the sex and drugs, and now things are the same apart from oen detail, which is that the coldness and alientation have a corporate feel, and my instinct here is to say things should be fine, but they're not, things should be fine, but we're not happy, really not happy at all, when you think about the fact that we're so incredibly comfortable it seems weird that we're not happy, but our comfort comes at a price, it comes at a high price. There's something murky and wrong about our way of life, something shifty and treacherous, and we can feel it, can't we, and it's beginning to tell, things are starting to give, things are starting to run out. We're eating away at the seed capital. We're using up the telomeres. We cant' go on doing things the way we're doing them, can't borrow any more, can't write anymore cheques. These are the woes of the world.

'Why?' says the baton.

But the baton does not really want to know.

And as i march along, approaching Bobby who is a heroine addict-turned-alcoholic sitting on a bench, sunning his wide red face - as i march along, I toss the baton into a bin, it spins satisfyingly and lands on the pile of dog shit the riverside dog walers have been considerate enought ot put into plastic bags. Shit in plastic - a greater environmental headache, I would have thought, than shit per se. Tell me I'm wrong.

came home just
visited navigators just now with nic
suprisingly comfortable group

so anyways
nothing like a big mug of homemade bourbon
one of the pleasures in life

just raed an interesting quote on the way home
the rich are getting richer, and more miserable, the poor are getting richer, and more miserable
so where is all the money and misery coming from?

now i wouldnt know anything about it
as ive been blessed to come from the middle class,
the bourgeoisie

ive always liked the ring to that word

but so realy where does all this multiplying money and misery come from