recentaboutlinksarchive
INFORMATION

Someone speaks softly through the horror and pain:
'Love has gone, but it could come again.'
Spring arrives quietly, warming her skin
Her heart, now red, is beating again
- Hannah Fury, 'Someone Speaks Softly'

Not a writer but a professional student. Instead I can be the jaded passer-by that caught a glimpse of a fling or a fatal mistake, a murder in the back alley, and I keep it all to myself so I don't lose any of it during the spilling from heart to paper on an unimaginary dark night. I write opinions, facts, emotions and other satisfied sentences that are the offspring of my imagination and external influences. And I do not need your validation to live, for the record.

CONTACT

FS/augustkills
FP/thepapercult
LJ/snipethedoctor
WP/electricsleeves

CREDITS

Icon: DW/tablesaw
Layout: tuesdaynight
Inspiration: DayBefore!Misery
Yet another brief bout of euphoria.
Written on: Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Time: 10:05 PM

There is nothing quite as invigorating, yet as inwardly-damaging as praise. It reaffirms one's achievements and approval as it bathes one in another fleeting moment of glory, but like a double-edged sword with a less noticable, more lethal side it cuts away all motivations of progress as one remains in limbo, forever dwelling on the glittering past and his refusal of improvement never comes to him though he commits it again and again. One fills his mind with jewels and past trophies as he empties out the brain matter to make space for more bygone glories. It is a stagnation, and then a deterioration marks the end of his self-besotted heart.

It is a pity.

Somehow the thought occurs to me that it is strange how we go from one stress to another: from waiting to results release and then the burden of choosing from such abundant choices. I cannot help but ask: is TWELVE choices necessary? I would be satisfied with half the number, and if it indeed had been, I would have happily put down my pen a day ago, instead I find myself leaning over a particularly grubby piece of notepaper (with a coffee stain), moaning over subject combinations, schools with available said combinations, and worrying about ideal ones that do not. It is depressing, with my mother's silence pressing onto my heart from one side and my (despised) indecisiveness on the other. For a moment I don't know what I should do. I have no intention of desiring she should know before I've come to a sound conclusion, as she usually publishes my thoughts without permission and these thoughts are practically dead and hence I cannot speak for myself. I might need help but I do not want help. Maybe I should burn everything and settle down for a Saw marathon instead.

There isn't an Entry Requirements For Medicine in University that I can lay my hands on.

Maybe I'm insane for even harbouring the thought of taking 3 sciences again in Junior College, but the main problem remains: Biology is essential, Chemistry even more so, and Physics is an object of interest which I find hard to let go of. Physics is like an old flame or a song in my head I cannot forget/leave alone, a torn page of a book so intriguing I cannot help but crave it as a whole.

National JC's Open House had an interesting art exhibition going on, featuring a series of macabre drawings aptly titled 'Monsters', which reminded me of supersheep's fine artwork. I thought they were beautifully detailed and enchanting.

People from church read my blog. I cannot get over how surprised and secretly pleased I am. But, thanks.