in classic singaporean kiasu-ness, and with the recent spate of PMS-ing weather going from sunny to rainy then to rainy AND sunny, i decided to bring more underwear into camp i run out of fresh underwear. and as a contingency, i brought even more underwear in case in some freak occurance some underwear goes missing. and for the final nail in the coffin, i thought 'what the hell' and just packed in even more underwear.

and so now its the weekend and i'm back and home and i'm feeling great, except for the fact that i have no underwear to wear.

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last night the rj fuckers came over to do what we do best, which is to drink, and now smoking has been added to our list of talents. as usual, jlum was his camel self and downed whiskey after vodka after whiskey and still was sober enough to tend to the drunkards.

in classic scholarly logic, since most of them had to be home early for various commitments they had the next morning, we hit the 'fast forward' button on the night and by 930 isaac was already stoned and tzi spouting shit out of his mouth like the foul bastard he is. panadol and alcohol is not the magic stoner combination we thought it was. quote of the night? courtesy tzi- 'YOU SACK OF TITTTIESS! SACK'A TITSSSS!!!!'

isaac hurled like out of the exorcist and my ash tray was totally pack full of cigarette butts. sure signs of a killer night.

superficially i think the appeal of Belle & Sebastian is in their seemingly innocent tunes and ditties, and the singers airy sing-song voice, remiscient of a by-gone time. and ominous lyrics, in stark contrast to the tune, serves as salvation from mindless pop-happy songs.

however, there is more to them. they are the embodiment of a fairy tale. Seriously. Think about it, they are deceptively simple and straightforward, and they spin tales about them. Each album sleeve comes with a simple story, tho ficticious, is still beautiful. It enhances one's enjoyment of their songs because the band becomes bigger than themselves, if you get what i mean. i guess this sums them up, from 'If you're feeling sinister' album- 'play a song to set me free/ nobody writes them like they used to/ so it may as well be me'

i can scarcely believe myself. last night i went to pre-rouge with some friends and it seemed to be well, a lost night. lost in the sense we all know- thats its too late to start anything, too early to call it a night, and the moods too tragic-mellow to enjoy the nothingness of it all. and this guy came up and told us to go up to rouge and gave us all red bands to wear on our wrists. no its not some hollywood fad 'i support cancer/aids/bird flu research' kinda thing. it was... a magic red band. if you have the red band and go to the bar anytime before 1am, they give you a free beer! can you believe how powerful it is? if it were a magic card, it'd have a fucking 12 mana casting cost or something like that. and we got it for free! you can imagine the paradise i was in. after one when the free flow ended, i have no idea what the fuck rouge was thinking, but they gave us a free jug of beer. I drank so much damn beer, the next morning my piss smelled of beer.

hmm. maybe its a new form of buisness marketing, where they take the moral highground and walk away 'spiritually fulfilled' through their generosity.

god bless you rouge.

okay so re-reading my previous post, i think its terrible. absolutely terrible. i guess i would call it a heroic, or idiotic, attempt because only someone so brave (or stupid) would post such a badly phrased entry. i thought i had an interesting idea for a post and i guess with a bit more time i could make something more decent of it but i've neither the time nor the talent to so i'll do what most modern writers do and write an entry that is 'inspired', when the actual word should actually be 'plagarized'.

anyway, below is a text i wrote 'inspired' from T.S. Elliot's 'The Wasteland'.*


What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the deal tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is a shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
"They called me the hyacinth girl."
-Yet when e came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.

i feel so much better now.

*if you don't get it by now, its an excerpt.