foreword

It sucks to be sick when there’re so many things going on. Really it does. I could barely do today’s GP paper, and I have two long papers to sit through tomorrow. And I’ve a gig to sing for tomorrow night – my voice was all over the place (except the notes they should’ve been in) during today’s jam. I do not think I can recover by tomorrow night. I do not think I’ll be able to survive the papers tomorrow. At least I didn’t study much – would’ve been no use anyway, at the rate I’m sneezing. I really don’t know whether to laugh or cry (or just go to bed).

I’m whining. I don’t usually whine (on here), but I’m really sick now. I’m entitled at least this little bit of luxury. Damned flu.

That clenching of the chest with every sneeze. I can really feel it contracting. On the left side. Ouch. I really hope the flu’s not the lethal kind. That’s not nice at all. My eyes began to hurt halfway through singing during jamming. Felt like they wanted to pop out (they’re still intact, too bad for you.)  It was a four-hour jam. Haha. Haha. Hahaha. I’m not studying, I’m not doing my math, I’m not doing anything. I’m sitting here and whining in this box. I need to get sleep, I really do. But my hair’s still wet and I just ate a whole lot of oranges to stock up on Vitamin C. My eyes hurt. I have two 3 hour papers to sit for tomorrow. Then I have to rush home and grab the guitar and run over to Timbre and plug in and play. And then I’ve to go home, get sleep, and then wake up for a History exam which I absolutely did not study for.

I’m still whining. Ranting and whining. Wranting. Rhining. Whatever. (I think ‘rhining’ sounds better)

Eyes hurt. No clarinase. Awesome-o.

I’m sleeping soon.

I’d always wondered what it was like to be grasping at thin air.

Thin air? Is there a difference between thin air and just… air? Or is there some sort of ‘thick’ air to compare it with?

I wouldn’t know.

I guess it’s just a figure of speech. ‘Thin’ air. Meaning it’s barely there. Maybe it’s not, even. Barren; empty. Sparse.

Then again, it’s a figure of speech. So maybe it’s just air, they just like to make it sound more fancy with an adjective or two. You know how languages are. All dramatized, all melancholic or emotional or somethingelse.

Air. It changes in density, all the time. Right now it does feel pretty thin.

I guess I don’t have to wonder anymore.

Womad was fun, and we had fun. Very laid back atmosphere, everyone dancing around as night fell deeper, good food and good-smelling food, and interesting stalls and sights all around.

Told you so.

On another note, I had my usual MSN Messenger gig-promoting nick on, saying ‘playing with Ivy’s Vendetta @ Timbre, this Wednesday night. Be there or be rectangular.’ This non-local guy I barely talk to (from the US, I think) suddenly IMs me, and this was what he said.

Guy: i prefer ‘be there or be an equal-sided quadrilateral’

and then we had some random talk about RHCP’s By The Way album, and when he was signing off,

Guy: see… a quadrilateral with four equal sides is a square, or a rhombus… which means people get some choice in the matter.

And you thought I was bad?

Note: No, I didn’t make the gig at Timbre with the Ivy’s Vendetta boys this Wednesday up. :D

So the concert’s over. It was pretty cool – I got to meet some juniors, make friends with other bands, as well as talk to some of the vips during intermission, oh my. Loved the sound in the hall.

Thanks guys, for the card and Tracy for getting someone to pass me the flower. They really, really made my day! Imagine me smiling like nobody’s business.

And thanks for the company. :)

Come and rest your bones with me

Just a few announcements.

I’m playing at this charity concert called Inspire tomorrow, Friday at 8pm. I just received notice that I have 10 whole complimentary tickets, so whoever’s interested just let me know! Might as well not waste them. You can check out the rest of the lineup at their site.

Also, Iris wants to sell her WOMAD ticket, for this Saturday. Whoever’s interested, again, let me know!

So suddenly I realize that my life currently bears an eerie resemblance to Damien Rice’s second album. It’s kind of a joke, considering I never expected myself in this position, but oh well. It’s one of the various possible situations we can come across, at any stage in our lives. Best get this over with early on, in conjunction with the looming shadow of the ‘A’ levels.

Some parts of my future doesn’t depend on me. Have you ever thought that, about yourself? That there can be that something – or someone – who can leave such an unsettling mark on you that 20 years down the road, even after efforts of trying to erase it, you simply cannot move on? This is why I try as much as possible not to do things that I might regret, that might end up with me losing so much more. No point screwing up your priorities or decisions only to haunt yourself with it.

I’m trying. Are you?

Is that alright?
If you don’t shoot it how am I supposed to hold it
- 9 crimes, Damien Rice

I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, with the door almost closed. Then suddenly the door started to slowly creak open. I turned to see who it was, and saw no one. As my gaze moved downwards, I saw Rocky at the door opening – looking elsewhere. Trying to act as if he wasn’t the one who nudged the door open.

Nice try, mister.

I thought it very amusing when the emcee listed the different exhibitions/talks/workshops of the 2-week long event that were banned and had the audience count them, then ended off by spreading his arms out, saying: “City of possibilities.”

There is a dead bee on my toilet floor.

It lies by its side, wings spread halfway, feet loosely stretched out. It seems to have lost quite a bit of colour since it appeared there, last night. Ants are on it, now – picking on it piece by piece. Even after it has passed on it is not left alone; like how autopsies are conducted on the dead. Would you conduct an autopsy on the living? Open someone up, dig around his/her insides, and when you’re done you can just stitch it all up and no one would know the difference after he/she has put a shirt on to cover all the stitches. The signs are hidden, the scene looks undisturbed. They usually look good while they lie in their coffins; they usually look good while they walk around the world of the living. I guess then we can say that embalming is as good as putting makeup on.

And no one would know anything but what they see.

There is a dead bee on my toilet floor, but it will not lie there for long. The ants are on it.

We are not wireless internet modems; we cannot disconnect at the click of a button.

But oh, how time and a long string of events can aid us in doing so.

Funny how it is possible to manage the opposite in different manners. We may reconnect in a blink of an eye, or – (a router will search for that source, and link itself up in a moment;) – or we may take a while: we may take time, and a string of events.

But whichever way it is, whoever/whatever, the result would be the same if both the router and the modem have their connect button enabled, if both are willing.