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From my little brain
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Content is paramount.
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[1/19/2001]
I've been debating for the longest time whether I should post this poem. It was written in a much darker time. In fact, I had just finished typing these exact same sentences earlier, but Blogger is a little messed up, and didn't post it. Worse, it didn't save anything I wrote. Even Blogger thinks it's a little too deep/depressing.
Re-reading the poem frightens me. The scary thing is that I don't know if I'm pass all this. Please don't judge or critique. I don't even want sympathy. Just read and know that I'm probably much better now. The poem has been reworded slightly for a better read. Twist my arms, shake my fists, Fight the chains that bind me. Scream in silence, shout in whispers, Curse the ones that cure me. Spite against spite, fire burning fire, Rope coarse around my neck. Choking, squeezing, slightly pulsating, Brings me to sublime bliss. Rage oh rage, crash upon my soul, Whithering, eroding, my morals. Pain of joy, lust for death, I'll see you in Paradise. Whatever I'll be, whatever you may wish, Is nothing but an empty shell. I'll crack a smile, but hide my anger, Just to conform to your slavery. I long to run and to be free, Yet Chains, they let me not. The burdens you've placed around my neck, Weights me six feet under. I still will hide, and choose to show, My mask of friendliness. And when I pass I still will smile, That falsehood of sincerity. Wow, dark huh? Yeah, I think so too. I don't even want to think of the connotations. Sorry it's a little cliche, I know. I think I need to ride my motorcycle and clear my head. Too bad, b/c of ALL that Toronto snow. *sigh* ...At 240 km/h, there is no pain, no sorrow, no regrets; only poop stains in my shorts.
[1/18/2001]
Here's a secret. I actually go and edit some of my posts. Although the gist is the same, usually after an edit, it reads better. :)
... ever the one to self critique. I'm my own booing section.
I saw her nickname across a crowded Yahoo Messenger. It stuck out like a lonely star in an otherwise tranquil night. Her nick, so appealing, so inviting, and yet I hesitated. Fear of rejection, certainly; but it was more than that. Or maybe less. I don't know. There's no words to describe my trepidation.
I envisioned that she would be surprised to read my words. Plesantly surprised I hoped, not anger; like being tricked to chew on peppered gum. But alas, I don't know how she would react if I interrupted her day with the chime of the Yahoo Pager. Maybe she would be mad, or maybe worse, she'd feel indifferent. Maybe she now thinks of me as nothing more than an acquaintance. The ones you meet at work, who works on a different floor, the only contact being official work related email. You'd say hi in the hallway, and ask "How are you?" But in honestly, you could care less, except to be civil. Yes, maybe that's how she'd feel. Or maybe she'd genuinely be happy. As happy as a newly adopted pup. Waiting at the door, waiting for the turn of the key that signals the return of it's playfriend. Maybe she would think of me as her personal chewtoy. I'd take that, and gladly accept. So many maybes, and no answers. I can only dream and speculate at her response. Why would she'd even want to hear from me? She might not even have 5 minutes of free time to spare. Little ol' me. Stuck in a tree. So the nursery rhyme starts. I think I'll hold off, and see. Maybe the desire to page her will surpass, and in time, so too will my feelings. I can certainly understand if her feelings for me have lessened; water-downed. I know that if I was her, I couldn't stand me either. :( But who am I kidding. There's no coming back from words with conviction. Words you say out of anger are the truest of them all. That's when nothing else matters except getting your point across. So maybe this is a parting of ways. What the media calls an amicable split. We'll see. ...It has been an interesting journey. I hope to find out how it ends....together.
Looks like my posts have finally gotten my brother to email me. :) I knew it'd work. How is it that even he's got a better looking page then I?!
Well, at least I got the height of the family. SMIRK. ...Then again, Dad gave him all the brains. *sigh*
[1/17/2001]
New colour scheme! white on black. Boring, but more legible? Also added little dashes, to easily seperate one post from another. :)
You definitely know you're no spring chicken when the music playing on your "favorite" station begin to play crappy music, and the "oldie" station that your parents made you listen to while driving you to school begin to sound pretty good. I mean, just the other day, I tried listening to a Top 40 station, and I'm like "The radio suck these days!" Then I turned to a "softer" rock station, and I knew every song. I'm grinning ear to ear, singing at the top of my lungs, honking to the beat of the drums, taping my fingers in rhythm; the whole bit. Then the radio dude comes on, and he goes "And that was a sample of the classic 80's." Classic WHAT?! 80's??
Firstly, there's no such thing as classic 80's. Music then pretty much stunk. Second, those were the songs I grew up with..... wait a cotton picking minute. Wasn't I just in the 80's 2 years ago?? Oh shucks. Wait, it's 2001. Reality check. Helloooo McFly?! There's a point in everyone's life when they start to not like "today's" hit music, and begin to play their CD/Tape/LP (GASP!) collection almost exclusively. I'm sure my Mom was a rocking lady when she was digging Peter, Paul and Mary in the 60's. But when she was still playing that stuff when I was a kid, I'm like "How ghey is that?! Mom, play some Duran Duran!". Sorry Mom, I didn't know you had already grown up.... I thought you were still hip/groovy/cool/neato/nifty/wicked/fresh. But I sympathize. I really do. I mean, I'm listening to Bel Biv Devo, crying "Poooi-son!". And I think back to 1991. Gr 12 night school English class. *Sigh* I don't wanna be a grown up. Someone please turn to one of them trance/techno/trip hop/jungle/house music stations. Give me a glow stick and a water bottle. (No 'E' thanks.) I still wanna be cool. ...Do "cool" people these days still use that word? Or is it like, so last Millennium?
Oh boy, my legs are sore. I played about an hour and a half of volleyball last night. My fitness level is pretty low. :) I have to really start jogging or something. Sitting on my butt all day typing away just does nothing for my gut. And yes, I have one, thank you very much. It's from too much drinking and not enough cardiovascular activities. I don't even run to catch the bus anymore. I always thought that I could just work out enough that my chest would be SO huge, I wouldn't need to work on my stomach. But all I ever get is stronger, but not much more buff. You can't fight genes.
[1/16/2001]
Yes! I don't to host the weekly SS meeting today. Anyone who's had to host one of these can share my joy.
...And I was all prepared too. Rats. Oh well.
[1/15/2001]
I've made my blogs "public". I'm such an attention monger. :)
...if first you don't succeed; search on the web. Some guy's already done it .
The home link at the bottom is fixed. Now be quiet. Both madcanadian and shy.... picky picky. Just don't touch the archive link ;)
I know my anal retentive brother will probably email me eventually, and tell me that I spelled "relevance" wrong like twice. So WHAT?!
So I don't a spel checkre. Call someone who cares.....(416)967-1111. BTW, get me a large pizza in the mean time... snarf!!
This is going to sound really bad. I already know what people will think after they read this. And maybe after a while, I'll decide this post is inappropriate, and remove it. (Although frankly, that'd be unlikely, as I have an unwritten rule about sticking to your guns, be they blanks or otherwise.) But in the heat of the moment, I just can't help but to post these 2 remarks:
"There are no stupid questions, only stupid people." "Life is pretty hard. It's harder if you're dumb." I know it's pretty mean, but I can't help it. My job is extremely fustrating. Firstly, I know I'm not the smartest crumb in the cookie jar. I have accepted that. Still, it's infuriating when you talk to someone, and their blank stares remind you of that armoire Aunt Bea has sitting in her dining room. Look, I don't work in a rocket science lab. I know my place in this company is but a small effort in the collective whole. But if I ask you to do something that I don't think is all that hard, then I expect results. I'm sure world leaders don't ask an aid to fix him/her coffee, and worry that s/he doesn't understand the difference between 1 lump or 2. When Bill or Jean snaps their worldly fingers, the ant colony scurries to fill their work order. "Ten Hut!" I *know* I'm not "the man", nor do I have the airs to pretend I'm one. I'm only trying to help out my manager, and in turn the company. So don't think I'm snobby. Everyone knows the first person I laugh at each morning is the guy who smirks from the mirror. Maybe it's my fault for not explaining tasks properly. Afterall, I've been doing the same job for almost 3 yrs. EGADS! What I'm trying to say is this. When you're in charge of people, you care about their performance, because it reflects on the (acting) leader. If the guys can do a menial task quickly, then it means they're probably capable of more. If they can't, then their stock falls, and the whole market may have an economic slowdown (not recession... hehem <- how's that for real world relevence?!) A friend once said "Don't tell me the problem, give me a solution." must have been in one meeting too many. When the guys you work with asks you every other second for a task you told them to handle, and you yourself is swamped with work, then the last thing you want to do is spoon feed him/her. Instead, you'd wish for a fork in place of that spoon, so you can goose him and call it a prick. :) How drool, how very drool. I'd wanna be humble than be a jerk. Lord, make this my prayer. "I'd rather be the guy who fell out the window, then the one upstairs who pushed."
If there's one type of food I detest, it's sandwiches. Sandwiches remind me of yesteryears in school. They were easy to pack, easy to eat, and didn't smell like Chinese food. But boy, now that I've grown up (a little), sandwiches tastes like dirt.... maybe that's where the "sand" in sandwiches come from!! The inventor didn't like eating them either, after a while.
However, they tastes pretty good when someone else packs them for you. Mmmmm... turkey sandwiches. My fav. *B U R P*. Fanx, little sandwich maker.
I'm going to FINALLY complete redesign my site. It'll take about a week. Watch for it. It should be good. :)
hehe... I typed a meaningless word "gaydas" and now I can't delete it. Weirdo. Blogger isn't without bugs.
BTW, another earthling has befallen to the geocities/blogger combo. Welcome ms_toxin. I think she might be hooked, we'll see. Too busy to write more. |