Funny thing

I remember reading this in a book somewhere a long time ago.

"It's a funny thing when you catch yourself lying to yourself."

Yeah, it is.

note-to-self

I've been reading past blog entries lately and realized how useful they are. Like bits of music they teleport you back to a time and rekindle whatever feeling you associate with the text. So I shall try to blog about more events to help future me recollect more cool stuff in life. Although the cryptic fashion does help to distinguish the feelings better.

So CNY was as per usual this year, except for G10 meet-up (finally) on Monday night, and the now usual meet-ups with Andre and his relatives. Oh yeah there was that 'Andre's loveables' gathering on Saturday too at the nice M Hotel. I'm guessing we'll have to go back there more often now. And during visiting everyone keeps commenting on my hair and how I've slimmed down so that's ok. Like, I look nice in clothes now (: And I kinda feel I wasted last night when I could have spent it more consciously. Oh well. Next next weekend then.



"You're so cute when you're slurring your speech,
But they're closing the bar and they want us to leave."

Marching Bands of Manhattan- Death Cab for Cutie

If I could open my arms
And span the length of the isle of Manhattan,
I'd bring it to where you are
Making a lake of the East River and Hudson

If I could open my mouth
Wide enough for a marching band to march out
They would make your name sing
And bend through alleys and bounce off all the buildings.

I wish we could open our eyes
To see in all directions at the same time
Oh what a beautiful view
If you were never aware of what was around you

And it is true what you said
That I live like a hermit in my own head
But when the sun shines again
I'll pull the curtains and blinds to let the light in.

This post

Imagine a place where the half-hearted, half-finished, half-processed blog posts go to. A sort of limbo for the incorporeal, orphaned transcripts of a million thoughts of a million people, another million being entered every second. It'd be a cold place, abundant with feelings akin to shame and insipidity and jadedness and laziness, all carefully acid-washed with vapidity, jejune in their desolate immaturity. A post that was almost never made, or a post that was almost made, multiplied countless times for the countless people in the world. The only conflict would be that between the senses of opportunity and abandonment, of the taxidermal landscape, with hope smack in the middle. It is lucky then that blog posts have no feelings.  

"So if the feeling is transient, does that mean it doesn't count?"

"Wait..I know the answer."