great mystery of life

I've just got back from my first final exam of the semester. I feel drained. I feel needy. I feel hopeful of things to come. I feel the need to shout at the top of my compromised lungs about life in general. Life in general is good. I can't complain about it. Although I do, and I will, soon, maybe in the next 5 minutes.

I also feel hysterically sleepy. I can hear my brain screaming at me to hit the fucking sack already. My eyelids feel as if they're gonna fall off. Normal blinks of the eye become strained episodes of pulling them off my very ordinary eyelashes.

I also feel the need to apologize for my previous post. I thought it was an enlightened piece of blog-tastic material. I do not regret making the post. I am just apologizing just because it must be done. I have an obligation to those who read my blog and therefore to maintain readership I must apologize, however insincerely, about the entire repotoire of negative feelings directly caused by it. Yeah i'm just typing stuff for the sake of typing stuff out.. i like blogging.. i feel nice when a new post is up..

life's so scary. and exciting. but sleep. sweet oblivion

song playing at the moment: ain't no sunshine- mary j.blige & aretha franklin

chatting to: perpetually-distressed milhana

scratching: legs

due to: mosquitos

now listening to: streetsweepers- akon

staring at: mattress cover to see if it needs laundering

decision: no, its quite clean.. dayem!

mood: joblessness.... where did THAT come from?

ciao

toilet slave

for those who wanted an intelligent post from me, get out now while you can, coz the next few words will not only shock you, repulse you and generally upset you, it will also make you keep reading every revolting word until you've come to the end of this post and then you shall realize how pointless and irrelevant this post actually was.... (i shall quit the self-deprecation nonsense, actually personal-blog-deprecation NOW).

ah yes, so as i was saying (is it just me or is there a stupid lag in the create post section, as in, the typed words take about a millisecond too long to appear on screen, creating the illusion that maybe you've had too much of coffee/acid/weed.... wishful thinking much?)

ahh well, yes.. toilet slave. A toilet slave, is, yes, you've guessed correct, a person who is enslaved to using the toilet... actually your wrong.

it actually means, that if a person is a toilet slave, he/she gets sexual pleasure out of peeing/defaecating (i really don't want to be a prude, but i'm taking a pseudo Victorian lady stance here) in his/her partner's mouth. By implication, this also means that the partner enjoys it too considering that he/she consented to it... i mean there are certain things we don't like but still do to please our significant others but come on, there is a limit right? so therefore i would assume that putting weird ass shit into your mouth (excuse the lame ass but appropriate pun, oo look i punned again) would only be consented to if it actually bought sexual pleasure in turn too.. maybe the person who eats the shit in the first place is the one who gets sexual pleasure, i.e. he/she thou ingests is toilet slave?

so..

spit or swallow ----> chew, eat or spit?

right.. so actually, our first definition is not all that wrong.. its just that we need to change our perspectives of what a toilet is, i.e. in this case, a human mouth. hmmm bad taste in your mouth yet? (ooo pun)

but, to be truthful, i've felt like a toilet slave the past few days...

y'all can pick up those jaws from those clean singaporean floors now...

its just that, i've drunk a few too many coffees the past few days and that has consequently turned my stomach into an unyielding biatch.. so therefore all i can do.. is fervently hope for a decent bowel movement... ALL THE FRICKING TIME... like.. the choice of location for studying depends on where the nearest/cleanest toilet is... u know in case nature calls.. my momma always told me to be prepared... so im kinda a toilet slave.. but strictly in a traditional sense.. so ppl... don't get scared ok..

Victorian lady stance my ass..

ok got to run... will blog later on interesting(mundane) and not-so-repulsive stuff... but hey.. it is life..must discuss.. however distasteful..

everyone these days has a comment at the end (or beginning) informing us about which song they've got playing on their comps.. so im gonna do it myself...

Song/s of the moment

David Gray- This Year's Love
Rufus Wainwright- The Art Teacher
George Michael & Aretha Franklin- I knew you were waiting
Damien Rice- Cold Water

Playing Now: Bin Tere Sanam

Chatting to: Soon-to-be-off-to-motherland-Pavs

Pining for: *blush

Ok now, i'm off... bless y'all.. i promise you i shall get a template for these random stats... and make myself a casuality of the same-boat-train... been there done that..

grey matter

standing on the line (of beauty): areas between the dichotomy of what is and what should be and wishing that they merge in splendid fashion... ahhh... if only... i sigh wistfully as i stare at my.. erm.. computer screen in a very unromantic way.. a.k.a very stupid, pseudo intelligent way.. ha ha.. yay.. boo

so.. yep.. i have nothing to worry about... i shouldn't over analyze... exams are inconsequential.. but u know.. they really aren't.. it matters like hell to me that i should excel at academics.. hee hee. but i also believe in the notion of effective (if not magnificent) time management which rightfully balances the scales between studies and fun.. by this i don't mean, 50-50 (the biscuits remind me of sickly old uncles who grumble too much.. but i digress) time managment.. omg.. imagine 50% on studies.. nahin! mujhe bachao.. (whatever) but.. yeah.. i think there's a formula for the RIGHT sort of work/life ethic to acheive excellence at work and in life. note however, that work is NOT a subset of MY life.. ha ha ha. im so posh.. no, really, im not joking.. posh is i..

some people tell me that im taking ''incoherency on a platter'' too far, and i think, do they want them in small portions? like in an un-platter like way? like one pastry at a time? or, gourmet food like? or hmm.. not at all? well.. i say.. TOUGH.. deal with it..

lame joke or what?

my top 5 songs at the moment:

1. Tera Mera Pyar Sanam- Bombay Vikings (this is the song they played at my cousins wedding for their first dance as a married couple. it was fucking sweet coz it was so obvious that she was fully in love with her new husband and she mouthed the words to the song, which even though is not the right protocol in these type of situations (which calls for sophisticated, almost embarrassed, and absolutely NO hindi movie hip swaggers and lip synching) triggered a whole load of misty eyes in the audience full of cynical sindhis)

2. Nothing Really Matters- Madonna (the album, Ray of Light is a revelation to how talented this woman is EVEN though she was the one who wore a top that showed off her tits while singing a song with lyrics heavily borrowed from Hindu prayers. i could literally hear ppl going ''chi'' and ''hare ram'' and ''o hey lets jack off''

3. Hayling- FC Kahuna --> from the soundtrack of Nip/Tuck and very haunting and sophisticated

4. Over and Over- Nelly and Tim McGraw- surprisingly one of those nice and slow numbers from Nelly, the one and only who gave us Ride wit'me and Country Grammar, which btw has a decent title but starts with '' Hot Shit"...

5. Alone- Heart. Great 80's song. sung by Carrie Underwood at american idol 4... one of those landmark performances... great song..

yes yes.. im going now.. i should go.. leave the grey matters of the world behind.. the thin line between distractions..

omg did u know that ppl spell rock as rawks.. as in: this place rawks!!

and for fuck they say fwak.. as in: u fwaking rawk....

so cool

weekend

i wasn't really looking forward to this weekend. all due to the fact that exams are coming up and something really unnerving is coursing through my system. i have a bad, bad feeling about exams this semester. i think its because i didnt have any exams last semester. everything was done right before reading week and although i was exhausted for a few days after submitting my last assignment, i was glad not to go through the gruelling process of cramming that my peers were going through.

well this bad, bad feeling about exams escalated to very high levels this weekend... but for once, i didnt give a fuck.. (pun intended?) i was lolling, frolicking about in the comfort of multiple limbs (much like multi-limbed Hindu Gods.. blasphemous, and not a very original joke, i.e. borrowed) and i felt content... I know i've been extremely horny these past few weeks (i can hear my friends going, ONLY the past few weeks?), but honestly, this time the physical stuff was just a bonus, the icing to the cake of very rarely found good company... and the accessories were awesome too (i.e. the friends.. i.e. the best friend) how did coffee breaks become so much fun? ok so there was sleep.. very comfortable, secure sleep... and yet, there were intermittent breaks in slumber that were very welcome..... *content*

vague much?

anyways, here i am, in my own room, trying sooo hard to work, but i can't concentrate.... marshmellows spilling out of the packet i thought i could share with my friends who instead, opted for yummy potato chips dipped in salsa... hmph.. yeah but those chips were yummy... and i've got chicken teriyaki dinner waiting for me whenever i feel hungry enough to have it... there's something abt soggy jap food that makes me still choose that over other stuff they sell on this damn campus...

right then, im off to nap.. need to recharge.. but such a change from last night...

ooo flashbacks... :)

muffins

banana muffins straight from the oven (or microwave, ha ha) with a nice baked good banana-ish smell with maybe a tiny treat of partially-baked banana in the banana muffin. sigh. this is my craving now. and what do i have in my room (edible)?

i have.. 8 bottles of water (i know, i'm sorry), 2 packets of coffee (but no mug, as it is in the study room, which is where i have to be at the end of this blog), stale weetbix (maybe shall eat that if im too constipated), 3 packets of apple juice (also for constipatory reasons, though have to drink before it turns into alcohol, yucky, soury alcohol, so obviously not the good kind), assorted sweets, strepsils and staple pins and a packet of unopened oreos.

unopened oreos. shriek. reverberating shocks of revulsion that will be heard, when i make this confession to my dear friends. its much akin to not opening supersize packets of of evil Lays. like pimples, Lays and oreos have a life-like, menacing presence in our lives. much to my horror, my hand sneaks into the bag where the oreos are kept partially out of sight, but i snap it back: an imaginary mommy slap to prevent the robbery of fresh baked goods out of Singer ovens bought for ridiculously high prices just before discount sales in the following month. goddamit.

oh, back home, the original McDonalds is attached to the premier place for electronic consumer and other white goods. so once ur done with chewing ur juicy, standardized, tasteless McChicken's bathed in mayo or ketchup, u can stroll into Abans (as this place is called) and contemplate buying a washing machine, sewing machine, microwave, random glassware or even random Santa Clause's to enthrall your children with the spirit of Christmas. yes, im not getting to any point in this blog. yeah? deal with it ok! fuck off

but one day, on Holi. my enterprising cousins and i, soaked in the colors of a drug-infused, pupil dilated (paula), rainbow, stumble into McDonalds in Sri Lanka. people obviously stare fiercely. we intentionally, walk around the whole of mcdonalds trying to find an appropriate place to sit (even though, the place had many, many places for four people to sit). So through this impromptu, purposeful and very real fashion show we get asked, very cautiously, and might i add, very politically correctly, by a very efficient waiter(i think he was the manager, explaining his level of busybodiness and efficiency), why we are the we are? So one of my cousins, decides to throw some kind of a fit and screams, in a key right above a whisper, that its none of his business since we are buying food from the damn place and filling its coffers with a much needed 550 bucks. But madam, u might stain the seats. And she says, hee hee, u silly man, we'll just use ur bathroom dryers to help with that problem. ha ha ha. ended up eating food in bathroom and disrupting peace in McDonalds. however, i think of it as infusing a bit of ancient culture and indian-ness in a world dominated by a western presence. right. what a load of cock.

coffee makes me rub my feet vigorously against each other. also makes me very nervous. and makes me think that puking my thoughts out on a computer will make me a carrie bradshaw. wonder what a male version of carrie bradshaw will look like? me? larry king? al gore? dr.mahathir? vajpayee? trannies in geylang?

ahh well. oooo..yay.

shit

why why why why why do i think i'm unbearably clever and so self-sufficient? i know my services marketing lectures are beyond comprehension but i still have this (evidently false) sense of peace goading me into not doing anything to remotely understand it until.. erm.. like now...! and panic bombs are just having a field day in my stupidly complacent (not now of course) head... the pearls of knowledge go as far as my plasticky head [:p] and get stuck in congealed gel (residue squeezed out of bottle; scum of hair products world).

pavs i know im kinda copying you with respect to themes on blogs.. but i'm sure you understand right? tomorrow i have a presentation, immediately followed up by said quiz.. and then woopeee im done with services marketing.. well not quite.. the fucker hands out an assignment that must be completed within 48 hours... my class doenst have any sense... it was originally 24 hours... but.. noooo... they put additional pressures on me (and them too, im sure) to come up with profound explanations on how service providers allocate capacity to customers... as opposed to coming up with piecemeal explanations that are entirely acceptable due to the 24 hour constraint....considering everyone wants to EXCEL... actually no, people are just too lazy to work immediately...

oh btw, fyi, (hee hee), i am one of those people who pushed for a 48 hour deadline... well.. i know i'm a jackass.. but im repenting ain't i? god i have issues

anyways, my social life has taken a huge backward step. my smoking habit is constantly at bay... which is good.. until i let myself sample one lovely piece of heaven.. and then im furiously spraying my room with haute-couture cologne and i'm transported into complacency admist the intoxicating freshness... sigh..

haute couture is an inappropriate word. i just used it coz im overcome with a desire to go to new york and be like all new age man, with vodka martinis and surrounded by beautiful, ambitious and obsessive compulsive people.. f(sex and the city-season finale). following the same train of thought...

www.urbandictionary.com is the place for all your queries on the latest in slang and filth.. update your vocabulary.. classic webster or oxford dictionaries are sooo 1984.

a sample for my lovelies...

haute couture

French term refering to the extravagant and often absurd and impractically unrealistic fashion pieces that designers create to demonstrate their unique style and inventiveness.Proper pronunciation can be tricky; haute is somewhere between ought and oat, pronounced quickly so that the o is highly unrounded ("oh", if held long enough, ends up sounding like a /oo/). couture is pronounced ko'tur with a highly unrounded 'o', a 'u' that sounds almost like a german umlaut, and an 'r' made in a way similar to gargling.Alternatively, you could pronounce it in a very American fashion as 'ought kuh-ter'.

uber

The ultimate, above all, the best, top, something that nothing is better than. Also Über
I'm Über confused

Term with literal meaning of "above" in German. Brought to the mainstream in the early 80's by hardcore American punk band, the Dead Kennedys when using the term in the anti-Californian government song "California Uber Alles", which is a take off the German motto of "Deustchland Uber Alles", which translates to "Germany above all." The term was picked up in their native California stomping grounds by the typical surfers and "punks" and extended from there to many teenagers, the majority of which use the term online.
That was uber-lame.

doggie style

a sexual intercourse position that men learn from dogs. Especially helpful when the woman have a nice body but fucked up face, so that we don't have to see their face....
"That chick got a nice body but fucked up face, I will only do her in doggie style."

how every guy imagines what it would be like to have a wife/girlfriend who wouldnt mind sex when ever, where ever.
at a bar you bend her over the bar and fuck her up the ass or pussy

yes.. i take no responsibility for any of what is not mine that is above..

see what i mean, its the perfect place to waste hours on end figuring out nice, alternative perspectives on words that u are either unfamiliar with, or familiar but aching for more enlightenment..

i wish i was at a movie right now getting my guts all squirmy, also known as watching Samara. I feel exactly that way right now, but atleast Samara is not gonna manifest herself as a whole audience who will take great pleasure in pointing out why online consulting is such a good idea and why the fuck did we thrash the idea when its so obvious its right the opposite?

ok then... do i feel any better now...? blogs are great... yay..but sorry... it hasn't helped me one bit.. u know the whole perception of how getting things out on paper is therapeutic bullshit... ? well yeah.. im a self-aware, overly self-sufficient person very much in love with knowing exactly how badly im gonna do badly on a test/mess up words during formalized verbal talk.. and therefore all this blog has done for me can be divided into 2 broad categories:

1. updated my blog
2. given me a record of how fucked up (and how correct) i was before the fateful day which is 20 minutes away... hark the spirits of delusion and bad educational habits...

right.. this drama mama is signing off..

enna di?

continuity

yo! several things have happened...! yay

well for one, i handed in my essay on Sukarno and Ho Chi Minh. An absolutely shit essay it was. Well i'm not really sure if its a shit essay, i hope not, but i have a sneaking suspicion it was.. just that internal critic going ballastic.. fuck it... I really did want to make the effort to correct it, but you see, I had just finished an essay for my South Asian module, based on the Sri-Lankan political system and its role in fucking things up big time with regard to a war, that has been raging since about the time i was concieved.. *disturbing thoughts about inappropriate acts with riots going on outside*, and THEREFORE, could i be bothered to invest another chunk of time to another essay? Obviously not..

but, that essay was really good, if i do say so myself. However, i was up doing it for almost like..er.. a day and a half? and that really screwed up my back muscles so over the last couple of days, i've been moving slowly and deliberately, much like my dear and (kinda bitchy) aunties and uncles, a.k.a the most diplomatic thing i have ever done! bravo!

so apart from feeling as if my muscles were atrophying, i had no choice but to take useless medicine given by certain unbothered and apparently very hungry doctors, which doped me up so much that my over-zealousness for studying went right out of my dusty windows, and was replaced by a certain manic desire to self-destruct.. muhaha. But, fortunately that was not to be. just popped a few painkillers, and happily went on doing my work and then slept.. and oh...! what a wonderful experience it was to wake up with just a mild soreness as opposed to a crippling pain which made me develop an insane desire for my momma to be with me... aww shucks.. but seriously, mum's make everything better.. sometimes.. heh heh.. don't want to give too much credit do we? muhaha

so yes, under the influence of these kick-ass painkillers, i did another essay and handed it in today. that was the last one! sigh... i feel kinda lost now. i have no pressing deadlines, which means, my final examination preparation starts today. but first, i had to stop this slovenly spiral i've been on in the past few days.. so i did my laundry, got my hair cut, had a long and very satisfying shower and slept with the music full-blast... ahh... and oh yes.. i shaved... im very much an anal person, so these things for me are very therapeutic but obviously, i would have been much more satisfied if i had the energy and willpower to clean my room and to cut my nails..but for right now.. im feeling pretty good... although, health wise, i'm still one sickly child. the painkillers are a great façade... but i'm so grateful to them.. lurrrrrve them... my bebe's.. sweet little capsules of utter delight...

oh yes, exam preparation sucks.. haven't done a thing for today.. but strangely feel soo good about that.. let me put an end to this post right now.. it seems a bit too academic to me, can only imagine what it must be like for the good persons who stumble across my humble weblog...

but u gotta understand, it is purely a reflection of the state of things in my life.. ahh.. the concept of privacy is gone, because i try to hold back.. but the words just flow.. i tell people too much, which strangely, has made me feel good all this time because its a form of release. but only lately has it left me feeling kinda cold, kinda exposed but there's a time and a place to discuss this, and now isn't one of them..

signing off.. cheers!

Facial Idiosyncrasies & (Bra)Clasps of the Mind

oo my. there's been a subtle shift in things over this ginormous gap between dates of being completely devoid of any feeling whatsoever. no wait, that ain't true, the feeling is there, it's always fucking there despite new and improved policies that forgive but never-in-a-million-years forget. policies that melt facial idiosyncrasies to neutral aspects of self-hypocrisy. hope hope hope hope hope hope is a terrible, yet an undeniable melting pot of our most ugliest, yet most purest emotions, ironically (or not?) like the choir boy's euphonious stage-call to a grumpy, but cuddly messenger of the Gods.

was this drunken night the same as other drunken nights? superficially it was exactly the same, except perhaps a bit more extreme. nothing more than passing absolutely shit judgment on timing and pace of absolut kurant AND absolut classic in less than NINETY minutes...
but i wonder... in this day and age of delusion and denial.. how would i really know how it really is in my mind? does it even matter? i mean, if you cannot feel it, and the only way you are able to find out is through some psychiatrist who has completely based his life on the study of psychiatry (which although a very noble profession is still very imprecise medically), then maybe what you yourself feel should be given more weight? well it's just a thought.. of course unless i'm irrevocably crazy... don't think so.. not yet anyway.. haha.. drama mama is what people call me.. well u ain't met my mama yet!!
facial idiosyncrasy took on more meaning than ever with bloody cuts on nose and a wound just below my nose which by the way, a stupid pimple decided it would be a good spot to grow on! woo hoo! kinda strange i view pimples as living, breathing things.. oh but they are the little fuckers..! (little my ass)

apart from that, i submit an article to my editor for the on-campus publication.. and going from history alone, my kick-ass article have never been chosen.. instead, the slightly bimbotic, casual comedy ones have.. so i decided that since i was too busy doing my assignment for Human Resource Management for Professor Wu Pei Chuan on Work/Family Conflict: Issues and Implications for Individuals, Firms and Nations, I would take this opportunity to take advantage for the magazines's propensity towards inane stuff (as opposed to gay rights, AIDS and alcoholism) and churn out an article in less than 30 minutes on the highlights (and lowlights: although in retrospect it always looks fucking rosy) of my life and times at NUS. i mean what is the point in trying to write abt issues that matter and stuff that is subversive when you get repeated rejection from the editors (who by the way, get an article in every month, regardless if it is about using the over-using the analogy of a bra to describe the process of 'unclasping' the mind or writing about tampons and how uncomfortable they are)? I take offense to her using the analogy in the first place, but over-using it? and also, hello.. this is not cosmopolitan.. and sometimes she accuses me of not knowing who my readers are..... i mean.. like.. are all the people on campus.. female...? or do all of them use tampons? i mean like...er... fuck off! and to further it all: feedback on my article goes something like, its just a rant. of course it is, ur the queen mother (fucker) of rants..

ahh the fuck-all of life.. so why do i feel all shitty abt it.. this person who is clearly not interested gives me mixed signals.. or do i hope that's what they are? bottomline, just feel like shit.. i mean i know this is a theme that has manifested itself in many many previous postings.. but.. come on.. im tired of being left alone, perpetually left alone. atleast around me people are falling in love, exploring possibilities and here i am, thinking that i should explore but somehow never doing it coz, if my heart (corny sounding word) is somewhere else, i'd rather my dick be there... and not in some random's house (dear publisher: pun definitely NOT intended).. therefore i am clearly putting it down here, to all contrary belief: i am NOT a pervert. i DO NOT think of sex all the time.

ok im kinda tired.. so blog-posting will be continued on a better day.. Sukarno and Ho Chi Minh are waiting.. come out come out wherever you are.......

Hasn't your momma ever told you to finish your food... especially so because of the Somalian orphans?

There is nothing worse than being blocked. I put it across as being lazy but then I tell myself, if I was really passionate about writing, wouldn't I be inspired to write down what goes on in my head?

Ahh well, I'm still blocked so I just decided at this very moment to write SOMETHING purely for the reason of satisfying (feeding) my dream of being a novelist one day. And also in the hope that ideas will flow.

Ok up until this moment i.e. 3rd paragraph in blog, there hasn't been any such inspiring idea.. It's been fucking ages since I updated my blog...

But lemme tell u a secret?

I started this posting about 2 weeks back and I couldn't be bothered to finish it.. so right now.. yes thats right.. im just finishing it up so i can blog a new post... shame to waste this one..
alright then,
see u on the other side, one line up.

cranky symphony

Things... are getting way out of control.
I'm just plodding on with life. This time, no apologies, no thought, no regard for anything. I'm just not caring enough to put my care into action. Does this mean, I don't care at all?

Honestly, I don't think it matters. People have called me selfish all my life (that's like the previous 5 years or so) and ironically, the time it starts really affecting me, I see myself becoming the proof to their long standing accusation.

Is it because I've not been prioritizing? I really don't know and I don't have the energy to go into it because I'm too busy trying to weadle myself into a life I want to have and one that I'm finding extremely strenous and draining to do. The strain is spilling out into my life and fucking things up big time.

Oh but things haven't really changed all that much..

The inadequate guilt remains the same.

crushing realities

i've noticed that the art of clubbing, is very much like love itself. when u love a person, they don't necessarily reciprocate.
my desire to go get hammered tonight, is not reciprocated either.
that is the crushing reality of my life, or, atleast the start of my weekend.
it really is intensely personal, this non-mutuality.

and listening to dhoom dhoom doesn't help. nor does being able to taste the alcohol on my parched tongue. and nor does desiring the acrid burning sensation in my eyes upon entering a club.

walauwe!

mind playing tricks/dead body (quite similar, in fact, to dead leg)

writhing bodies, cat-calls, neo-classical funk-bass alternative dance musik, hand-on-ass, cream-cocktails laced with bourbon.

please let the weekend come soon.

(i hate studying, except i love it when i GET stuff. so how?)

predictions

the oscars are exactly 60 minutes away. unfortunately, i shall be in class at that time and i will be missing 3 hours of the most awaited, most elitist, most important show of the year. sigh. i will, instead, be listening to a lecturer talking about career management. it sucks.

anyway, just to make it a little more fun for me, i'm gonna do a whole prediction thing. i'm gonna list down the 6 categories and give my opinion (rather, i'll just state) on who will win, and my who should win (my personal favorites).

i really don't know what good this will do, or what it will accomplish, except that it'll just be nice to feel as if i contributed more to this event since i can't bloody fucking watch it coz of fucking coma-inducing class.

Best Picture

Who Will Win- Million Dollar Baby (I really want to be proved wrong with the below choice)
Who Should Win- The Aviator (actually, it should be Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind u vile mo fo's.)

Best Director

Who Will Win: Martin Scorcese, The Aviator (mr.oh-so-fucking-old-&-smug Clint might pull off an upset here too)
Who Should Win: Martin Scorcese, The Aviator

Best Actor

Who Will Win: Jamie Foxx, Ray (duh!)
Who Should Win: Don Cheadle, Hotel Rwanda or Leonardo Di Caprio, The Aviator

Best Actress

Who Will Win: Hilary Swank, Million Dollar Baby (I want to hate her. But I can't coz I haven't seen her performance. And it's pretty amazing to have ONLY got good reviews from ALL the critics, so I'm gonna give credit where it's due)
Who Should Win: Kate Winslet, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (or the above, I really really don't mind)

Best Supporting Actor

Who Will Win: Morgan Freeman, Million Dollar Baby
Who Should Win: Clive Owen, Closer

Best Supporting Actress

Ok I'm gonna reserve my comments for this and I'm just gonna make a few comments about every performance in this category. I love all these performances. They were fucking brilliant. Laura Linney in Kinsey was amazing, she portrayed her character with oodles and oodles of intelligence with a little bit of horniness and a lot of repressed hurt masked in subtler overtones of angry repression. Cate Blanchett was brilliant in The Aviator. I've never seen K.Hepburn in action on screen but I could see that what Cate was doing was amazing, i.e. playing a character with seeming effortlessness (and so entertaining). Sophie Okonedo from Hotel Rwanda.. sigh.. i watched this movie and remember thinking why in hell had she been ignored from all the other awards... and i was fucking delighted when i heard she got nominated for this movie. Her performance is heart wrenching, strong and displays everything it should: love, desperation, selfishness. The above two, Linney and Blanchett are two of my favorite actresses, but if Okonedo wins, i will cry.. with joy. Last of all, Natalie Portman from Closer was hilariously good. This girl, the Star Wars girl, was very very very very convincing in this movie. I can't really describe her performance as anything but being the best (along with Owen) in the film and it certainly could be the best of the year. I love her line, 'slap me fucker' at the end of the movie. she says fucker soooo eloquently. i respect her. and she's totally and completely angelic-hot. she definitely is the Blower's Daughter (ha ha, jock-type inspired joke)

Ok, i'm late for class. Let me see if i can rank the above performances, however difficult that might seem.

1. Natalie Portman
2. Cate Blanchett
3. Sophie Okonedo
4. Laura Linney
5. the girl from Sideways

Ok.. ciao. Hopy my predictions are correct. I'm gonna die if Winslet wins.. i hope she looks as gorgeous as ever tonight.. sigh

old people and the MRT

So myself and a friend were at the MRT the other day. That in itself is a big thing: we're snobs even though always running out of money (cabs, hello?). Well yeah, it was really crowded. Not normal crowded like during rush hour but like really really packed. We had to miss 3 trains before we finally got into one, crowded, sweaty, carriage, just to go one further stop to where life, we believe really originates, i.e. Orchard.

Yep, so after enduring roughly 5 minutes of breathing quite uncomfortably through the mouth, we got off (I'm sure some one got off at the rate bodies were pushing against each other) and we were quite surprised to see that the station at Orchard was quite deserted. Chingay (the parade of dreams) was going on, gay is right btw, and everyone, I mean everyone, boys, girls, sexually confused, de-sexed, un-sexed and trannies were out there, with goggled eyes, staring at the pretty decent and even sometimes magnificent floats depicting everything from local food to Sri-Lankan dee-lights. This seems like the ending to a story. It actually is. Coz what I want to tell you actually happened, usually happens on the train.

Speaking of trains, it usually is a train of thought I have in trains when I see old people on trains.
Old people, our venerable aunties and uncles, are supposed to fall into 3 categories
a). the meek kind that hobbles around
b). the tough yet grandmotherly kind who allows you to snuggle into her folds of god-given comfort
and c). the mean, bitchy kind that will go straight to hell coz she ruined her son's, his wife's and her husband's life.

Unfortunately, the first two categorizations go straight to hell when it comes to squeezing into the train at rush hour.

Typical scenario:

Waiting for the train to rush into the station, the screen says the train is two minutes away which means it will be here in less than a minute. So we slowly inch forward towards the yellow line, safely behind it as the kindly announcers have already told us. And we wait patiently and cautiously so that the old lady behind us doesn't go flying into the face of the oncoming train with a clumsy adolescent flick of the wrist.

The train arrives with a whoosh and we resign ourselves to the effort in trying to get onto the damn thing. However, my plans to slowly but surely progress are halted by the bitch behind me, who, even though is around 125 years old has the strength of a damn rhinoceros in heat.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for my detractors (those who want Gautam to go straight into hell), it doesn't end there.

We feel compelled to give our seats to the elderly because they seem to deserve more comfort than we do. Usually I don't have a problem with doing that if they fall into the first category. However, these bitches, and they're mostly women, think that because they've been living longer than us, they've achieved a sense of Nirvana, which entitles them to a plastic seat on the damn thing they're traveling in, which btw, they shouldn't really need, as Nirvana brings with it a sense of content that transcends the primal urges to consume and visit relatives and with that a desire to transport oneself is isolated to a mental process that does not involve the MRT, obviously so, since it is very much a physical phenomenon: a result of the Modern Man's desire to consume.

Yeah, old people slip into all sorts of freaky bouts of bi-polar disease on the trains. The monsters usually don't give up until they get a bloody seat and then they close their eyes, serenely, as if they were the fucking Queen of England.

So what do YOU think?

I'm going straight to hell aren't I?

fags!

cycles...

I put these foul things in my mouth and feel extraordinary bliss.. smoke trailing through my respiratory system, exquisitely assaulting my throat with layer upon layer of nicotine.

The remnants of a binge the previous night still litter my desk like poisonous snowfall, blowing about in circles as I exhale from yet another filter of indulgence..

I must quit. What with the escalating price of cigarettes and the priceless nature of my (compromised) health, I need to quit. My health has certainly taken a backseat over the past few years. I presume it's only waiting to lash back with some great, terminal shit.

Yeah so, anyway, I'm going to quit.

Let's see how that works out.

11:55pm

5 minutes to the next day. A fresh start? Hardly..

My eyes feel parched, my lids leaden.

I should pray as my mum tells me too. Futile words she penned down on hopeful pages.

Things could be better, even if they are good.

Maybe I should pray for that, selfish as that might seem, but really, do I care?

Tomorrow never comes, that's why it's always like today.

mushy cereal

so here I am, up bright and early, (I refer to the state of daylight outside my room and not my 'sense of being' as that is severely compromised by my lack of sleep), eating my weet-bix and milk and thinking about the wonderful things in life.... err right..

I'm actually cursing the taste of such vile stuff and wondering to myself why I actually missed eating this stuff over the last week. Well considering that over the past week, I ran out of the cereal, had a bit of spoilt milk, spent way tooo much money and woke up on two consecutive afternoons with pretty bad hangovers and.. and had a bloody panic attack about some non-existent project which I thought I had to hand in today, I would think that getting up this early and eating a bowl of fibrous cereal for breakfast just before a class, that's three good things there already, is very commendable and therefore deserves to have a blog posting all of its own.

Hmm.. what a mouthful. Pun intended. Ha Ha. NOT. I'm taking very abrupt, very tiny bites of my cereal fervently hoping I am scooping up much more than I actually am. yum.

Alright then, what wonderful thing have I realized over my bowl of pensive cereal a.k.a horrendous poison? Well, nothing really. I've been too busy trying to get 'smelly cat, smelly cat' out of my head.

It's so awful. You know how something can get stuck in your head for ages....oh well, my post ends here, actually I want it to end here. Yep. Ok. Bye.

black

We see so many versions of relationships everyday. Familial, sexual, friendly (asexual) etc. They seem 'normal' in the sense that they have the same tendencies to break apart every once in awhile but do we actually see the bond between them? We see the laughter, the smiles, even the killer look of hatred as evidence of love but what understanding do we have of that feeling these people have within them, inexpressible, mismatched and disguised emotions that never seem to make their full impact on each other, much less the outside world?

Well, what I saw today was extraordinary. It was unsettling and beautiful at the same time. Two people, one oblivious to sight and sound and the other oblivious to memories coming together to really expose that raw bond that exists within us with the people we would kill for. Every nuance, every little heart wrenching plea for help, for relief of touch made me shiver with fear and delight and eventually tears.

Bonding is a dangerous thing. I can say from a safe-enough distance that I would want to love someone like that one day, but what will I do when I cannot handle my partner in sickness like in health? What if he can't? Could we be forced to do the right thing? Do we have to?

Black is very idyllic, which is ironic considering that these are two people suffering from a great mutual need for each other, even if they don't know it themselves. Selfnessless is as rare as it's antonym is common. But what we see onscreen is how things should be and there's no two ways about it.

And do catch the film. It's a class act. Indian cinema has just placed it's icing on the cake.

recurring dream

I've had this nightmare over and over again.

I'm floating about in the deepest, darkest depths of space. It is space because in the distance I see the twinkling of the stars as though I was watching from my balcony itself. I'm feeling this sense of desperation. I think, apparently, I've been abandoned by my space crew. God know's what the fuck I was doing on a space mission anyway.

All of a sudden, the blackness fades away and gallons and gallons of yellow take its place. I know, out of sheer intuition, that I'm in a Mary Poppins painting and I'm terribly happy. However, I'm rushed into a field of daffodils where Mr. Daffodil himself is singing to me. However, Wordsworth does not take on the faded portrait look I've seen a million times. Instead, it's the frighteningly vivid face of my late father. My heart pounds itself into my stomach with such a force that I'm back in space again.

But it's not space, definitely not. I float and I plod along. I hear a familiar noise amplified a million times. The giver of life, suddenly seems to take it away. Loud and disturbingly efficient I view my heart, so large and hideous, beating out life into me. It stops and I wither away.

It really was a nightmare. However, the recurrence of it turned it into a dream. It used to elicit screams, insomnia and once even urination from me and the details stayed with me for days after. I used to lie in bed, almost paralyzed, trying to make sense of it. However, over the years, the vividity has been dulled and I can't remember it that well anymore. So here it is, immortalized and slightly compromised with a touch, just a wee touch, of refinement. After all, it just a dream, right? Right?

Downward Spiral: An Obligatory Post

My downward spiral never came. I'm glad. I am also confused as to why it did not come. In some morbid I was actually looking forward to it. I just wanted to see if I could have felt any worse than I did.

Why did I think I was losing control? Actually, come to think of it, I might be in the midst of completely losing it. I mean, there is such a thing as denial right? And usually, the destructive state of denial usually does occur when you are in the thick of things, because, voila your not in an objective position anymore. Whatever.

Well, to be honest, I conjure up a lot of drama around my 'problems' just to make myself more interesting. I don't know why I do it but how much can I justify to myself that I am an equal? I am as interesting, as smart, as talented, as fucked up as anyone else. But I can't do it anymore because in this case, the veneer I have been nurturing for such a long time has slowly worn down to the magnificent amount of evidence in front of me.

The emotion of an absolute sense of incompetence is not new to me. I've felt it, tasted it almost, for aeons now. But it has caught up with me and why should I not go completely crazy over it? Why should I turn to introspection and correct myself when I know that my resolutions lose their enthusiasm as soon as I face up the disappointing challenge that life is? I just want to go nuts... exhilarating madness.

It's very easy for me to blame a load of people for making me this way, but what good will that bring about? So many questions, and yet too many answers.

Close friends, tighter circles bring me some respite, but why do I feel senseless joy and utter sincerity around these people when I see the eyes of judgment lurking on their faces? That's where the crushing incompetency lies. I yearn to be perfect in their eyes, the same way, they are perfect to me. I hate only when you hate.

It all just hopelessly boils down to great expecations and I can't handle it.