numbers and figures- they pull us apart

11:11

The time everyone starts posting their wishes and whatnot.
Thing is, someone posted something about their wishes during what was to be perceived as 11:11 at their side when it was only 11:09 for me.
Besides, I don't really see the point in 11:11 (even as I hopelessly dream on about it)
-says the person who wishes on 00:00 and various other timings-

Numbers are interesting.

Mooving on.
so.
exhibition.
yes i am excited can you just see my extremely happy face.
OCTOBER!
Halloween's!
The devil's own spawn and
reckless lines of
chalk.
Yeah. Chalk.
I miss everything that-
that used to be there.

Yeah.
It used to be easier.
Maybe chess woulda been better.
Rot there in the corner, fiddling with the buttons of the old chess clock and watch every single second pour away into a blitz, until the red flag's triggered.
What did we call it.
*do
 Flagdrop? I think so.
Stalemate.
Don't question me.

so there I was planning on a long and coherent and reasonable post but halfway there I gave up.
I think I gave up from the start.

Exhibition.
Right.
Nice, nice poem that I can't really organise into a full paragraph. I should really start concentrating.
but it seems so long since I've published a post.
SOOOOOO LONGGGGG.
I was planning on writing something decent, and there was a sudden idea for a play/prose (I'm rather undecided) and it was really good- at least, to me- and I was thinking about it on the car ride home, from loon's house- it's another thing but i liked the experience and even though i thought it as stupid. i mean, playing awkward badminton in the rain and yeah. it was fun. i like it. i still do.-

so i was listening (again, completely unrelated idea) to my playlist on my phone with my dad's earphones (i think they're for a different type of phone because-) and when it shuffled to 'What Makes You Beautiful' by One Direction...
well, because it's a weird earphone, so it practically cancelled out the vocals until it was only a very, very slight whisper and also removed some of the background music. I never realised 'Back to December' by Taylor Swift had such good instrumental-
so when I listened to 'What Makes You Beautiful'...
all I heard was the sound of the conga drums.
FOR THE WHOLE 4 MINUTES.

i love you, dad's earphones.

right. Exhibition.
I was all prepped up for it, and I bought supplies (nice, nice butterflies that were purple and black and kinda glimmering and also some ribbons) though I don't think they will be used.
still. it's pretty. sigh.
yeah.
and I've managed to complete a poem which I showed Jerry and it was meant for Yinny and it was kinda in the Halloween mood but anyways.
potato'd.

POSTMAN PAT.
yeah.
I love this show sooooo much okay the cat is totally sass and fluff and it goes like
'I DON'T CARE I'M A CAT OKAY YOU DO WHAT I WANT'
and it jumps up and down and everywhere and stuff.
and Postman Pat is just.

'I'M POSTMAN PAT AND I'M ON A SPECIAL DELIVERY SERVICE OOH DID I KNOCK YOUR POTATOES DOWN DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CARE OOH LOOK HEY CHICKENS HEY HORSE I LOVE THE WEATHER SO MUCH AND MY BADGE IS SHINY'

(I'm serious about this part. He polishes his badge. FOR REAL.)

I should avoid being so random and get back to work.
WORK.
sigh.
okay bye potatoes let me awkwardly slide away.
fats.
lipids.
lipase.
eoys.
screwed.
yay.

YAY I AM SUGAR HIGH

Decided to do stretching in the middle of the night.

I FEEL SO AWESOME NOW.

All those people I have thought of as normal...

well, let's just say most of them were insane to begin with.

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE NORMAL!"

Of course, I have a sane and matured side too.

It just... it just never comes out.

We're marchin' on!

Our first--well, it's not actually official--CCA session without the sec 4s.

WE NEEDED THEIR HELP.

Okay, maybe not.

But as we removed the exhibition, it felt like...

it felt as though the sec4 seniors should have been there too. Like, witnessing the 'birth' and 'death' of their last exhibition... It was rather sad. I mean, that was our nicest exhibition yet D:

And they removed it D:

IT WAS AWESOME. IT SHOULD HAVE STAYED THERE FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER AND EVER.

I SHALL TYPE IN CAPS BECAUSE I LIKE THE WAY THE WORDS LOOK! :D

BUT ANYWAY.

TOMORROW'S THE FUNFAIR, I SHOULD BE SLEEPING, BUT I'M... WELL, GOING TO SCHOOL LATER THAN USUAL.

WHEEEEE. IT'S ANOTHER RED-AND-WHITE BE YOURSELF DAY.

HOW FUN~! :D

WE'RE GOING TO SELL CHEESE FRIES AND HOT DOGS. 

I THINK I'LL STICK TO THE ES CCA BOOTH BECAUSE I AM 无家可归 XD

BELOW: NYES SPRING AND WINTER VERSION. I DON'T DARE TO POST IT ON FACEBOOK.

WINTER IS, ADMITTEDLY NICER. BUT STILL...

WHAT ABOUT AUTUMN AND SUMMER? I'M KINDA STUCK.

LIKE, HOW DO I EVEN DRAW THE FRIGGIN AUTUMN LEAF?

I THINK I'LL NEED TO USE PHOTOSHOP INSTEAD OF MURO FOR THIS.

SUMMER...

OH YES I HAVE AN IDEA

WHEEEEEEEEE~

LET'S HOPE IT WILL WORK.

THEN AUTUMN FOR THE LASTTTTTT~

YAYYAY

WISH ME LUCK.

...

NO, DON'T.

YOU'D BE WASTING IT.

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

OKAY I SHALL EMBARK ON A JOURNEY TO DESIGN ANOTHER ONE.

SUMMER. IN PROGRESS.

*Edit: NYES--Summer is the only one (yet) to require a shitty blueprint. =.=

stories unfold and caramel apples bob up and down.

I thought of another story to tell.

Ohgodwhyisthishappeningtome.

He tells her, once, of the sweet, caramel apple. Bobbing red with a fresh layer of lie. He stares at her. She takes the apple, peels its lie layer by layer and hands him the fruit. He devours it whole and leaves the [apple] core of truth to her care. It rots and burns her.


He tells her, twice, of the beautiful, fragile flowers. Alive with happiness and grace. He stares at her. She gives him her youth and watches as he mercilessly plucks the petals one by one. He hands her the wilting flower of her youth and walks away.


She grows old.


He tells her, thrice, of the pure, unstained canvas. Rough with tales of aging, yet light as a feather. He stares at her. She glances at her own canvas, framed up and hanging around her neck. She removes the canvas from the frame and passes it to him. Her soul is in his hand.


This time, he walks away, vanishing, leaving her with the wilted flower and the burning, stinging core of truth.


Every single person he meets, and yes, he meets every single one of them--they pass him their apples, their flowers and their canvases. 


Oh yes, and his name is "Life".


lalalala.

sigh.
sleeeeeeeppppppppp.

theory-wise, we are all scary.

THIS IS SCARING ME.

On the surface, I have 7 followers.

BUT WHEN I CLICK ON THE TAB.
IT SHOWS 6.

whoareyoustalker?whoareyou.

error 404. the following data cannot be retrieved. please refresh the page. nah, don't try that. the blogger is just too shocked to type anything.

I AM BEING STALKED :D

...
but anyway, it's probably just some computing error :D

let's hear my theory on scary stalker people.

people = destroyers of nature = monsters = scary.

got it? moving on.

scary = scary.

duh.

stalkers = dangerous (potential's there, anyways) = scary

in algebra, we take ab as a x b.

so...
scarystalkerpeople = scary x stalker x people.

taking into account the above,
it's:

scary x scary x scary, which would make:

scary-cubed.

WHICH IS REALLY SCARY.

...
but we could add a few 'scary's in front.
oh well.

THIS WAS A WASTE OF TIME. :D
yay.
I have a headache, so I don't feel like doing Math.
MATH MATH MATH.
NAG NAG NAG.

almost the same.
factors of math seep into brains and lead stray thoughts of potatoism into minds.

lalala.

Iridescent

Below is what I wrote for school before. And lo and behold, I have just posted it! :D


The topic was "Iridescent" and I fell in love with the word immediately [without knowing its exact meaning] :)


Enjoy! (or get ready a bucket to puke into)
_________________________________________________________________________________


Iridescent

She takes interest and it stems into an obsession. The invisible spirits plant a simple idea in the depths of her mind, it was a motivation that spurred her on.

Aveline loves everything bright and colourful, especially variety bursting at its peak. Fascination streams about her in nifty strokes, capturing her attraction for the rainbow. It is iridescent, displaying a splay of wild, bold colours that blot her mind with hues of the rainbow. It streaks across her mind in a blistering fever, fuelling her addiction. She sees the world as a prism, the colours at their majestic moments, flitting around the world, painting and dabbing away at the monotony of life. 

They swish around-- lofty wishes that awaken her greed. Those voices are haunting her, running a hypnotic loop around her mind. 

Her fingers swipe across another work, crayon marks swirling into a puddle of illusion. They form lines at first, solitary, before gradually merging and exploring different lands. The lines are jagged, yet smooth, forming a spiral that never ends. She loses herself within the enthralling strokes, as they—the crooked lines-- continue mumbling hoarse incantations. They are dancing, starting out with slow and elegant steps, meant to impress upon first sight. But as the pattern forms, their steps start out sophisticated and rapid, capturing her attention. They rush out a frenzied tempo, bringing her heart into a burst of ecstasy.

The enchantment has worn off, bringing her back to the monochromatic world once more. The voices are worn-out, disappointment lacing their words. Yet their grins widen as they toy with her heartstrings, tugging mercilessly on her greed.

A murmur of appreciation falls from her lips, revealing the awe and desperation behind her words.  It forms a whirlpool of exhilaration in her mind, leaving her heart pounding, overwhelmed with desire and longing. They tempt her once more, slyly fingering her heart (they brush gently against the veins and artilleries, musing tiny circles upon them--drawing a reaction of gushing adrenaline) and showing illusions that her glazed-over eyes reflect. 

'Wouldn't it be nice if the world were iridescent? Thriving over a splay of colours?' they probe, prompting. She nodded with hesitation, gulping. They pat her head reassuringly, their beady eyes narrowing. 

Fresh red started out luscious and seductive, purring as it claimed her heart, the first shade. Following after it was yellow, cheerful and pleasing. It skipped merrily over, wrapping the heart in patterns. The mixture darkened to form orange. Vibrant and passionate, the sparks fly upon arrival of the colour before falling down as glittering dust. Green took over in moments, tranquillity smoothing out the creases of excitement caused by the previous colour.  It gingerly pressed its body against the other layers and melted into the mixture as well. Brown sizzled over the edges of the canvas, creeping towards the centre of the art piece. 

Her plan is executed, drawing her breath away. They chuckle at her innocence, awaiting for the grand finale.

The world is nothing but blobs of colours, jumbled together and moulded together. The lines have given way, taken flight. They arch and push, stretching to the limits before finally breaking apart into atoms, drifting in the air, waiting. But that is only the set-up to the climax. Aveline grips onto her desire, faintly chuckling at how her wishes are coming true. Iridescent, the world will become, displaying a nebula eruption, staining the silk of reality with its dye. The colours are fusing, crossing boundaries and blending together. Aveline giggles and shivers with anticipation. 

Another work of art is in progress, unknown to her. Their eyes glint mischievously and their lips, rotting and rancid, curl up in a smirk. 

Pink daintily lands on the paper, grasping onto purple for support. As its older sister nods in encouragement, pink sighs and merges with the other colours. Purple, in its splendour, trickles away bit by bit, splashing silently into the intricate artwork. The two additions darken the coat's colour. Elegant midnight blue stalks upon the painting. It blows gently onto the surface, delighting in the rough and sandy feel of the canvas upon her silky fingers. It sinks into the rotting moor, what with the many decaying souls of its family. 

She should have known. 'Be careful of what you wish for', they sing mockingly, amused at how easily enchanted she was.

Aveline gasps at the horrifying sight. The putrid concoction of the pigments has corrupted the entire world. The black tugs at her shirt, begging and tugging. They smirk upon their lies, coated with agony, pressing against her body. Their fingers, cold and slimy, run up and down her. She shrieks and cowers, covering her face with her hands-- this has never occurred to her.  They coo in hungry and irritated voices, demanding for more additions. Their hunger is insatiable, but there is another horrible ripping. The ink is leaking from her heart, they claw and gnaw at her ribs, every bone they can find. Internal destruction. 

They haunt the last of her memories. 'Didn't you ask for this?' they question, their eyes burning in delight and mock-hurt, relishing at her horror.

The fusion of the colours turned out black. Ironic. Now they are corrupted, sinful and warped. They drip into another world of red and white. Unsatisfied, twisted thoughts blanket them. Gluttons they are, washing over every area and tainting it black. Now, at last, the jigsaw puzzle is complete and the world can rest in total darkness, utter silence. 

Aveline is lost to the real world forever.

The devils sneer and snort at her. It was the simple fascination of the rainbow, yet they fiddled with her mind, tainting each thought dark and twisting it into a warped world of delusion. Poor girl, she never did deserve this, yet she was happy, relishing in her own iridescent mirage then. They licked at every shriek of despair and cheerfully watched her bright vision fade and blackout. The nightmares she gave them were remarkable and appealing. All they did was to give her a little push, plant that seed in her innocent mind and she took it upon herself to develop it, nurture that seed.
Her entertaining actions (for she was a mere plaything) proved noteworthy and it satisfied their hunger for more pain, torture-- for now. Yet it also brought things to a new height as they glide about in the air, far high above, searching for another curious mind to explore and experiment.

Musings-- I is a carrot.

Mistaken identity.

I wonder if the fox will change its fur colours in summer, autumn or winter.

Indeed, indeed.

Now that I have submitted for Montage...
Y U GIVE ME SO MUCH INSPIRATION?
*to Ellie and Jerry :D jiayou for Montage anyways.

But that's out of the point anyway.

I have a fear of someone.
So now, I'm going to try to be brave.

I'm not going to give anyone anything, not even my fear.
*puts on failed pokerface*

Because it seems so idiotic to be afraid of someone who's not supposed to be intimidating at all...
but I still fall prey T3T
How do you overcome fear?
I have a fear of mirrors as well, another fear called Athazagoraphobia. 
Sighs. I'm trying not to fear fear itself, but it's getting too difficult.


On the other hand... no more CST :)


I wonder what we'll be doing instead of tha-- ... not extra Chinese lessons, right?


And I wrote a letter to the Sec 4 me :D I wonder if I'll even remember to read the letter. It's really short and filled with Tuannism. :D


~O~ 

Acrophobia--Fear of Heights and a little waffle

An unbidden image arose in her mind.

A monochromatic world, the tiny dots that stained the canvas of her thoughts. They were so miniature, so small. She felt too big, looking down upon all of them. The ledge was reshaping, closing in into a compact area. So painfully tight, so painfully worrying. There was just a fleck of dust to stand on, but her weight was going to make it crack. She was going to fall. The mist clouded over her mind, tracing and retracing a single word that haunted her peace.

She felt her finger slide desperately, gliding across the air, cutting into the breeze swirling around her. Her fingers fumbled over the specks of dust that lolled around, drifting gleefully around the air, thick and lazy. Slender and pale, they opened and closed, as though trying to catch what little ray of glittering sunlight there was in her hands.There was nothing to hold on to, nothing, nothing.

Nothing.


She gasped, the contraction of her lungs, as though a hand had cupped over her throat and wrung the life out of her. It was hard to breathe, so hurtfully hard to breathe. It was impossible to suck in just one small gulp of air-- her muscles were losing control. Paralysed, in mid-air. Her heart thumped, palpitated, and threw itself countless times over the thick walls that was keeping it from escape.

escape-- what a sweet word.


Just one step back, back onto solid, firm ground. If only she could lift up the stumps of her legs, if only she could leap... The muscles in her fingers flexed. As she squinted over her shoulder, it was to her horror and its cheer that the ground was so far away. The gravel was inching away, increasing the distance between them.

There was an invisible feather upon her legs-- tickling them mercilessly with a mocking laugh. She was floating, held up by stronger forces, the wind whipping against her face. Their hands brushed past her bangs, pulling them back gently but firmly. They slid their cool fingers up and down her arms, gleefully asking,

"Can you see now? Can you?"

She shook her head, but all she could manage was a tilting of her head to the left, then right. There was nothing to see, even as her fear's hands peeled her eyes open and purred for her to see the world laid out beneath her. Her shoes, red and pointed, were huge. And she felt as though she was stomping on all those little atoms, splintered into single blocks of life, exploding and then reforming, the cycle of life repeating. She shifted her weight to the other foot, but then paused. What if she were to roll off and fall?

"I don't want to fall," she whispered in a muted prayer. "Don't, don't, don't let me fall. Someone. Someone."

Musings-- we'll keep it there

Supposedly the world is crashing upon you,
and there's no one there left to help you.

One hand strikes out, but there's no point in anything at all.
Do you get tired of getting tired of life?

When there's so much to see, but you're content with your mind's eye flipping through the scrapbook of your worn-out, torn and tattered memories.

This blog is a dangerous place:
Spinning in progress-- the disastrous web of a scarlet, luscious liquid that trickles down hesitantly upon the sides of your throat, clutching at the hesitation stuck in your vocal box.

All I see are screen shots. Profile images, silhouette of people-- past people who waltzed in and out of my life. And some more happy faces, the ones I can never ever understand, the delicate smile that pierces through each layer of mask with despair. But oh, such beauty as well.

Names piece together letter by letter, stringing helplessly along a fragmented rainbow, splintered into a million mirrors.

Kamikorosu , I'll bite you to death. 

Weren't we always?

I have mingled with tears too often to see the rain.

Strumming down the life of pain,

Weren't we always?

If you would just bring forth your grimace

And let it fall from grace.

Look past our fate,

And shimmy with our mates.

Weren't we always?

Casual, no interception

Nor with any perfection.

Look back on the days with wonder

And laugh upon error.

Weren't we always?

Innocence that flawed our statuses.

They chorused lightly at the dresses

in tatters of our dolls.

They'd beckon us away, locked the doors.

Weren't we always?

Musings-- Reality is boring, admit it.

Where is the thrill in our lives?
The excitement, adventure?
Eventually spinning out a new legend for ourselves.
--
In the movies.
--
How to get into a movie?
--
Movies are fake.
It's just imagination!
--
Hm, so where to get an extra bout of inspiration?
--
Maybe if we were in the future, we'll be able to buy inspiration!
And it's like a stimulating incident that continues forever until we die or want to get out!
--
Inspiration can't be bought!
It's for ourselves only, originality!
--
Non, imagine a good composition.
--
It is sold for inspiration for greater compo.
--
Yes! But the better compo is built on the original one.
It's not INSPIRATION!
--
Pfft, it's just a copy, and edited copy.
This topic proves to be useless.
--
So... where do I get inspiration now?