parody, Parody, PARODY!!!

I have 10 minutes to rant and will make the best of out it. I’m so awfully disappointed in you.

 

I live in a garden, with flowers. But they turn nasty at times. Sometimes they grow thorns, sometimes, they just stand there, perched high up there, pride held high, but wilt eventually. One day, I just take up this job as a gardener, naturally it seems.

 

You see why gardeners are the only sane people on earth is because a flower is but a flower to them and gardens are just places with flower in the plural form. No obscurities whatsoever.

 

This flower might have a few more thorns than that, this one might be bug-infested or literally serve as feed to the birds and caterpillars but they are just flowers aren’t they? Nothing much to worry about.

 

Maybe one day the thorns might just grow wild and bugs might share buds 10:1 but at the end of the day, flowers are but flowers, no matter how spoilt, how ruined, how infested they are.

 

What should I do?

 

I swear I’ll never spray disinfectant over the plot and call it a day, for even though flowers are but flowers, there different species, different variations between them and each deserve different treatments and care from another.

 

So what do we do?

 

Should we cut the thorns out one by one and allow them to grow back in apathy? Or remove the bugs one by one and dump them somewhere where the sun won’t shine and the next day see them crawling back in earnest again?

 

What a tedious job.

 

I say, the above is just crap, they really are. I do things because I believe in them, flowers grow under the hands of the gardeners and however wild they are, they are still flowers and we are still gardeners, can the former consume the latter?

 

I think not.

 

Even carnivorous ones by their standards are but just a thin stem that we could severe and end their growth, permanently essentially. Everything is in your hands really just that we tend to doubt and question at times.

 

Influence.

 

That’s the only word man, in this whole world full o’ crap. Things thrive under it. My flowers grow astray with the wind or wilts if one decides to die and rot there in front of its peers. How very irresponsible eh?

 

Just tell them, flowers are but flowers, man are but man. Whatever you are, you are you, what can you do, what can I do, what can we do?

 

Acceptance.

 

The only thing that holds up the skies, but no one really thinks about it. One day, I’ll murder, I’ll screw, I’ll cook, I’ll shuff a knife in those who lacks this word. YOU SUCK.

 

You flower, Beauty isn’t everything, you know, you Flower bastard. Life is too short for Youth. Why can’t you bond, accept the others?

 

Why the Revolution?

 

Why the Sensation?

 

Why think Special?

 

Why can’t you think?

 

Why can’t you understand?

 

How the gardeners and the Flowers are suffering because of you?

 

Evil. Why did you let it in? Now you’re nothing more than a weed. I’m so terribly disappointed and the thing is that we can do nothing? Is life really that hard? Think, don’t think, Accept that fucking shit.

 

You are the Death of Life.

 

random sunny day

The Best Damn Thing, lol. Ft’s forcing me to buy and lend her. Although I don’t really like all the songs, I’m gonna buy to complete the set of 3. But one thing for sure, I’m so hooked on when you’re gone. Its the best of all 3 cds. I never ever, never ever, illegally downloaded anything before. I’m on oath. And I’m hard up right now, only few hundreds on hand.

Heh, the VJ open house. Man, it sure evoked feelings for the past. I still remembered how I was really really dying to get into another school, any other other than the existing one. I even swore that if I didn’t get in, I’ll die. And its no hyperbole-haranguing. But looking back, I was a bitch so serves me right. Humph. Now kinda love my school, even if I don’t like it. We should all accept things if we can’t change them. But I think I’m gonna transfer to another JC if I can cos I really can’t stand “co-existing” with the secondary school kids. But it might not be a bad thing, well, I think I’ll not go after all. Sigh, I’ve never seen myself so indecisive before.

Oh well, I’m still young, no matter. Haha, that’s what distingushes Youth from the hunch-backed, the hacking-throats. Naw I’m just joking, I’m not young anymore. If only we would treat every seconds as a probablility that we’ll leave this world. How morbid, but I’m so used to it that I don’t care anymore. People say I look 20 plus, haha someone tried to sell me a credit card and gave me free financial planning. And all that stuff, lol.

Jane and I

Ah, how refreshing. Identity change, alike a rebirth.

Simple things, simple. Why obscure?

But the abstract will and always be. Simplicity= Abstraction. Won’t go on to a metaphysical discussion.

I changed my name to ‘I’, nice uh? Hello, I’m I.

Jane’s my favourite flower.

But I can’t locate a nice liner so still sticking to the Twelfth Night one.

Maybe its gonna stay :\

Oh well, today’s Speech Day and I’m not involved. That’s the catch of being in a good school. I remember being in the top 10 every year in primary. Not that its nice in its entirety. Its alike a billionaire worrying for his son’s safety. One day someone could just abduct you. I’ve got a penchant for lunatics, eccentrics, the genuinely depressed, schizophrenics. Don’t you find their life bearing a poetic quality. I wonder if I’m in it too, since I’ve got a penchant for myself :\ which means I love myself more than I do to anyone.

I told my friend, who has already branded me as–the pinnacle of bhb. There’s someone who’ll enter this world with you and leave the world with you. In between, there might be cheats and hitch-hiking, but they themselves are frauds in abstraction. You stride through the path in a three-legged race, its just nice to know someone’s always with you. And of course, that person is you. I named mine Jane.

Well, I feel wierd, why did I split myself into two? Haha, I’m bipolar no more. I’m Peace itself. Maybe I’m dreaming. Nowadays I always take my days to be scenes from a play, or chapters from a book. Then when my day’s gone wrong, I’ll shrug and tell myself, ugh, I screwd the ending. Then I’ll drop it, tomorrow I’ll write a nicer one and so on. Sounds like the girl from Suddenly Last Summer, who wrote her journals in 3rd person. She was crazy, no doubt, but by my standards, she’s totally sane.

People are fragile Glass Menageries that need cover, some seek mainstream ways, some get off the beaten track and seek the unconventional but get rebuked for attempting to be creative. I’m getting incoherent, I can feel it slipping away. Wake up partner, don’t get heated into a coma. I know I have a play, but right now, I can’t locate it. Nowadays things come in the form of brainwaves, I got one while striding home, took out my phone and stored it in the form of a sms draft.

I’m reading to find it, I got closer yesterday when I read Two Horsemen by ‘Biyi Bandele, wonderful piece. When people don’t realise its raining, make up stories about one’s parents and contradict it purposely in the same 5 minutes and one’s partner pointed it out, then deny the former suggestion vehemently but accepted it casually, then claimed his partner to be his dad, who acknowledged. Well, no use ranting it here cos no one read it. Maybe talk about it someday in detail.

In geog lesson, doing geog stuff. But the com’s lag, and the moniter hurts my eye, I can’t type properly on this keyboard, so I went on strike. Later on, there’s this oratorical competition and guess what? Its billingual.

Hoho, don’t know how what junk the people are up to. I mean its alright, its totally okay, but arrange them separately. Billinguists are rarities. I mean I can speak, but competitively, I can’t grasp. I’ve not been blogging for quite sometime and have not been using the com for quite sometime as well, just oning it for music and all.

Been doing some drawing, those curvy twirls like twining vines, rather inspiring for poems I realise. I’m quite fond of the pointilism piece as well, flowers yet again. Haha, and I gve them names, one is called Jane, for its simplicity and abstraction, the curvy flower’s called Heavenly, named after Tenessee William’s play, Sweet Bird of Youth, the female lead. Ah and I drew one called Chance Wayne as her match, yes, the male lead.

Jane inspired the poem below and I’m thinking of continuing it. Mmhm, The Flower Mistique, I love flowers. Planning of going to Botanical Gardens alone in the June Hols and take pictures. Ah, and I took a really nice Goth picture of my brother’s doll, nah, he’s nowhere near effeminate with all his Khmer Rouge Violence when he tore my worksheets and his Elephant past life surfaced when he stomped on a stool till it gave way to him. Sigh. Poor doll’s from MacDonald, I bet he was thinking of disecting it when he cuddled it in a passionate embrace. Aww.

My phone camera really suck and its not a good thing if you’re always and always using it. But of course, its versatile. I take picture of the toilet, the less obscene places– the sink and mirror, Symmetry, my friend observed that that defined my, in my drawings and all. Haha reminds me of the great detective Hercule Poirot. My Agatha Christie days. Now I read plays. One is that they take a much lesser time to finish and are more kind to my palette now.

Shucks, lesson over bye.