Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Last night, i dreamt that i was driving in a car with mel. it was night. and there were all these motorbikers in front of us. and then, at a sharp right turn, two of the bikers fell and they and their bikes spun and flew into a ditch on the right. we stopped our car and went down to look, and other people were doing that too. mel was concerned about them but i told her "it's ok, these guys know what they're doing" (which incidentally is my reallife approach to unruly bikers).
suddenly, the place was swarming with cops and people. people were getting arrested and there was a court room set up right there by the roadside, with road blocks and tons of people. the cops were controlling traffic - not to drive people away, but to keep those present there. one lady was on the bench, a chinese lady in glasses, short hair. she looked like one of those fiery activists as she defiantly defended the dreamscape criminals. in my dream, i knew that she was trying to protect the identity of the criminals (what crime was it?) and she refused to tell the court anything.
and then, when questioned, this lady began pulling out all these russian writers and quoted them in russian to the assembly before her. first she pulled out tolstoy and started screaming at the court. then she pulled out dostoevsky. then i remember telling mel that we had to go and we tried to leave but the cops wouldn't let the crowd disperse. and then the dream ended.
"...and there were all these motorbikers in front of us."
on saturday, i met some new people and we talked about local movies, and one of them asked me if i saw Rempit. i became conscious again about motorbike gangs.
"...and then, at a sharp right turn, two of the bikers fell ... and flew into a ditch on the right"
last night, after speeding around the bend in the road, jack said: "i call that the RSD hairpin, the one i drove a 100 miles at. It just came up at me, so insidious".
"Suddenly, the place was swarming with cops and ... people were getting arrested"
yesterday, at work, charlotte was showing me pictures of a protest she attended, and there were cops and tons of people, and i was told they had tear gas ready.
"...a chinese lady in glasses, short hair. she looked like one of those fiery activists..."
on sunday, i had lunch and a good long chat with one of my cell members reena, who is a chinese lady with short hair, sometimes wears glasses, and has the zeal of an activist.
"And then, when questioned, this lady began pulling out all these russian writers and quoted them..."
yesterday, while looking for a new wallpaper, i came across a the hot red cover of a book called Ni Marx Ni Jesus, about revolutions. I equate redness and marx with russia.
9:40 am ]