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, April 15, 2008
ON MAGAZINES AND MEMORY
If memories could be canned, I hope this one will never expire. If an expiry date must be added onto it, let it be "10,000 years".
- Cop 223, Chungking Express
You know what makes me feel sad? a stack of magazines sitting by the door, waiting to be thrown out.
so much writing gets put into those magazines and so quickly they get chucked out. how long do you keep your magazines for? six months? a year? depends on the magazine, right? exactly my point.
it saddens me when a lot of work gets put into a publication that expires, in what might just as well be, overnight. if i were to write, i would like to write things that last a long time. i'd like to write something that can be read years from its publication date and still be entirely readable. i decided a long time ago that this blog would be about ideas and not events, because i could never read my archives if i blogged about what happened everyday. and i'd never want an archive that i couldn't bare to read.
it saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting. like magazines. or newspapers. never to be referenced again. yes. stacks of magazines waiting to be recycled sadden me. but bookshelves make me happy.
Labels: melancholy, memory and nostalgia
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