the Soft City

Wed, 23 May 2007 03:54:20 GMT

Happy Birthday, B!

Waha. Despite being sick and stoned, I remembered after all. Go me.

Dover Bitch

Sun, 13 May 2007 01:49:36 GMT

Nicked from

Here is the deal:
1. Put your music player onshuffle.
2. Press forward for each question.
3. Use the song title as the answer to the question.

How am I feeling today?
My Baby Just Cares For Me (Nina Simone) - Nothing about how I'm feeling today, but haha! Boything is thinking of me. And he promised to be nicer (for what, I don't know), so I assume this is oddly appropriate.
/ My baby dont care for shows/ And he dont even care for clothes/ My baby just cares for me

Will i get far in life?
40' (Franz Ferdinand) - Gee, 40 feet. That ain't far by ANY STANDARDS, baby. Except perhaps, a snail.

How do my friends see me?
I Loves You Porgy (Nina Simone) - I love you guys too. Even if you do come up with the most ridiculous nicknames.

Where will I get married?
Take Me Out (Franz Ferdinand) - Oh, I don't ger married. We just go out and have lots of sex, apparently.

What is my best friend's theme song?
The Other Woman (Nina Simone) - I thought this was my song. Geez, Gil, Gil, Gil. You've been suspiciously quiet over the weekend and ignoring me! What have you been up to?

What is the story of my life?
Love Me Or Leave Me (Nina Simone) - Self-explanatory, evidently.
/ I said love me or leave me or let me be lonely/ You won't believe me but I love you only//

What is/was high school like?
I Can't See New York (Tori Amos) - YES.
/ Cause I'm circling round through high clouds falling down//

How can I get ahead in life?
Work Song (Nina Simone) - Oddly appropriate.

What is the best thing about me?
Wednesday (Tori Amos)

What is today going to be like?
Exo-Politics (Muse) - Coincidentally, we're having a model UN meeting today.

What is in store for this weekend?
Knights of Cydonia (Muse) - Ooh. Space cowboys.

What song describes my parent(s)
Feeling Good (Nina Simone) - Considering that they're both retired (well, almost), YEAH MAN. Their lives are damn good.

To describe my grandparents?
Assassin (Muse) - . . . I suppose if you're talking about the valium-addict, child-abusing grandma.

How is my life going?
Michael (Franz Ferdinand) - I have a mad lust for a gay dancing boy named Michael, apparently.

How does the world see me?
The Dark of the Matinee (Franz Ferdinand) - Thanks, guys, I feel the love. -.-;

Will I have a happy life?
Don't Smoke In Bed (Nina Simone) - So I get into an awful marriage with a sleepyhead who smokes. Happy, indeed.

What do my friends really think of me?
Starlight (Muse) - Awww. Ok guys, I won't emigrate.
/ This ship is taking me far away/ Far away from the memories/ Of the people who care if I live or die//

Do people secretly lust after me?
Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood (Nina Simone) - Hmm, apparently I seduce people without meaning too. (Stares at lyrics) So that's a yes, huh.
/ I'm just a soul who's intentions are good/ Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood//

How can I make myself happy?
Your Cloud (Tori Amos) - Ahh. I must go cloud-gazing, apparently. What.. fun.

What should i do with my life?
See-Line Woman (Nina Simone) - Become a hooker?! o.O
/ See-Line woman dressed in red/ Make a man want to lose his head//

Will I ever have children?
A Sorta Fairytale (Tori Amos) - By this song title, we mean that the GAHMEN CAN DREAM but we never get what we wish for, LOL. In short, no.

I blame this on too much SS

Wed, 02 May 2007 11:02:35 GMT

Remember '5 Stars and a Side of Crescent'?

... You know, crazed durian auntie waving chopper around. Yes, that one. (It's now been un-friendslocked, so.)

Here comes the scene preceeding it. A reworking of an all-too-familiar political scenario in Singapore.

Any resemblance to real persons are entirely intentional.

Scene 4: P-------

The laughter of the students mingles and fades into the sound of bitter chuckling. The lights fade in on stage right where the MAN is standing behind a table. There is a small sofa behind him. He is facing the audience and laughing bitterly to him self. Abruptly, he stops laughing and stares at the audience, face contorting with rage.

V/O: We can promise you fairness and equality.

He grabs a remote control, pointing it at the audience to mute the volume of the “television”. Grabbing his phone, he furiously punches in the numbers and waits impatiently for an answer. As the phone rings, spotlight spears stage left on his BROTHER, who is standing and facing the wings.

BROTHER: (Answering his cell-phone) Hello?

MAN: Are you watching this bullshit?

BROTHER: What?

MAN: (Groping around the sofa behind him) Self-indulgent tripe.

BROTHER: What on earth are you talking about?

The MAN fishes out a packet of cup noodles from behind faded cushions.

MAN: Aha!

BROTHER: Hello?

MAN: Turn on the TV, dammit!

BROTHER turns to face the audience and points a remote control in their direction.

BROTHER: Oh. Oh.

MAN: It’s disgusting, honestly, the way they lie so blatantly –

He cradles the receiver in the crook of his neck and rips the cover off the container of noodles.

MAN: Criminals! Despots!

BROTHER: (Long suffering) Why don’t you just turn off the TV if it’s bothering you so much?

The MAN opens a flask of hot water and begins pouring it into the container of cup noodles.

MAN: Hypocrites! Look what happened to –

BROTEHR: (Suddenly) Where were you last Friday?

MAN: What?

BROTHER: Last Friday night. Dad’s birthday dinner.

The MAN stops pouring.

MAN: I was working.

BROTHER: I told you to be there. He was expecting you.

MAN: I was at a meeting with a party member –

BROTEHR: You could have cancelled it. I told you in advance.

MAN: It was an important meeting.

He sets down the flask.

MAN: One must make sacrifices for his country.

BROTEHR: Understandably.

MAN: (Snapping) Don’t patronise me!

BROTHER: I’m not. But I thought you should know that… Dad’s not getting much better.

MAN: He’s growing old.

BROTHER: Yes, that too. (Slight pause) I’m glad you noticed.

MAN: (Stabbing savagely at his noodles with his chopsticks) Don’t try to guilt-trip me!

BROTHER: Just stating the facts.

MAN: Don’t. Just don’t. You have no bloody idea what it’s like, stuck in this lousy apartment, scraping just enough money to pay the bills, (pointing viciously at the audience with his chopsticks) watching those monsters rubbing their victory in my –

BROTHER: Don’t you dare think, not for one moment, that you’re the only one who’s had it bad all these years.

MAN: What would –

BROTHER: (Brutally cutting him off) Dad’s hospital bills. Living expenses. Your living expenses. Always having to watch my back at work. Worrying about what would happen if – if they found out you were –

MAN: Your brother.

BROTHER: No – opposition.

MAN: I’m your brother. Family. We support each other. That’s out duty, isn’t it?

BROTHER: You don’t know a thing about support.

MAN: Do you? I’ve been sued, bankrupted, humiliated and where was our family then? Where were you when the debtors came a-calling?

BROTHER: Working 16 hours a day to support our parents and to cover up your bloody mess – that’s where I was! All along, you’ve never contributed a single cent.

MAN: I was fighting an election! For my country! For the people of Singapore!

BROTHER: (Vicious) You weren’t. You were fighting for your ego. Giving all those speeches felt good, didn’t it? The rallies, the clapping, the recognition. Good times, eh?

MAN: I was fighting for the rights of citizens!

Brother: You were chasing lofty ideals of freedom when you couldn’t even take care of yourself.

MAN: It’s people like you who are bad for this country. You’re narrow-minded, you can’t see beyond your own petty lives –

BROTHER: What should I tell Ma when she asks what happened to her eldest son? When she asks why he had to move out? When she asks why there are pictures of him outside court on the front of the newspapers?

Heavy silence.

BROTHER: What should I tell Dad when he asks why his eldest son, his heir, doesn’t show up for dinner? We waited two hours. Two. Hours.

MAN: What do you want from me?

BROTHER: If you don’t know, then it doesn’t matter enough to you.

Pause. Spotlight on BROTHER dims.

MAN: And if it did?

The line goes dead. The MAN drops the receivers and picks up his container of cup noodles. He tries a bit of the soggy noodles and grimaces. Setting down the container, he looks back up at the audience and turns up the volume with his remote control.

V/O: For our country to prosper, we must…

The V/O fades into static. His shoulders slump in a position of defeat. He picks up the receiver and stares at it, uncertain. The sound of static grows louder, unsettling. Blackout.

END OF SCENE.
Co-written with the lovely flavid_thujone

Bit cliched at first, but I like to think the ending makes up for it. Concrit, please?

Promiscuous and hedonistic lifestyles, indeed

Tue, 01 May 2007 03:44:41 GMT

ETA: Straits Times did not publish. I shan't speculate why, but you may all come to your own conclusions. Well, fine. Un-friendslocking because if you won't let me DEFEND the rights of Singaporean citizens in the Forum, I will do it RIGHT HERE. On my blog. Like the rest of the Internet world. Huzzah!

Today, ___gauche and I wrote in to the Forum. Let's see if our maverick views get published.

[I didn't put the Italics or Bold font in the copy we sent in, because I have some sense of self-restraint.]

Dear Sir or Madam

We refer to the letter from Mr Jonathan Cheng, “MM’s comments have me and family worried” (ST, May 1). Mr Cheng’s generalisations on homosexuals are deeply disturbing.

Where is the proof that homosexuals are incapable of having loving, monogamous and committed relationships? Ironically, a major barrier to this is the law, which does not permit homosexuals to marry. Furthermore, there are heterosexuals who lead “promiscuous and hedonistic” lifestyles. A person’s moral principles are independent of their sexuality.

Mr Cheng has made a sweeping statement that inability to have children or establish a committed relationship will somehow increase irresponsibility leading to the rampant spread of STDs, that puts the general population at risk. There are many heterosexuals who cannot have children and many responsible people who have not found suitable spouses. Does this mean that they are also more likely to lead “promiscuous and hedonistic” lifestyles?

Decriminalising homosexual acts is moving beyond the mere tolerance of homosexuals as if they are unwelcome flies. It is about respecting and accepting individuals in minority groups, just as we accept people of minority races and religions.

Yours faithfully

And yes, we gave our full name, ic number and address.

Sense of Impending Dhoom (No, not the Hindi movie)

Sun, 22 Apr 2007 02:30:17 GMT

Yesterday was a blast, even if I am feeling a tad guilty about the Not Studying thing and the Great Brownie Disaster.

So in the afternoon, the Boything hauls himself to my place filled with the Great and Noble Intention of Baking Brownies For Vanessa's Birthday. Gabby decides she wants to tag along and mock my baking skills or rather, lack thereof.

KILROY: I warn you - I cannot bake!
BOYTHING: Nonsense. Under my careful and supervised instruction, we will bake the Perfect Brownie.

Such foreshadowing. At that point, I felt myself overwhelmed with a Sense of Impending Doom. My instincts were not to be proven wrong.

Gab and I hover around uselessly in the kitchen, while the Boything bustles around much like a drill-sergeant in an apron, effectively outdomesticating every female in the room.

BOYTHING: Right. Get me half a teaspoon of salt, sieve the flour, mix the cheese with one cup sugar and add an egg.
KILROY AND GAB: (Exchange bewildered looks)
KILROY: Repeat your instructions. Very slowly.
(Minutes later after some minor drama regarding the conversion of cups to grams)
KILROY: (Sotto voce to Gab) He did say that we mix the flour with the cheese, right?
GAB: Uh... I think so.
(Some time later)
BOYTHING: (Washing the whisk in the sink) Ok, did you sieve the flour?
KILROY: Yes..
BOYTHING: Where is it?
KILROY: (points wordlessly to mixture)
BOYTHING: (still washing the whisk, turns around) What in the --
KILROY: You said to mix the flour with the cheese! .... right?
BOYTHING: (Drops the whisks and freezes in shock) Oh, my son.
KILROY AND GAB: (Stifle giggles of 'He's going to kill me in my own kitchen!')
BOYTHING: (Slowly walks over to stare at the mixture in horror)
KILROY: (Edges out of kitchen)
BOYTHING: (hollow) I said to sieve the flour. Not mix it with the cheese.
KILROY: But I! Um..
BOYTHING: (in rising tones of I Am About To Kill You In Your Own Kitchen) The cheese and the flour mixture are supposed to be separate layers.

So anyway, we just mixed everything together in the mixture, with Gab and I unsuccessfully stifling giggles and the Boything wearing a look of great chagrin.

KILROY: Well, I guess this means that I'm henceforth banned from the kitchen, right?
BOYTHING: (Wordless)
KILROY: ... so no kitchen sex.
BOYTHING: (Wordless glare of Baby, You'll Be Lucky If You're Getting Any Action At All After This Disaster)

Phang made a Fashionably Late Appearance and, lucky for him, missed out on most of the Great Baking Disaster.

BOYTHING: Ok. I need to you to preheat the over.
KILROY: I don't know HOW! (totters over and pokes around in a valiant attempt)
PHANG: (Peers at microwave over on top of the baking oven) Hey, I have this oven at home!
KILROY: (Bends down to fiddle with baking oven)
PHANG: Ohwait. You mean that's the oven. I thought that (points to microwave) this was it!

By the time that was settled, Gab had to head home and off I went to do the washing up in an act of penance while the Boything collapses on the chair in my living room in utter horror and Phang cheerfully perched on the sofa.

So, brownie in oven and washing done, I go to the living room to sit on the carpet next to the Boything's chair, rest my chin and arms on his knee and attempt my best I Am Cute And Cuddly, How Could You Hate A Face Like This? look.

KILROY: So am I forgiven yet?
BOYTHING: It depends.
KILROY: On what?
BOYTHING: On whether the brownie turns out edible.
KILROY: And if it doesn't?
BOYTHING: Then we put YOU inside the oven.

The Brownie turned out weird. Like the the crust was really hard but the inside was as moist as cake. It was still edible though! And Phang says it tastes good, although I personally suspect that the germs have somehow eroded his tastebuds a little.

THE MOTHER: It's edible. And not that bad. Tastes more like cake though.
BOYTHING: (Bemoans) It's supposed to be a BROWNIE.
KILROY: Oh shush, we'll just tell people it's a fusion piece.

Then we squeeze into the car and off we go to Clarke Quay for dinner.

THE BROTHER: (Sitting on Boything's lap) On the ride back, I want to sit on Mom instead.
BOYTHING: Are you saying I'm not comfortable?
THE BROTHER: No! But she's softer.
BOYTHING: Does that mean I'm hard?!?
KILROY AND PHANG: (Burst into fits of giggles)

KILROY: (to Boything) You, an_otherperson and Mr Armstrong need to start a club. BFB.
Boything: What?
KILROY: Boys For Baking!

Dinner was yummy and we all went for a walk round the Singapore River after that. I suppose you could say that it was a fun and fruitful evening, although we came to the conclusion that the Boything would have to bake another batch of Proper Brownies for Vanessa at home WITHOUT ME. Heh.

I'd like to wait to see how things turn out when you apply some pressure

Tue, 17 Apr 2007 11:40:58 GMT

It's over. Ran smoothly, thank God.. Was going to make a coherent, reflective and analytical entry on the entire (bloody disastrous) experience, but I'm too tired to find the words.

Terence came down to say Hi and offer support before it started but due to timing issues, I couldn't catch him in person. Damn. Ohwell. The thought that counts. Thanks, big guy.

I saw Nick in the theatre! (waves) But he left before I could catch him. I heard he missed our performance and caught the St. Joseph's one instead. Well, never mind, thanks for dropping by old chap :)

Suffice to say, though, the stress was apparently turning my hair white (according to my make up artist who squealed "Hey, Kilroy has white hair!") IN ADDITION to the hair loss. Fan-fucking-tastic. At least the hair loss issue will solve the white hair problem.

Meme ganked from musikisms:

Comment and I will
1 - Tell you why I friended you.
2 - Associate you with a song/film.
3 - Tell a random fact about you.
4 - Tell a first memory about you.
5 - Associate you with a character/pairing.
6 - Ask something I've always wanted to know about you.
7 - Tell you my favorite user pic of yours [if it pertains].
8 - In retort, you must spread this disease in your LJ [or blog].

And it'd be fantastic if you could do the same for me :D ETA: Josie was there too! And he, at least, recognised me. (Laughs) Thank you too, Josie.

Wot, no principles?

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 10:38:27 GMT

ACJC Geography Quiz was spectacular!

(Pauses)

A spectacular failure, that is.

As expected, we didn't make it through the first round but hey, I'm quite satisfied with my 18/30 since I had no idea what 3/4 of the paper was about.

(I'm a theatre person, dammit. THEATRE. Talk to me about Stanislavsky or process drama - do I look like I care about Benioff zones?)

RI goes in and PWNs every one, as per normal. Boring. (Hwa Chong ar Hwa Chong, how could you get kicked out after Round 2?)

Ah yes! The ACJC speakers. Ha. Ha ha ha. Let me give you an example:

Ambrose Sim, President of ACJC Geog Society, goes up to give the welcome speech:
MR SIM: ... and lastly, I'd like to welcome you all to ACJC Geog Works! Hope it WORKS for you.
ENTIRE AUDITORIUM: (Headdesk)

COMPERE: Hope to see you all again at next year's ACJC Geog Quiz! After all, the best is yet to be!

Which reminds me of the time when we had during inter-class banner painting competition and we were brainstorming for a slogan:

"The best is yet to be!"
"Isn't that AC's motto?"
"No, no. The best is yet to be - but now very good already!'

Theory of Probability

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 14:15:20 GMT

"The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster."

You said the possibility of an event occurring is far more significant than the event itself.

Atwood wrote: Perhaps boredom is erotic after all. That is true
in the way the moon does not emit light - merely reflects it,
but the effect is still the same.

The soft city is easiest to navigate in the dark
and the Very lights shine brightest
when you can't see them at all.

Sat, 31 Mar 2007 14:18:07 GMT

I am so proud of flavid_thujone and I. We have broken new writing boundaries. Check this out people - we wrote the lyrics for a CRAPPY POP SONG! Think of a cross between Shakira's Hips Don't Lie and U2's Elevation (/the orbit of your hips/eclipse).

This one's for all the slim-hipped men of Singapore

BABY, I WISH I HAD HIPS LIKE YOURS

Intro: Justin Timberlake-esque voice going “Uhm. Ah.”

Verse 1:
Boy, I see you on the dance floor
I gotta go over for
(Um. Ah.)
You got GREAT HIPS!

Verse 2:
Boy, you're worse than a caffeine high
Because, baby, I cannot lie-
You got GREAT HIPS.

(JT-esque voice: So sexy so sexy)

Chorus:
Boy, I wish I had hips like yours!
Wanna see you bend on all fours
Gotta love your lack of contours
Got my paycheck in hand, baby, show me more

(I bet your Mama wishes she had hips like yours)

Repeat chorus

Fade out with Uhm. Ah.

If you all are wondering what brought on this bout of insanity, we didn't make it to IDEA.

flavid-thujone: Such a short song?
Kilroy: YOU WANNA WRITE MORE VERSES?!

WHAT DIDN'T MAKE IT INTO THE FINAL CUT:
flavid_thujone: Boy, your hips are like buffalo wings!
Kilroy: .. Buffalo wings?
flavid_thujone: All bones and baby, just a little meat!

flavid_thujone: Boy, next to you I feel like salami!
Kilroy: Um. What rhymes with salami?
flavid_thujone: I don't know.
Kilroy: Oh wait! I know! Boy, next to you I feel like salami! Gonna watch you shimmy like SASHIMI!

So, any one wanna write the melody? :D

Sat, 17 Mar 2007 04:49:00 GMT

Gee. Let's try one of those eljay meme things.

Nicked from cicer

10 Interesting/Unusual Fact About You meme

1. It is socially acceptable to be a workaholic IN PUBLIC.
My workaholic tendencies only manifest themselves when I'm physically OUTSIDE of my home.

2. Ladies, keep your hands to yourself, please.
I absolute cannot abide being touched by females (but there are one or two exceptions). Which means that I'm more comfortable with physical interaction with guys.

3. Public speaking is LESS STRESSFUL than ordering food.
I can make speeches slamming China for being negligent in its security procedures in front of a filled lecture-theatre without a problem or clamber on stage to act as a schizophrenic bisexual in front of a 150 people, but I get nervous when I have to order food at McDonald's.

4. In the immortal lines from When Harry Met Sally, it takes me "an hour and a half to order a sandwich".
Or anything else, for that matter.

5. The amount of food I consume is directly proportionate to how bored I am at the time.
The greater the boredom, the more food I eat.

6. When whimsical, I enjoy Abusing the Use of Caps.
For it is better to have used caps excessively, than never to have used them at all.

7. My pencil box says: I'M NOT A RULES KIND OF GIRL.
This is clearly a display of irony and self-deprecation.

8. When threatened, I allow my egomania to manifest itself.
Aggressively so.

9. Sexiest classical music?
RACHMANINOV.

10. I fangirl (good) debaters.
Oh, ESTI~!!!

Naughty Kilroy. One must not harass the Nice Esti. Even if it amuses you to no end.

In ur base, stealin' ur mineralz

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 12:58:15 GMT

ACJC History symposium war room discussions!

Crisis 1: Nigeria, Somalia & Rwanda (us!) enter Sudan under the flag of the AU on the pretext of restructuring Sudan's oil economy. Never mind that the Sudanese don't want us there. And somehow the Darfur Crisis and the AU peacekeeping force in Darfur got dragged into the debate.

Here follows a summary of the debate. Don't take it seriously.

Nigeria: Lalala.. In ur base, stealin' ur oil!
Sudan: Eh...
Rwanda: In ur base, stealin' ur mineralz!
Sudan: OI!

Then, extremely out of character:

Somalia: OK! We're withdrawing!
Rwanda: Say what? I'm sorry, did you just say you were going to WITHDRAW (when we have all their minerals there for the taking?)
Somalia: (Withdraws troops... ladideedo)
Rwanda: The hell? (Turns to Nigeria) Somalia's withdrawing!
Nigeria: Say WHAT?!? Somalia, are you really withdrawing?
Somalia: Yeah! We have to protect the rights of the Sudanese people! It's wrong to take their resources.
(Pause. Nigeria and Rwanda exchange baffled looks)
Nigeria + Rwanda: ... crazy!

Sudan: We don't want the AU.
Chad: Ok. So who do you want inside your country as peacekeepers? UN?
Sudan: We don't want the UN either.
Chad: So WHO do you want?
Sudan: ... we're not sure yet.
Chad: This is going to be a problem.

Sudan: We think that everybody should respect the Sudan's government's autonomy in controlling its economy! We're doing a great job!
Rwanda: 40% of your people live below the national poverty line and you have a foreign debt exceeding 17 billion US dollars.
Sudan: ....
Rwanda: You see our point.

Chad: We want to add in a third clause to your counter proposal. All countries involved in the crisis should be made accountable to the Sudan War Accountability Tribunal.
Rwanda: Ah?
Chad: SWAT!!!

Crisis 2: Bombings in Thailand are connected to Chinese state-owned companies who produce bomb parts and funding from Saudi Arabian companies. Basically, Thailand talked and talked and... oh yeah, talked. (Monopoly of the floor!) We were the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA ... which is actually a pretty screwed up country to get at present, but well.

USA: Gee. I'm bored. Let's go fight with China.
USA: (stands up and makes provocative speech) "... China is the world's 8th largest exporter or arms. How many of these arms are going to rogue states and terrorist organisations?" (carries on in that vein)
China: Um.. We're willing to do whatever you want us to!
USA: No shit?
China: Yep!
USA: So you are in full support of clause 3 and you're willing to freeze the assets of Huayi Technologies?
China: Sure, why not?
USA: Is there anything, at all, that could serve as a point of contention?
China: Nope.
USA: (Crestfallen)... Damn.

Malaysia: yadda yadda yadda... human rights! Thailand is violating human rights!
Thailand: Duude. Since when did MALAYSIA give a damn about human rights?

But well, I guess it was fruitful. Saw some RMUNers. And yeah, I have a shiny medal. Magpie moment!

Yonder, the sun rises!

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 11:26:49 GMT

Early in the morn, I made my merry way across the street in the company of my delightful neighbour to the sprawling compound of RJC for the RMUN briefing.

Suffice to say, one's expectations were not disappointed and there were even a few surprises! For one, I'm so glad they've done away with the speakers list because honestly, it was an absolute disaster last year. Nobody got to speak when they wanted to and besides, by the time their name had reached the top of the list and it was their turn to approach the podium, most of their points were already redundant.

Ran into familiar faces from HCI (and some new ones!). It was nice to speak to Phang in person! I looked amusedly from afar as Jeremy tried to seize Doralyn's note book. Qihan was as quirky and random as ever.

Qihan: You have this thing about slapping people!
Kilroy: I do not! I'm a pacifist! I am peaceful and gentle.
Qihan: Go on - slap Doralyn on the shoulder. I know you want to!
Kilroy: ...
Jeremy: (observes bemusedly)
Kilroy: Oh, dammit, I am cute and cuddly! Cute and cuddly! Take me home and feed me!

Phang: So how are holidays going?
Kilroy: What holidays?
Phang: EXACTLY!!!

WORD, man. WORD.

Lunch was even funnier. We entered a debate into surnames and then:

Kilroy: Oh, come on. My surname sounds better with his name! Right?
Van, Dora & Qihan: (Disagree vehemently)
Kilroy: Hmph. (Turns to Jeremy indignantly) You agree with me, right?
Jeremy: (Shakes head)
Kilroy: (Pouts)
Jeremy: (Pouts back)
Kilroy: ... I can't win this.

On the train back to TP:

Kilroy: Why is it that we left later than you, but you arrived at the train station later than us?
Jiachen: We went to buy something for Terence.
Kilroy: Ah... say, what's this I hear about Terence and animal porn?
Jiachen: (Bursts out laughing)

As for meeting new people:

Gracemary of Cedar came over to say Hi and I was awed by her statuesque presence. One must look up to her - quite literally. She's a good head taller than me.

But guess who was the biggest surprise? MCDREAMY'S BROTHER.

Kilroy: (sitting at table in lecture hall, twirling pen whimsically) Lalala..
[ACSI delegation enters]
Kilroy: (Looks up) Oh. (Looks back down, continues twirling pen)
[ACSI delegation trundles up stairs]
Kilroy: (stares) Hey, hang on..
[Epiphany strikes!]
Kilroy: OI. ZACH CHOW.
Zach Chow: (Looks up, stops, stunned)
Kilroy: (waves) Hey.
Zach Chow: Hi.
Kilroy: You didn't tell me you were going for RMUN when I saw you yesterday!
Zach Chow: I didn't know myself.
Kilroy: Eh?
Zach Chow: (Grins sheepishly) I only found out last night.
Kilroy: ... right.

Ladies and gentlemen, may we have your vote, please?

Sat, 24 Feb 2007 06:21:41 GMT

View Poll: You knew it was inevitable - just like those damned Star Wars prequels.

ETA: PEOPLE, COMMENT AND TELL ME HOW YOU VOTED AND WHY.

ETA2: POLL STILL OPEN. VOTE VOTE!

Wrap your lip around your head and slowly blow yourself away

Tue, 20 Feb 2007 11:56:03 GMT

I am reading sexy poetry to while away my days in Penang. Current favourites being Jeffrey McDaniels and E.E. Cummings! (I am so predictable, ack.)

KILROY: I am reading Scandalous poetry.
NICK: You don't have to add the word 'Scandalous' for it's inherent when it comes to you.
KILROY: I'm flattered that you think so!
NICK: . . .
KILROY: Aren't you glad that I'm in a long-term committed relationship and not unleashed on the innocent men and women of SIngapore?
NICK: LOL. Amen to that.

Oh Nick, you naughty thing. Your words make me glow with ecstasy!

Ergo, sexy (or humorous) poetry quotes!

"I want to rip off your logic and make passionate sense to you." - THE JERK, Jeffrey McDaniels

"I don't want you just for your quadratic equations. I'll subtract the square root of your bosom from the radius of our embrace..." - THE WILD COUSIN OF POTPOURRI, Jeffrey McDaniels

"On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more than someone else's presence...."

"Your eyes are so green - one of your parents must be part traffic light." - ABSENCE, Jeffrey McDaniels

"Your eyes remind me of a brickwall about to be hammered by a drunk driver. I'm that driver." - EXILE, Jeffrey McDaniels

The traffic light quote is unadulterated awesome-ness.

Post-coital and the like

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 07:39:17 GMT

I bounced into school in an euphoric ~~I-got-laid~~ mood induced by an excess of endorphins. Ridiculously cheerful.

KILROY: Tralalalalalala... GOOD MORNING, MY HAPLESS SEATING PARTNER! Isn't the world beautiful today? I love the sky. I love this monastic school and its atrocious colour scheme. I love the birds that sing and the babies that cry and...
HAPLESS SEATING PARTNER: (Wears expression of "So this is how the world ends")
KILROY: And I love low fat whipped cream! For obvious reasons and also because it spreads smoother on skin.
HAPLESS SEATING PARTNER: I... uh...
KILROY: And you know what else I love? CHUNKY PEANUT BUTTER!
HAPLESS SEATING PARTNER: (Bolts in terror to other side of classroom)

Unfortunately, my pesky classmates "burst my bubble" by interrogating me on how I spent Valentines' Day.

PESKY CLASSMATES: (Hover like vultures)
KILROY: Away! Away! Do you think I am going to regale you with tales of my amorous antics?
PESKY CLASSMATES: (Voyeuristic, predatory grins)
KILROY: .... Um, this delegate would like to retract her last statement?
PESKY CLASSMATES: (Circling closer)
KILROY: (Channels Barney) "I love you! You love me!"
PESKY CLASSMATES: (Glare of Dhoom)
KILROY: ... we're a happy family?

Looking around frantically, it struck me that my beloved Wife was not rushing to my rescue! Where was she? On holiday in Bahamas? Stalking Alan Rickman? Downloading episodes of Kyou Kara Maou?

So I composed a letter.

My dear ~~uke~~ Wife:

It is a pity you are not here. I hope that you are not sick, but merely suffering from a hangover induced by one too many bottles of Bailey's.

Elementary Math: Assignment TB Review Questions5, Q25

I realise that our classmate has an almost neurotic obsession with shopping. I confess, it scares me a great deal.

[Geog class]
TEACHER: So girls, what kind of shops do you find in Central Business Districts?
CLASSMATE: Branded goods! Designer boutiques!
TEACHER: Well, yes, ah... anything else?
CLASSMATE: Prada! Gucci! Dolce and Gabbana!
TEACHER: (Slightly strained) Moving along. What kind of activities take place in CBDs?
CLASSMATE: Shopping!
TEACHER: (Valiant attempt to ignore) Recreation, yes. What else, girls?
CLASSMATE: Sho-
TEACHER: (Desperate plea) Anything?
[Short silence. Then -]
CLASSMATE: SHOPPING!

Geography: Copy settlement notes from Kilroy in school
Geography: 5YS 2007 Q7
Geography: We are encouraged to visit Singapore's CBDs and make a careful study of the buildings. (Prompting another "Ooh! Chanel!")

[E. math class]
TEACHER: Today, girls, we will be studying probability/
CLASS: (Stoned silence)
TEACHER: (Whips out Toto card and puts in on visualiser)
CLASS: (Suddenly attentive) Ooh....

E. math class was very instructive. We were educated in the art of buying 4D and Toto. Clearly, our seemingly straight-laced teacher is a man of many talents. Furthermore, it was revealed that your seating partner was uncannily well-informed on the subject of purchasing 4D. I wonder why.

E math: Test on transformation + 1 question on quadratic equations on the 28th of February.
Chemistry: Assignment
Chemistry: Handout on Electrolysis Ex 2, 3 and 5. Read up on Daniel Cell.
SS: Green book, went through pg 34
SS: On foolscap, refine Ans C on pg 34 and staple the foolscap to the book. Complete pg 35.
SS: Copy notes on pg 32 (of green book) from Kilroy.

Cheers,
Kilroy

That's all for today, ladies and gentlemen.

How to say 'I'm sorry' in under 300 words

Sun, 11 Feb 2007 02:41:48 GMT

DEAR ELJAY FLIST:

I AM SORRY. I PHAIL AT LIFE.

There are so many things I wanted to do and said I'd do, but I never got around to doing. Apologies apologies apologies.

1. The Valentine's Day Poetry
I do have them searched out. Well, a good number of them, but because I'm pedantic about formatting, it means it'll take quite a bit of time to get it up the way I want it. And I want it to look nice.

So far, the only two I can link are the ones for snuffly_truffly: Fashion and ___gauche: Eating The Birds
because I stole them off great_poets where the formatting is already nicely arranged as it should be. Happy Valentine's Day~!

2. The SYDA Play
I wanted to send it to you guys, but again, I realise that there were multiple typos and formatting errors. I need to fix that. Once I do, I will post it on this eljay, because dayumn, if it's MY play, I'll do what the hell I want with it. (Under a friendslock, of course.)

3. ESTI - YOUR DRABBLES
I have them. I can't seem to attach them and send them over email. Bloody hell. And evidently, sending it over MSN doesn't work either. By the way, this stuff is belated by ONE YEAR. I phail. So hard.

Disclaimer: NOBODY IS TO TAKE ANYTHING THEY READ PERSONALLY. OR APPLY IT TO ME. OR ANYBODY. It's just pretty words strung together in sets of a 100. Understood?

THE ROSEMARY COLLECTION
For Esti

I. Bewitching in your ignorance
/ You don’t know how lovely you are//

The negatives of your photos papered my floor. I rarely took pictures of people. Human nature wasn’t something to romanticise or make beautiful. I believed that if there ever was a beautiful human being, he or she ought to be beautiful in serene tranquility or in bursts of irritable irrationality. It was this rampant narcissism that possessed me, a stoic conviction that allowed me to indulge in this petty principle: My personality, my character, my essence could only be touched by beautiful things. And you were perfection incarnate, my Pygmalion, my Dorian and you never knew how lovely you were.

II. If you want me to
Surrender my love/ At the feet of your will/ And live out your fantasy for you//

Perhaps I’ll pander to your little desires, give you the key and never look back. (Would you smile for me then? Stretch your lips into a parabola of pleasure and satisfaction, revealing rows of incisors to chip at my pride?) Or perhaps I’ll stay for a bit. Rip the seams on your sleeves and leave you with a needle, so you may choose to mend the chasm left by abandonment or wear your shame as a parting memento. Or perhaps I’ll stop where I am and look back once twice thrice – if you want me to – and gently wave goodbye.

III. State your evidence
/ Without granting innocence/ Lay down a list of what is wrong//

Jealousy is the fear of losing something precious, but I can’t lose something if I’ve never owned it. I can’t accept the dichotomy between reason and emotion, but somehow, you’ve forced it upon me, just like you forced your affection. You’ve left me trapped between a rock and a hard place; cunning one, aren’t you? Leaving you means losing everything, but if I don’t, I’ll never have sole custody of your tender administrations. It’s too late for recriminations, regrets and apologies. This knowledge condenses into a pool of mercury inside my gut, fluid and toxic, and I cannot bear it.

IV. You may call me craven
/ But if I lose the highs/ At least I'm spared the lows//

Shakespeare was a dirty liar. What right have you to give me these things and wrench them away? There are numerous metaphors for departure, but you would not choose one. No anesthetic, that’s how you wanted it, so you ripped off the bandage and left me bleeding in your wake. Love is not a symptom – it is a terminal disease, better never to contract than to cure. Were you my destiny or end? Would that you never came to me for when all’s said and done, it boils down to this: I would rather have nothing than lose everything.

V. Cleaning the ash from under my nails
/ The memories shaking apart from the weeds that grow//

I thought I’d filed the thought of you in that drawer of stale regrets and old loves, the scent of magnolia rising from yellowed letters. Now wrinkled hands sort through piles of could-have-beens traced lovingly onto faded parchment. The possibility died years ago, but only with your passing does it seem concrete, concrete enough for me to dredge up the skeletons you hid in my closet and feel them crumbling into my hands, tracing the contours of my palm with trails of grey. Eyes closed, I press my lips onto the parchment, marring the paper with ash and resignation.

VI. An anatomy that’s self-explanatory
/ I don’t have nerves of steel/ I have a heart that feels//

Saw you dancing in your espresso high, disappearing behind towering filing cabinets, darting out to navigate on stiletto heels the maze of cubicles surrounding me, though you never stopped to spare a glance, much less ‘Hello’. But if you did, I could have told you that you liked your espresso black, or that you colour-coded your memos (red for urgent, and pink for the “slimy bag” who paid us our salaries), or that you smoked Dunhill cigarettes, or that you looked lovely when you smiled. And one day, you did stop and smile, but mutely, I watched you walk away.

VII. Tails entwined with reason
/ Heads on a science apart//

Cognitive thinking is a spanner in the workings of romance. Philosopher or animal, intellectual reassurance or carnal comfort – Herein lies your dilemma. The chaos inside you is not formed out of a lack of clarity. The problem lies in that the lines are drawn too clearly, the margins painted black, the watersheds etched in pain – the only solid, lasting thing your soul will recognise. Sentimentality has you in its narcissistic grasp. You strain against it, violently at first, but your refutations soon grow half-hearted. From the ivory tower of the mighty, you fall into obscurity, into feeling, into humanity.

VIII. Use that bitter mouth of yours
/ That’s a bit too hard to explain//

What is the colour of lust? There is no reflection in the mirror, though the waters are still. Paint a picture of consummation and it will show you nothing, so tighten these shackles and tell me with your words, your lips, your teeth, tell me – how do we frame this? It is the clenching of muscle behind the third rib of your left ribcage. It is a honeyed knife in your mouth and the press of a gun to your temple. It is the breaking of copper waves behind desire-lidded eyes and a flare of colour, that forbidden colour.

IX. You don’t know what you steal
/ I’d withstand all of Hell to hold your hand//

A plague upon my mind, that’s what it is – the fear of losing you to something I never foresaw. It comes to me as you depart. The many what ifs and could bes. So it’s true what they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. Not out of affection but paranoia. The fear will grow on you, leaving you writhing helplessly with indecision. The only way to end this torment is to amputate the infected limb, sever all ties. I can’t find it in myself, though. Relief might be sweet, but I’ve always had a taste for the bitter.

I STILL NEED TO STUDY. OMG OMG OMG. I PHAIL AT TITRATION. AND I NEED TO LEARN LINES FOR SYF. AND UNDERSTUDY AND BE STUDENT DIRECTOR AT THE SAME TIME. ALSO, MAGNETISM AND DIFFERENTIATION IS KILLING ME. ARGH ARGH ARGH.

Right, snapping out of panic mood. I'll be flying to Penang (oh joy, all those smartass relatives) over Chinese New Year weekend. Be back on Wednesday. God save me. Will try and finish things there or come back and rush it, because I don't think I'll have time over the coming week.

OMG STUDENT LEADERS INVEST AND REHEARSALS ARGH ARGH ARGH FUCK FUCK FUCK

Ahem. Do I owe anybody anything else?

But I DON'T want to be a girl!

Fri, 02 Feb 2007 11:34:41 GMT

My wit and charm has deserted me. Woe betide.

There is a Partaaaaaay on tomorrow. A friends' Sweet Sixteen. It is filling me with Immense Dread, resulting in my Blatant Abuse of Caps for Dramatic Effect. I take issue with the entire shebang for a number of reasons:

First and foremost, the invitation comes with the instructions to "Dress to Impress."

KILROY: Impress WHO?
FRIEND: Me.
KILROY: I refuse to be objectified for your viewing pleasure!

I hate dressing up and being made to look nice and all that jazz. I suspect that this is because I am sekritly!Not A Girl. Nor am I a guy, which quite understandably makes things anatomically confusing, so moving along...
Secondly, dancing is on the agenda. I. Don't. Dance. I cannot emphasise this enough.

Thirdly, the lovely ___gauche has abandoned me in favour of another tete-a-tete, with a bunch of young nubile females and cameras. Oh, you traitorous minx. As Elizabeth the First would say: "You have made free with our person!"

I watched the trailer multiple times on Hallmark. So, quote moment!

THE QUEEN IN FULL REGALIA: You have made free with our person! You have moved to touch the sceptre of a prince!
BUMBLING EARL IN QUESTION: Beth, Beth, Beth. You said you loved me!
THE QUEEN IN HER REGAL FURY: ... Oh I did love you.... But I no longer recognise that which I loved. (Screeching) NOW GET HIM OUT OF MY SIGHT! (Struts away)
EARL BEING FORCIBLY DRAGGED AWAY: (Claws helplessly)

Eh, you get the picture. I realise I am getting distracted.

Now, self-indulgent ramblings aside, lets move on to something with actual literary merit!

[Excerpt from: '5 Stars And A Side Of Crescent]
Scene 5: What Culture Shock?

The sound of static carries over from the previous scene, as the lights fade in on the DURIAN AUNTIE standing behind the coffee table from the previous scene, chopper in hand. Next to her are crates of durians. The table has been converted into a stall of sorts, with a rough cloth draped over it. Some distance away is a GIRL, in uniform, fiddling with her walkman. The DURIAN AUNTIE notices her but continues splitting open durian shells. After a few seconds, the girl impatiently yanks off her earphones. Abruptly, the static stops. She looks up and notices the DURIAN AUNTIE lifting the chopper and flinches.

DURIAN AUNTIE: Eh, girl, what you so scared of?

GIRL: Not a lot.

DURIAN AUNTIE: Then why you just standing there?

GIRL: (Glances down at dead walkman) Um…

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Suddenly yelling in Mandarin) SELLING DURIANS!

GIRL starts and stares wide-eyed as the old woman bellows.

GIRL: (Above the din) Hey, auntie, I’m just going to –

The shouting ceases. The DURIAN AUNTIE whips around and proffers an opened durian.

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Commandingly) Nah, girl. Eat. EAT.

GIRL: (Backing away) I don’t eat durian.

DURIAN AUNTIE: Buy back for your madder lah!

GIRL: (Patiently) My mother doesn’t eat durian either.

The DURIAN AUNTIE glares.

GIRL: Uh… don’t you sell apples or something?

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Radiating scorn) All this ang moh guey food. Not fresh! This is durian season mah. Must eat durian.

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Yelling over her shoulder in Mandarin) SELLING DURIANS!

GIRL: (Flinching) Don’t do that.

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Ignoring her and sticking a container of yellow fruit under her nose) Take. TAKE! Not helti for young girl to be so skinny.

Resigned, the girl takes a piece and stares at it. The DURIAN AUNTIE smiles toothlessly and slams her chopper into an unoffending durian. GIRL watches, torn between fascination and discomfort. The DURIAN AUNTIE, aware that she’s being watched, carries on blithely.

GIRL: (Slowly) Is that… difficult?

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Smiling broadly) Of course you don’t anyhow hit with der knife lah. When you hit, how you hit – all dis velli important.

She looks at the GIRL expectantly.

GIRL: Uh…

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Cutting in) Oh yah, and your knife must be sharp.

The DURIAN AUNTIE waves the knife expressively. The GIRL takes a small step back so she’s out of flailing range.

GIRL: But what if… maybe, you don’t know what to do?

She hesitates.

GIRL: Or how to do it? What then?

DURIAN AUNTIE: Then you cannot already make it already.

The DURIAN AUNTIE turns the durian over in her hands, lost in thought.

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Pensively) If you want to survive, you must HIT and HIT and HIT until you can clack it open.

GIRL: But…

DURIAN AUNTIE: Or until you chop your own finger off.

GIRL: Gross!

The DURIAN AUNTIE smiles at her toothlessly.

DURIAN AUNTIE: What to do?

The GIRL stares at her glove-hidden hand.

GIRL: Are we still talking about durians?

DURIAN AUNTIE: (Still smiling) What you think?

Blackout.

Third place in TheatreWorks: Singapore Young Dramatist Award 2007, co-authored with the quirky eccentric flavid_thujone. (Why yes, I am a shameless self-promoter. Your point?) For a last minute rush job, third place is not bad! We drove all the way down to Mohammed Sultan in the dead of night with me Mam at the wheel just to get the damn thing in by the deadline. A suicidal venture, since my Mother's driving skills leave, ah, much to be desired and none of us have a decent sense of direction. Except perhaps flavid_thujone, who is more sensible than me and an encyclopedia put together.

Sadly, I can't post the whole thing due to copyright reasons (even if it is MY play, dammit, I wrote the bloody thing!), but if you do want to see the full works, comment leaving your email and I'll be happy to send it.

Concrit is much appreciated. Pointing out of typos as well, because there are way too many of them. Also, did you know that my version of Microsoft Word keeps changing 'durian' to 'durain'. Strange, innit? We need to write a sequel, a local reworking of 'When Harry Met Sally!': "When The Girl Met Durain"

Sat, 27 Jan 2007 06:11:50 GMT

What the bloody hell. I carelessly forget to friendslock one crazy entry and suddenly all these random people are COMMENTING and stuff. And TAGGING. Ack! Away away!

I am seriously contemplating making this journal friends-only. And chopping certain people off my flist because I KNOW you guys will show my journal to the Mother and I'll never hear the end of it. You terrible, terrible voyeuristic creatures.

I do feel I have the vapours

Fri, 26 Jan 2007 15:08:57 GMT

What REALLY happens in a convent: the porn, the bitch and the dirty. Excerpts from genuine conversations.

DIRECTOR walks in wearing a tight-fitting blouse that has TIT (Tai-tai-in-training) splashed across an ample bosom.
Innocent juniors: (awed and scandalised)
KILROY: Bitch, please.

AMAZING AMANDA: In 3 years time, I’ll be old enough to drive in Malaysia!
KILROY: (Unimpressed) I AM old enough to have sex legally.
[is suddenly cornered by two scandalised and concerned juniors yelling simultaneously and VERY LOUDLY in the school cafeteria]
ZAXBIE: Gasp! Don’t do anything stupid!
AMAZING AMANDA: Are you using protection?
ZAXBIE: True love waits! True love waits!!!
AMAZING AMANDA: Condoms! Spermicide!.... Does Mr A (our drama teacher) know?
KILROY: I AM NOT HAVING SEX WITH MR A!!!
AMAZING AMANDA: I didn’t mean it that way! Unless… my my, you’ve been getting around haven’t you?
KILROY: I have NOT! And, as pleasurable as our time together has been, dear ladies, I fear I must depart!
[Flees to the comforting side of flavid_thujone]
KILROY: (Pressing hands to cheeks) Am I flushed?
FLAVID_THUJONE: Like a lobster, ma’am.

KILROY: (Bemoans) I am in dire, dire straits.
MCDREAMY: Aw… (makes soothing noises)
KILROY: (Not placated) Clearly, it is your fault.
MCDREAMY: MY fault?
KILROY: My juniors don’t respect me anymore! (Insert long rant here) …AND THEN THEY TRIED TO GIVE ME A SEX TALK –
MCDREAMY: Darling --
KILROY: (annoyed at being cut-off mid-rant) WHAT?
MCDREAMY: (Holding phone at a distance) Baby, my EARS.

THE WIFE: Aladdin is the dirtiest movie ever.
KILROY: It’s a Disney classic!
THE WIFE: It’s porny. (Singing) Over, sideways and under…
KILROY: I see your point.

MY VERY PROPER ENGLISH TEACHER: If you’re looking for short stories, Roald Dahl is also a very good writer.
KILROY: (Looking at teacher in a whole new light) He wrote porn, too.
THE WIFE: Seriously?
KILROY: (quoting “Bitch”) “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Oh dear, I know not what to say… a man who could erect himself like this!”
THE WIFE: (recoiling) Seriously?
KILROY: (straightfaced) Seriously.
THE WIFE: How do you even know this stuff?
KILROY: My Momma was very liberal. She felt I should be exposed to all forms of Great Literature.

[After some personnel problems in the make-up department]
STAGE MANAGER: And now there’s nobody there who can do make-up properly! We are in such deep shit!
KILROY: We’re not in deep shit unless I say so.
SM: (Wringing hands) I’m so stressed lah!
KILROY: No, you are not. (Turning around to yell across the car park at management team) Nobody is allowed to panic, you hear? Nobody is allowed to be stressed unless I say so. Nobody is allowed to worry unless I say so. (Begins laughing hysterically as megalomaniacs are wont to do)
RANDOM MINION: Now that one’s a poster girl for the American Psychiatrics Association.

[in front of a good fifth of the CCA and Mr A]
BUMBLING FRIEND: (Directed at Kilroy) At least I’m not the one with a boyfriend!
[KILROY cringes and backs away at the word ‘boyfriend’ and because a suddenly very excited Mr A has begun stalking towards KILROY in a predatory fashion.]
MR A: (Eyes glinting) Is this true?
KILROY: I – uh –
MR A: (Breaking into giggles of delight) Ohh! Ohh my!
KILROY: I was taught never to tell lies.
MR A: (Steps into open space and raises hands to the heavens) Good Lord, deliver us!

BUMBLING FRIEND: Oh, I am so so sorry! I cannot believe I did that. I’m usually not like this.
KILROY: (too mortified to form coherent sentences)
BUMBLING FRIEND: I really am sorry! Please forgive me? I’ll do anything. Anything.
KILROY: If you could find a cure for cancer, that’d be great.

THE USUALLY GROUCHY WIFE: (in high-pitched tones of immense cheerfulness, possibly brought on by stress) I am cute! And cuddly! Take me home and feed me!
Kilroy: (Steps back to a safe distance) Uh…
THE STILL-HYPER WIFE: (Bouncing up and down) Cute! Cuddly! Feeeeed me!
KILROY: (Faintly) I do fear I have the vapours.

Too Much To Make You Stay

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 15:47:23 GMT

The little pixies in my head compelled me to update. Anyway, I wrote Saiyuki fic because it was the wife's birthday and I'm needed distraction. It's something I dashed off in less than half an hour - nothing genius, very subdued.

Too Much To Make You Stay
(Saiyuki, 58)
Disclaimer: Minekura's babies, not mine. I just play with them.

On rainy days, there are 3 people living in a house meant for two and it is the third, an uninvited apparition, that feels the most real (or at least, that is what Hakkai’s eyes say). Gojyo sits on the porch and watches the rain come down, splattering mercilessly onto sheaves of green, chain-smoking and drinking. Alone. He ought to get up and go to town, play a few rounds of poker, find some pretty sweet thing with a honeyed tongue and inviting eyes to hold, but there is something in the smell of wet earth, like the taste of copper, that fills his legs with a leaden weight. Crushing empty beer cans, he sits on the porch and waits. Night falls. The rain continues and the door does not open.

It is painfully sunny the next morning and Gojyo awakes to an ache in his neck from having fallen asleep against the door, body crumpled fetal-like into whitewashed wood. Amidst the hangover from hell, he looks into green eyes and glass and a “Good morning, Gojyo.” He wants to ask Is it? wants to demand She’s dead now, but I’m still here, I’m alive, so look at me. Look at me but long fingers reach down to twine with his and he grasps it, tight, and is hauled up with a force too tender too be his own.

His hand still in Hakkai’s he thinks I love you, I love you enough to let you leave, but Hakkai merely smiles that empty smile that does not reach his eyes and says “Go brush your teeth” and Gojyo lets go of his hand.

Shackles of Desperate Rhetoric

Fri, 29 Dec 2006 13:13:34 GMT

Lest there is any confusion, I should reiterate at this point that Kilroy is, in fact, a character/legend/actual G.I (?) and not, you know, me.

SHACKLES OF DESPERATE RHETORIC
Kilroy-verse
Notes: Inspired and somewhat based on spessartine's Dark Matter

There, on blood-saturated ground, have stood
Soldier, assassin, executioner.
Whether for daily pittance or in blind fear
Or out of abstract hatred, and shed blood

- BLOOD AND THE MOON
William Butler Yeats

Kilroy is not the oddly comforting glow of the Very lights, above a sandpaper landscape. Kilroy is not the symphony of explosions, faint in the distance, not the eerily deceptive silence over the expanse of No Man’s land.

Kilroy is not the humid tropical forest, not the hot heavy air pressing from all sides, not the alien singsong of distressed chatter. Kilroy is not the cadavers lying underfoot and the familiar serpentine tongues whispering “… epidemic… civilians mostly … damn bugs, those damned bugs”.

Kilroy is not the sheen of a tempered trepidation under moonlight, not the soft tread of clothed feet and the gold-like dust glinting in the grooves of the grenade. Kilroy is not the crimson-coloured shower and flowering dark stains on khaki clothed chests and an outstretched hand, clenching, just once.

Kilroy is not the whispered ‘please’, not the click of a safety catch going off, not the slicked metal pressed against quivering flesh and the hitched breath when it comes.

Kilroy is not the deafening silence of unspoken shrieks, not the spreading scarlet on skins of grime. Kilroy is not the ivory sheen of exposed bone, not the mangled bodies sinking serenely into the seemingly tractable waters, not the slap of dollar bills against rum-soaked wood and winsome smiles curiously congruent with hard, calculating eyes.

Kilroy is not the mushroom cloud of gassed death.

Kilroy is not the interminable wait for release, not the compressed taut muscle and spidery traces of age, not the inevitable race to ruin and the shackles of desperate rhetoric (‘yes’, just once), when in the end it will never be enough.

Kilroy is

Wed, 27 Dec 2006 10:35:31 GMT

A take on the 5 things meme.

Kilroy is a name, a title, an occupation, a legend, an identity. Kilroy is defined as Kilroy and that is all.

Kilroy has been both male and female, but more so the former.

Kilroy has been and is many things - strategist, spy, mother, assasin, mentor, among others - but above all, Kilroy is a soldier.

Kilroy is a lifetime occupation and a study in irony.

Kilroy is coming, is here, was here and will return.

Sentence-fic!

Tue, 26 Dec 2006 16:20:52 GMT

More cruel than despair is hope, she whispers, and I know she is right.

~

"I'm not really a lady, you know." She continued before the words could hurt, "But you'll always be my knight."

- Of Sugar, Snow and Chivalry

trensaddiction

Mon, 25 Dec 2006 13:24:32 GMT

View Poll: Love - actually?

Because it's Christmas

Mon, 25 Dec 2006 13:18:28 GMT

MERRY CHRISTMAS, FLIST! HAVE DRUNKEN EGGNOG FUN.

Hugs and happiness goes out to an_otherperson who came all the way to drop off Christmas cards RIGHT AT MY DOORSTEP. You, sir, are getting eternal affection and roast lamb on New Year's Eve.

Hope everybody had a tipsy/ jolly/ porny Christmas!

OTP Ship: I am torn between Kubota/Tokitoh and Hakkai/Gojyo (Saiyuki) But the latter more so - the domesticity is cute!

Favorite Threesome Ship: I am not partial to threesomes, but… Hmmm. Tenpou/Kenren/Konzen (Saiyuki Gaiden). I can totally see Kenren poking jibes at Konzen and Tenpou slyly luring Konzen into it.

"Canon" Ship: Hakkai/Kanan (Saiyuki). Twincest with religious guilt. Mortal sin makes intriguing reading.

"Not quite canon but should be" ship: Hakkai/Gojyo for obvious reasons versus Kubota/Tokitoh (Wild Adapter) again.

"If this happens I'll stab my eyes out with a spork" ship: Nii/Bunny (Saiyuki). I don’t care how Minekura keeps drawing these porny come-hither pictures of Nii and the stuffed bunny, it is gross. And Sanzo/ anybody (Saiyuki) because it's Sanzo, dammit.

"I'm one sick bastard" ship: Stork/Tit (Stigma) Stork looks to be in his early thirties. Tit is… 8? 10? But Minekura makes it look canon, I swear! And they’re named after BIRDS, you sick sick children.

"I dabble a little" ship: Kubota/Tokitoh. In the good ol’ days when I actually wrote fanfic. Aha. (Sheepish)

"It's like a car crash" ship: Koumyo/Ukoku (Saiyuki) Everybody knows that Ni Jienyi is such a sick bastard only ‘cause he never got no proper lovin’ from Koumyo.

"Tickles my fancy but not sold quite yet" ship: Harry/Draco. The Wife made me read good fic and I liked it, but the pairing itself isn’t fascinating to me. Come on, nobody is that blonde or that pretty.

"Makes no canon sense but why the hell not" ship: Kyoya/ anybody (Ouran). Because evil profiteering Shadow Kings can get laid too.

"Everyone else loves it but I just don't feel it" ship: Sirius/Remus (Harry Potter). I don’t like Sirius. He’s cocky, not even funny and insensitive. Remus is too sweet for him. ~~Remus needs hot, bestiality (werewolf!) sex with Snape.~~

"Guilty Pleasure" ship: youkai!Hakkai/Gojyo. The vines and biting and blood and guilt and… guh.

"I can't believe I read it and liked it" ship: Snape/Lupin. Angsty and hot.

"Favorite "Older/Younger" ship: Ukoku/Kami-sama (Saiyuki). Badass pairing. And who could resist Kami-sama’s “Buy me, God?”

"My first I could never abandon you" ship: Kubota/Tokitoh. “I am your God, so if you die, I will kill you.”

Favorite Devotionship: Hakkai/Gojyo. They are married and Gojyo is WHIPPED.

Favorite Pervyship: Gonou/Gojyo (Saiyuki). Gonou was far too pretty…

Favorite DominanceBattleShip: Tenpou/Kenren (Saiyuki Gaiden)! Of course, Tenpou totally tops Kenren from the bottom.

Harry Potter (Marauder-era, largely) roleplaying recs over at Snitched

... I need to do more productive things with my time.