You see everything
You see every part
You see all my light
And you love my dark

Because the deadline is 10th June

There are legs encased in a cement carpet
Or pale, fleshy limbs in khaki shorts,
Gleaming in the sun.
There is spirit in fire, wire in bone,
Or sad-shell bodies, crumbling a-minute,
Face-down on the grass.
Sitting on creaking plastic pews, the
Soaring breakfast voices, or tart sugar,
Flowing under flickering eyelids.

*um.*

No wonder there were 27 Gs in my last GP essay.
I finished reading The Tattooed Potato and Other Clues by Ellen Raskin. Who is Roy G. Biv? (This is a trick question.)
There was an unlucky golfer who was attacked by a nasty wood-acting crocodile recently when he wandered around the reeds looking for a lost ball. My mum told me about an exciting documentary she watched where a water-snake (a water-snake? Is there anything you'd less like to be attacked by?) swallowed a croc whole. The croc didn't see it because he had his golf-ball-like eyes above the water surface, searching for prey.
The world is a frightening place.

[I hereby declare this blog under mysterious attack, and in need of a State of Emergency. Angelfire, once again, hosts a virulent dissident who enjoys needless destruction of other people's uploads, and the ever-hungry Tagboard has, in a moment of sheer desperation, taken cannibalistic measures and is eating its own posts.]

Superstition
Whenever you want something to happen, you don't even think about thinking about it, but the opposite, which means being pessimistic, but the concept doesn't always work, because once you think something you can't pretend you didn't. Moral being, obsessing about anything is an absolute no-no.
The modern version of 'knock on wood' (don't knock on any doors, ease each one open and peer through the cracks). Cheese diet this weekend (diet being only one type of food, not any attempt to lose weight); cheese nuggets and Mozzerella Melt at KFC, (American kids like to make a lot of noise, even when they're doing something sedate like sitting), crowded lifts (guys who make armpit farts, on purpose? Shouldn't be allowed to keep on living). Diets are a kind of superstition; they make you feel safe. "I am trying my best, so even if nothing happens, I am guilt-free." So is exercise.
Movie reviewers, on the other hand, should not be taken so seriously, especially those who equate themselves worthy of reviewing the self-same soundtracks. The only thing disturbing about Elephant? The fact that it won several awards. (I'll whup you with a blunt object if I see ya back one more time, or your drunken, over-bored cameraman.) I liked the way Michelle stands still on the playing field, in sweat pants and hood, and kind of gapes at the skyline for a good ten minutes, with all the cheerleader arm-waving and footballs gracefully arching through air behind her, though.
But superstition suggests unexplained forages into being. "Close the microwave door!" "Why?" Pause. "I know I'm stupid because I can't explain it to you!" I only asked a simple, inquiring question.
Religion, hence, is not the same, am I saying. Am I? I am enjoying myself, almost, exploring the 'problem chapters' of the Bible with Philip Yancey, including Ecclesiastes, which of all things I was reminded of from Craig Thompson's graphic novel Blankets. Why?
Does believing have anything to do with confidence? There are hairline cracks in a belief, therefore one does not have confidence? I never liked teaching things to people, even in a comfortable Pizza Hut environment. I am no good at imparting advice; it sounds strange coming out of my mouth.
But I do believe in something, the essence of which slides over the surface of my skin and consciousness every time I am awake.
Swing swing.

Birthdays and Strangers whom you travel with

Friday
It is Eric's birthday; as is revealed on the getting-lost way to the Civil Sports Club. Jia Han fishes several matchbox-sized candy boxes out of his pocket and presents them to him, solemnly, as a present. After the rest of us has finished munching up all the sweets for him, we pelt Eric with the empty boxes.
I foolishly give in to peer pressure and attempt to jaywalk across a speeding highway. My life flashes before my eyes. We reach the other side the same time as the more sensible girls who crossed with the overhead bridge. I am NEVER doing that again.

Saturday
It is Cheek's birthday (the next day); during post-sectional lunch at SMU I remember the cake shop at the end of the food court. On the spur of the moment Esther, Lorenda and I rush there and buy a fudge slice along with a free candle. In her excitement, Esther breaks it (the candle, not the cake). It is the last one the hapless store-owner has; she improvises and shortens it.
It is also Yi San's birthday (the previous day). The girls converge on Sona's house and pool, where I suddenly recall how lovely, and how flexible one becomes, in water. I could be a regular gymnast if air density was like that. The last time I felt so relaxed was lying on a distant beach in Glenelg, some months ago. We dish and tease one person in particular mercilessly. (Shall be merciful and say no more. There are evil grins all around.) The birthday girl gets a sparkler at Fish and Co., where the TV is distracting, the music is distracting... distracting me from what? I can't put my finger on it.

Sunday
Aside from the Yamaha auditions, where Maggie (ha!) turns out to be one of the judges, I meet uncharacteristic people. On the bus to Clementi two little elderly ladies elbow past me unflinchingly to get out at their stop. "Rang kai, rang kai!" they snap. I step quickly out of the way, giving another passenger a mild concussion with my guitar as a result.
And on the MRT home a young pregnant woman steps on and stands right in front of the (occupied) seat headed with the Please give up your seat to someone who needs it more sign; the two Indian guys sitting there appear oblivious. Oh, look, he's standing up, oh, it's just to put his handphone back in his back pocket. They continue to chatter, the woman tries to look as if she does not actually need the seat, after all. One of the uncourteous fellows rests his arm casually on the other guy's shoulder, and suddenly appears to be stroking the other guy's chin with the back of his hand. My gosh! His friend kind of puts his own hand there, and there they are, linking fingers and looking very romantic.
Hm. I hope I did not stare too much.