What's the measure of a (wo)man?
Maturity? Wisdom? Intelligence? Kindness? Physical perfection?
What's a person worth?
Beyond the superficiality of how this world judges us, how do we measure ourselves when it comes to what's important? In fact, what IS important?
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Call me crazy...
Call me crazy...
Monday, 11 December, 2006. 1322 hours.
Call me crazy...
But I find that in every major decision in my life, for as long as I remember, if there's something that I need really badly, or want really badly, something has to be taken from me as a form of sacrifice or replacement. Checks and balances. Scales. The call of Nemesis.
Money may be lost, but there might be personal gain.
Emotions may be sent on a roller-coaster ride, but my career may stabilise itself.
Maybe it's just me, but I find that nothing in this life is free, except for the best things. The best things in life are always freely given. Love, especially, in all its forms. It may take effort and sacrifice to maintain, on both sides, but the effort is always freely given.
Agape. Phileo. Eros. The three forms of love. The best gifts of life.
Monday, 11 December, 2006. 1322 hours.
Call me crazy...
But I find that in every major decision in my life, for as long as I remember, if there's something that I need really badly, or want really badly, something has to be taken from me as a form of sacrifice or replacement. Checks and balances. Scales. The call of Nemesis.
Money may be lost, but there might be personal gain.
Emotions may be sent on a roller-coaster ride, but my career may stabilise itself.
Maybe it's just me, but I find that nothing in this life is free, except for the best things. The best things in life are always freely given. Love, especially, in all its forms. It may take effort and sacrifice to maintain, on both sides, but the effort is always freely given.
Agape. Phileo. Eros. The three forms of love. The best gifts of life.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
L.O.V.E
L.O.V.E
I'm no expert on love. Having crashed and burned. And yet, seems like this year is a lousy year for some of my friends.
V, if you're reading this. What I think is this:
Love isn't supposed to be toxic.
It should bring you up instead of take you down.
Open the Bible and turn to Corinthians, Chapter 13. I think nothing expresses any type of love better than that.
Love is patient and kind... Take heart :) All isn't yet lost in this world :) And nothing is worth more than the life God gave you.
I'm no expert on love. Having crashed and burned. And yet, seems like this year is a lousy year for some of my friends.
V, if you're reading this. What I think is this:
Love isn't supposed to be toxic.
It should bring you up instead of take you down.
Open the Bible and turn to Corinthians, Chapter 13. I think nothing expresses any type of love better than that.
Love is patient and kind... Take heart :) All isn't yet lost in this world :) And nothing is worth more than the life God gave you.
Make-Over
Make-Over
Thursday, 7 December 2006. 1226 hours
Here I am, typing to keep my fingers occupied in an upward position. See, I've just painted my nails. Aye, I am THAT bored. I remember now, why all my nail polishes are still so full after almost 5-7 years (some are dried now). I can't paint my nails for nuts. I'd end up taking a whole morning or afternoon, because... they get smudged/ chipped/ whatever. I have absolutely no patience for girly shit. And there's no such thing as quick-dry nail polishes. Well, none are quick-dry enough for me. I'd paint my nails, and go do something else ('cos what a waste of time to be staring at the ceiling), and the whole thing would get ruined. Now I remember why I went for manicures (if I needed to get my nails done) when I was working although they cost a bomb. Manicures are EXPENSIVE, and they force you to sit still for at least 2 hours. Gahhh.... SO MUCH EFFORT HAVE TO BE PUT INTO LOOKING PRETTY... And at the end of the day, if it's a dude you're dressing up for, he wants you without your embellishments anyway. So much for clothes and make-up. All he wants would be your naked body :P Am I Right, or am I RIGHT?
Which is precisely why I don't dress up for men. Dressing up is for myself. If I feel like going out the door in shorts today, and it's just to the supermarket (of course not to work la, siao meh?), I bloody hell will. If I feel like wearing a dress, I bloody hell will, too!! :)
Arghhhhh... This is crazy... So much work... I should pick up sewing instead.... BUT MY EYES.....
Btw, does anyone think tri-coloured toes weird? I kinda like how my toes look :P Oh come on, not like I'm gonna go anywhere or do anything serious anytime soon.... I wonder how lizard green with yucky-saccharine-pink would look on toes.... Hmmmm.... :)
Speaking of eyes, I got me new glasses. I've been getting headaches, and now I know why. My power has changed. Slight increase on the right, major decrease on the left. The optician was quite shocked I could read... Heheh... Well, I could, but I get headaches. My new glasses are, ermmm... funky at best, weird at worst :D Here's what my friend, Tim, said when he saw them: Are you sure you chose this yourself? Me: (knowing something nasty is coming-right-up, and bracing myself for it, defensively went) WWHHHYYYYYYYYYY???? Him: Oh, nothing, just making sure that the salesgirl didn't push it to you 'cos she couldn't sell it to anyone else... ARRGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The things that boy says.... :'( cuts rrreeeeaaaaaaaalllllll deep, hunny, cuts rrreeeeaaaaaallll deep.... (Conversation not verbatim, but, it kinda went like that. As are ALL conversations here)
Well, boy, my other friends say it suits me FINE... SO THERE... *ppffffffttttttttt.....* You is just jealous I can pull it off :D (Now say nothing!!)
I tell all my girlfriends to NOT touch their hair when they're stressed/ frustrated/ heartbroken/ etc. etc. ... because women being women... the first thing they do after something bad is do something to their hair. And regret later. :P But knowing women, they never listen. And me having a vagina, I don't listen either :P especially to myself.
Yeah, I got me a new haircut. Spur-of-the-moment. In what Sham calls 'Cheras times 10', or Albert calls 'LALA-land'. Johor Bahru :P Oh, in my defense, I went with a friend, and she was getting her hair permed, too. So, what was I gonna do for 4 hours, huh? It was spur-of-the-moment for her, too.
Well, I wanted something long, and wild, and thick, and out-of-bed, 'cos I don't comb my hair getting out-of-bed, and if it already looks out-of-bed, that's the whole point, no? Ummm... anyone gets my point? Anyway, what I got instead is a Taiwan-ey, Hongki-ey, Jap-ey, Korean-ey, look. Maybe I should ask Anna Sui if she needs a new face for her 'Doll' whatever, range. Ok, I over-estimate myself, but you catch my drift. ARGH!!!!
Here was what happened (conversations all in Mandarin):
Me: I want something like that (points to picture)
Girl: (barely looking) Cannnn.....
Me: Please don't cut off too much
Girl: HUAAAHHHHHH.... Your hair very thick laaa.... A lot of hair, ohh..... (snips... snips....) take off your glasses arr...
Me: Ok....
Girl: How old are you ar?
Me: 25
Girl: (stops snipping and stares...) Har?
Me: 25...
Girl: I thought you aren't more than 20...
Me: Errrr....
Girl: You look so young... your overall appearance... attitude...
Me: Hur??? (to self: I dress normal what....(I was in jeans and baby-tees and flats that day))
Girl: *smiles* Well... You're very cute
Me: Uhhmmm... thank you. I permed my hair to look older. Want to start working, can't look so young. Have to look a little bit more mature.
Girl: *smiles* Ya, permed hair makes a person look slightly older
(many snips later)
Me: (puts glasses back on, looks to ground) Argh!!! (Looks at hair) Arghhh!!!!! wahhh... You cut off a lot lehhh....
Girl: Want to perm, must cut off ohh... Your hair very thick lehh... Don't worry, your hair still very long....
Me: (flips hair to front) (to self: SHITTTTT.... That's like 4' off!!!!! BIATCH!!!!)
Girl: I give you a lot of layers, if not your hair would be very 'pong'.
Me: Oh... (to self: yeah, it's cut already, not like I can glue my hair back on... sheeesssshhhh....)
(snips, and chemicals later...)
Girl: Well? Ok maa.... This is the latest fashion
Me: Mmm...... (to self: Yeah, in Taiwan, I know. I just went for Karaoke and my buddies were singing S.H.E and Fish Leong and I dunno what the rest of their names are... chinese names. OMG... I LOOK LIKE AN AH LIAN..... I IS LALA MUI!! Check it out! *sobs...*) *makes funny sound in throat*
Girl: Why? Nice maaa... Make sure you (blablabla on haircare.....)
Me: *sighs...* (to self: I look fucking 20....)
Girl: Curly hair suits you hor? Look sexier... I give you a fringe, ok? *giggles* You'd look so cute and adorable in a fringe!! (snips snips...)
Me: Whaaaa??? NO!!! I'm supposed to look mature, not cute.........
But it was too late... She snipped at Whaaaa???
And so.... Kesimpulannya, I can pass for SIXTEEN now... I have a fringe, I look like a lalamui (ah lian) like I came straight out of a Taiwanese MTV. My hair is so heavily layered, it's layered from the 1st half of the back of my head downwards. Yes, it feels lighter, and I can wash my hair everyday now. Sighs.. I just didn't envision myself looking like this.
My friend, Anne on seeing my new haircut: You look so cute!! Me:..... (-.-) Anne: (seeing the look on my face) Errrmmm... nice ah...? You look much fresher with this haircut Me: Yahhh... I look AH LIAN...
Albert and Gerald, on seeing my cut: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.... Me: *sighs...* Albert and Gerald: Who ask you go get haircut in LALALAND? Albert TO Gerald: Must be the LALA-ness got to her, so she also become LALA ady... Gerald: Ya ya... Must be... Me: Ummmm.... *annoyed look on face* Albert: I couldn't recognise you, you know... Me: *long looonnnnnggggggg sigh* Yes yes, okay. I know I look like lalamui now... Albert and Gerald: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA... Albert: While you're at it, go and dye some LALA colour also la.. Might as well go all out... Me: UUURRRRGGGGHHHHHH........ (-.-)
Sharon, on seeing the new 'do: You look SO CUTE!!! Younger.... Me: AAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHH............ Not supposed to look like that..... Sharon: Now you and Chern can be gang-gang... She rebonded her hair. Me: Yaaa... The New Super Kawaii Wannabe Japanese Chicks...
*sniffs* Thank God they didn't see it right after I got it done. This was after a few shampoos already, and the curls have gotten more loose....
NEVERMIND!! The hair would grow. I'd look much better by January. It better be so...
:P So much for my make-over, hmm?
Oh, btw. OCs supposedly make ppl fat, but I am losing weight. Hmmm... Time to switch to Yasmin?
The low-down on my 3rd month on OCs? Doing nothing for my skin yet, but of course, I expected that. Wasn't taking Ocs for acne anyways. Does wonders for the cramps, though. And the bleeding. Though I was bleeding everyday that first month. Was probably borderline anaemic then :P It's fine now, though. Am not getting nausea, vertigo, migraine. Not getting depression, either. At least, I don't think so. Ro-A gave me crazy moodswings. Was slightly depressive. Compared to that, Ocs are a ride in the park. So yeah. So far, so good.
And I'm so not gaining weight. Though I AM craving more sugar than normal. Odd.... Mmmm... Chocolate cake (@.@)
Piercings, Orgasms and More Nonsensical Ramblings from an Extremely Bored Mind....
Piercings, Orgasms and More Nonsensical Ramblings from an Extremely Bored Mind...
Wednesday, 6 December 2006. 1739 hours
Yeah, you read that right. This is gonna be a blog on orgasms, both male and female :P People with delicate tastes please turn your eyes away now.
Okay. I dunno much about orgasms other than it's supposed to be bloody damn explosive earth-shattering mind-altering paradigm-shifting good. Better than fags and drugs, apparently.
Shit, I hope my parents, or brother doesn't read this. And I sure hope I don't have kepochi friends who would rat on me :P Blah, live on the edge for awhile, shan't I?
Now a guy friend of mine once said that he read somewhere that the female orgasm is a myth :) Women in the know, please let me know if that's true. I'd be quite miffed if I can never achieve 'le petit morte'. How can? No fair.... I want that grasping, moaning, groaning, sighing, gasping, screaming, eye-rolling, clutching, satisfying moment of complete and utter euphoria too! Ok, saying I'd be miffed is a gross understatement. But you catch my drift. I'd like to know where he got his literature from, so female sexologists around the world can shoot the fella :D
So, shall I run a poll? IS the female orgasm a myth?
Now why bring up the topic since said dude made the remark quite a while back? 'Cos:
a) I forgot about it. Oopsie daisie... My bad :)
b) A conversation I had last night.
Regarding b), there's more to it. Here it is:
Venue: Some fancy-schmancy Starbucks in some fancy-schmancy uptown place. (I didn't choose the place, k? Me brokums, not like Jar-O the rich ass :P) Ye-lah... no mentioning which, I dunwanna get stalked and get some sleazy dude saying: Let me show you a female orgasm, bay-beh :P
Time: 2230-ish hours, Tuesday, December 5th, Year 2006
Characters: Jar-O and the Double A's and Me (2 guys, a girl, and a confused identity (guess who?) :P)
We were talking about body piercings in interesting places. Well, actually, it started with talking about a scary girl we all once knew. She claims to give the best blowjobs in the world :P Though, ermm... one of the guys who once upon a time, not so long ago, used to do her says he'd tell her she was good to not hear her running commentaries in the midst of all that 'passion'. Guess he doesn't quite know the concept of 'white noise' :D
A the boyfriend started teasing A the girlfriend about probably not knowing what a blowjob is, which led to Jar-O saying his buddy should teach her. And Jar-O mentioning the different ways to enhance the pleasure of a blowjob. Ice, mint, hot tea, etc. etc. (oh come on, can't give 'em all out here on a public blog), and, yeah, piercings. See, I have a few very publicly kinky girl friends. A few would qualify as sarong party girls (Too bad they aren't around anymore. Could teach me a trick or two :P) One (not a sarong party girl, this one. At least, I don't think so) was, well, interesting. Super sexy and unafraid to show it. Kinky, and the world knows it. Tattoos down the inguinal area on both sides. Very sexy. Piercings. She has a tongue stud and she tells me the men she sleeps with thanks her for it. Mmmhmmmm... Yup. Keeps a box-ful of different types of her fave condoms by her bedside. And those colourful nice-smelling thingies for bath and play, too. Damn bedroom looks a wee bit like a boudoir. And I forgot, different kinds of lube. KY, Durex Play, Durex Hot, Durex Tingle, whatever. Oh, for condoms, she swears by Durex :P Actually, a few of those girls swear by Durex. Less 'accidents' apparently, and it's supposed to feel almost... 'natural'? :P So I mentioned what KinkyGirl told me, about tongue studs being very good for blowjobs. Which the boys agree with. But, they say having a tongue stud and not knowing how to give a proper blowjob would result in quite nasty accidents. :D Well, I could infer that. The penile glans is amazingly sensitive. Don't take a rocket scientist to know.
Tongue studs led to a conversation on other piercings. In uhmm... 'interesting' places. The Prince Albert, for instance. Somebody tell me how that's being done?
I remember being in the church toilet during sunset mass when I was 18, and meeting again, a girl I used to know in primary school. She told me she had a boyfriend (me: ok) who has a piercing at his genitals (the Prince Albert, I found out years later) (me: (stunned look on face)) and she had one at her clitoris as well.... (me: ok, right, I think my parents would be looking for me now.. (and makes a mad dash out of there)).
Apparently, these studs are pleasure enhancers for sexual encounters. Increases friction and what not. Mind-blowing orgasms. Yay, ok... But ermm... OUCH?? Wouldn't cockrings do? So cockrings can slip out. Well, errmmm... take the dick out when it's still hard, and don't leave it in there till it goes soft and flaccid? Besides, if a dick can fit in there, then surely one can take the cockring out? I dunno. But piercings just seem painful :P
Next: Uhh... I know these rings would have space for errrr... engorged moments, but hmm... those rings probably have sizes. How would the piercer know which size should be used? Unless the dude himself gives an estimate of how big his erection gets? Logically thinking, I doubt he'd pierce it when he's erect. Ouchieee.... Same goes for a clit ring, no?
So many questions :P Who can give me answers?
On a less provocative/ mind-boggling subject: Who wants to play 'Gotcha' on Ells the Smells? A the girlfriend and I would bet it'd be jolly fun :P And we'd bet he'd fall for it, too. HAHA....
Ohh... And I wanna shoot my new housemates. It's one thing to be using my things (I don't mind) so long as they clean it up. And it'd be nice if they asked. But it's another to go through my foodstuff and toiletries and just take and use whatever, you know? WWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRR............. Talk about insensitivity, Davi. Gah... Some people.
All that talk on sex. Maybe I should make my New Year's Resolution now :P
1) Leave the country and this State of the Nation before I go nuts, get shot, get imprisoned, get ISA-ed, or all of them at once.
2) Get laid :P Ok, this one is probably not gonna happen. NATO, you know? (No Action, Talk Only). Sighs... Besides, what's the point if I'm not gonna experience 'le petit morte'? Even a tampon the size of my little finger with the length of approx 1 1/2' hurt. Just ask Pantai Hillpark Phase *** Block * inhabitants :P Or my roommate then. She still laughs about my howling. BIATCH... And to think she was the one who told me to try it in the first place. *sniffs* And to think I was gullible enough to listen to her. ARGH!! Stupid me... Stupid... :P
I need new lingerie. a) They're out of shape/ They've got holes in 'em b) They don't fit right no more... :( But I'm broke. Going lingerie-shopping with friends who are buying them when you need your own is like being teased. So near, yet so far... Now you see it, now you don't... How? Oh man... I hate the feeling of being a poor bum. RICH BUM is good. Poor bum sucks.
Being teased. Like the ONE mark I need to pass exams. You know, sometimes I feel like Life is a Goddess/ Beautiful Woman (say, who looks like Jessica Alba) in a see-through gossamer gown with nothing underneath doing a naughty dance and being a cock-tease. DAMMIT.... And I'm like the man she's doing the dance for, and I can't bloody cum. At the moment of ejaculation, something clamps at the base, and you get backflow. Like that. Ouch... TORTURE. You get the picture? YUP... OH MANNNN.....
This has been a shitty year. And Lady Luck hasn't been quite a lady, blowing on other guys' dices....
Should I just stop whatever I'm doing and be: a) a personal shopper, or b) a trashy romance novelist? You know. Write satisfying trash like: As his pulsating, engorged manhood entered her warm, soft, moistness oh-so-slowly, pushing into her tightest depths in a pulsing rhythm, paced as she liked it, nice and deep.... (continue with your personal vivid fantasy here) :D Oh my... I'm howling with uncontrollabnle laughter alone in my room. My housemates must think I'm crazy :D Yes, I read text porn. It's mindless entertainment when I'm tired. You don't want to be debating political thrillers in your head after work, or after textbooks like Concise Pathology :) So I should be able to write it as well, no? Give Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, Jude Deveraux a run for their money :D
Enough nonsense for one night. Good night!!
Wednesday, 6 December 2006. 1739 hours
Yeah, you read that right. This is gonna be a blog on orgasms, both male and female :P People with delicate tastes please turn your eyes away now.
Okay. I dunno much about orgasms other than it's supposed to be bloody damn explosive earth-shattering mind-altering paradigm-shifting good. Better than fags and drugs, apparently.
Shit, I hope my parents, or brother doesn't read this. And I sure hope I don't have kepochi friends who would rat on me :P Blah, live on the edge for awhile, shan't I?
Now a guy friend of mine once said that he read somewhere that the female orgasm is a myth :) Women in the know, please let me know if that's true. I'd be quite miffed if I can never achieve 'le petit morte'. How can? No fair.... I want that grasping, moaning, groaning, sighing, gasping, screaming, eye-rolling, clutching, satisfying moment of complete and utter euphoria too! Ok, saying I'd be miffed is a gross understatement. But you catch my drift. I'd like to know where he got his literature from, so female sexologists around the world can shoot the fella :D
So, shall I run a poll? IS the female orgasm a myth?
Now why bring up the topic since said dude made the remark quite a while back? 'Cos:
a) I forgot about it. Oopsie daisie... My bad :)
b) A conversation I had last night.
Regarding b), there's more to it. Here it is:
Venue: Some fancy-schmancy Starbucks in some fancy-schmancy uptown place. (I didn't choose the place, k? Me brokums, not like Jar-O the rich ass :P) Ye-lah... no mentioning which, I dunwanna get stalked and get some sleazy dude saying: Let me show you a female orgasm, bay-beh :P
Time: 2230-ish hours, Tuesday, December 5th, Year 2006
Characters: Jar-O and the Double A's and Me (2 guys, a girl, and a confused identity (guess who?) :P)
We were talking about body piercings in interesting places. Well, actually, it started with talking about a scary girl we all once knew. She claims to give the best blowjobs in the world :P Though, ermm... one of the guys who once upon a time, not so long ago, used to do her says he'd tell her she was good to not hear her running commentaries in the midst of all that 'passion'. Guess he doesn't quite know the concept of 'white noise' :D
A the boyfriend started teasing A the girlfriend about probably not knowing what a blowjob is, which led to Jar-O saying his buddy should teach her. And Jar-O mentioning the different ways to enhance the pleasure of a blowjob. Ice, mint, hot tea, etc. etc. (oh come on, can't give 'em all out here on a public blog), and, yeah, piercings. See, I have a few very publicly kinky girl friends. A few would qualify as sarong party girls (Too bad they aren't around anymore. Could teach me a trick or two :P) One (not a sarong party girl, this one. At least, I don't think so) was, well, interesting. Super sexy and unafraid to show it. Kinky, and the world knows it. Tattoos down the inguinal area on both sides. Very sexy. Piercings. She has a tongue stud and she tells me the men she sleeps with thanks her for it. Mmmhmmmm... Yup. Keeps a box-ful of different types of her fave condoms by her bedside. And those colourful nice-smelling thingies for bath and play, too. Damn bedroom looks a wee bit like a boudoir. And I forgot, different kinds of lube. KY, Durex Play, Durex Hot, Durex Tingle, whatever. Oh, for condoms, she swears by Durex :P Actually, a few of those girls swear by Durex. Less 'accidents' apparently, and it's supposed to feel almost... 'natural'? :P So I mentioned what KinkyGirl told me, about tongue studs being very good for blowjobs. Which the boys agree with. But, they say having a tongue stud and not knowing how to give a proper blowjob would result in quite nasty accidents. :D Well, I could infer that. The penile glans is amazingly sensitive. Don't take a rocket scientist to know.
Tongue studs led to a conversation on other piercings. In uhmm... 'interesting' places. The Prince Albert, for instance. Somebody tell me how that's being done?
I remember being in the church toilet during sunset mass when I was 18, and meeting again, a girl I used to know in primary school. She told me she had a boyfriend (me: ok) who has a piercing at his genitals (the Prince Albert, I found out years later) (me: (stunned look on face)) and she had one at her clitoris as well.... (me: ok, right, I think my parents would be looking for me now.. (and makes a mad dash out of there)).
Apparently, these studs are pleasure enhancers for sexual encounters. Increases friction and what not. Mind-blowing orgasms. Yay, ok... But ermm... OUCH?? Wouldn't cockrings do? So cockrings can slip out. Well, errmmm... take the dick out when it's still hard, and don't leave it in there till it goes soft and flaccid? Besides, if a dick can fit in there, then surely one can take the cockring out? I dunno. But piercings just seem painful :P
Next: Uhh... I know these rings would have space for errrr... engorged moments, but hmm... those rings probably have sizes. How would the piercer know which size should be used? Unless the dude himself gives an estimate of how big his erection gets? Logically thinking, I doubt he'd pierce it when he's erect. Ouchieee.... Same goes for a clit ring, no?
So many questions :P Who can give me answers?
On a less provocative/ mind-boggling subject: Who wants to play 'Gotcha' on Ells the Smells? A the girlfriend and I would bet it'd be jolly fun :P And we'd bet he'd fall for it, too. HAHA....
Ohh... And I wanna shoot my new housemates. It's one thing to be using my things (I don't mind) so long as they clean it up. And it'd be nice if they asked. But it's another to go through my foodstuff and toiletries and just take and use whatever, you know? WWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRR............. Talk about insensitivity, Davi. Gah... Some people.
All that talk on sex. Maybe I should make my New Year's Resolution now :P
1) Leave the country and this State of the Nation before I go nuts, get shot, get imprisoned, get ISA-ed, or all of them at once.
2) Get laid :P Ok, this one is probably not gonna happen. NATO, you know? (No Action, Talk Only). Sighs... Besides, what's the point if I'm not gonna experience 'le petit morte'? Even a tampon the size of my little finger with the length of approx 1 1/2' hurt. Just ask Pantai Hillpark Phase *** Block * inhabitants :P Or my roommate then. She still laughs about my howling. BIATCH... And to think she was the one who told me to try it in the first place. *sniffs* And to think I was gullible enough to listen to her. ARGH!! Stupid me... Stupid... :P
I need new lingerie. a) They're out of shape/ They've got holes in 'em b) They don't fit right no more... :( But I'm broke. Going lingerie-shopping with friends who are buying them when you need your own is like being teased. So near, yet so far... Now you see it, now you don't... How? Oh man... I hate the feeling of being a poor bum. RICH BUM is good. Poor bum sucks.
Being teased. Like the ONE mark I need to pass exams. You know, sometimes I feel like Life is a Goddess/ Beautiful Woman (say, who looks like Jessica Alba) in a see-through gossamer gown with nothing underneath doing a naughty dance and being a cock-tease. DAMMIT.... And I'm like the man she's doing the dance for, and I can't bloody cum. At the moment of ejaculation, something clamps at the base, and you get backflow. Like that. Ouch... TORTURE. You get the picture? YUP... OH MANNNN.....
This has been a shitty year. And Lady Luck hasn't been quite a lady, blowing on other guys' dices....
Should I just stop whatever I'm doing and be: a) a personal shopper, or b) a trashy romance novelist? You know. Write satisfying trash like: As his pulsating, engorged manhood entered her warm, soft, moistness oh-so-slowly, pushing into her tightest depths in a pulsing rhythm, paced as she liked it, nice and deep.... (continue with your personal vivid fantasy here) :D Oh my... I'm howling with uncontrollabnle laughter alone in my room. My housemates must think I'm crazy :D Yes, I read text porn. It's mindless entertainment when I'm tired. You don't want to be debating political thrillers in your head after work, or after textbooks like Concise Pathology :) So I should be able to write it as well, no? Give Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, Jude Deveraux a run for their money :D
Enough nonsense for one night. Good night!!
WORK WORK WORK....
WORK WORK WORK....
Tuesday, 5 December 2006, 1032 hours.
I talked to Bren on MSN yersterday, and she says I should start working and making something of myself :) Makes me sound like I enjoy being a bum. Trust me, ain't no fun being a bum with absolutely nothing to do. I can't cook, there isn't gas. I can't watch TV, there's none. I can't surf for porn :P I haven't the Internet. (Okay, I was kidding about the porn, but you catch my drift)
I wanna work, dammit!! But I doubt I'd be getting interviews soon. It IS the end of the year. Big bosses a.k.a decision-makers are probably holiday-ing overseas with their wife and kids (or mistresses the age of their kids :P), or shopping overseas (if they are women). It IS the school holidays and the Christmas season. I gather I'm gonna be jobless at least till January, when it's the start of the new fiscal and financial year. When the audits are all done, and they can estimate how much they can spend to hire new goons.
I know I need to work soon before I lose touch of scan techniques. How much pressure to apply, where to apply it, etc. I do love what I do.
I love the fact that ultrasound scanning allows me the freedom of isolation and yet I'm working in a team. I love being in a darkened room all alone with someone else, behind a million-dollar baby.
I love staring and making sense out of pixels and shades of changing gray dots on a monitor.
I love the adrenaline rush I feel when I hold a probe, wondering if I'd see anything fascinating or unusual, and the apprehension of making a mistake I cannot afford.
Lives depend on it.
I love meeting new people, seeing new faces. Something new everyday. I get bored fast :P
I love the knowledge that when a person lies supine on the bed, (s)he'd have to listen to me (MUAHAHA!) whether the person be male or female, king or beggar, father or son, saint or sinner. Medicine or disease does not discriminate. Muslim, Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, Scientologist (:P). All that talk on equality. At the end of the day, we're all gonna die anyway. Just a matter of how and when. And I love the fact that I'm part of that.
I love the fact that doing what I do, I can help assuage fears, or I can be part of the solution to a problem. And yet...
I love the fact that I get to ponder my own humanity. We may plan, but ultimately, it's God who decides. Nothing like the field of medicine to remind one of that fact.
It is in medicine that one needs Faith the most.
When you're 25 and single and at the threshold/ crossroads of life, you don't look too far ahead. The thought of death? It baffles your mind. You take each day as it comes, and hope it's better than the last. You wonder when you'd save enough to buy that dream house/ apartment you've always wanted, so you can decorate it the way you want, and fark lousy housemates. You dream of getting that car (so you can have a ride, regardless of whether or not you wanna pimp it, dammit!! One can only bear putting up with Malaysian public transportation for so long) and have enough to get you an Alsatian, and keep it. You don't even think of marriage, 'cos heck, mum!! I need me a boy first, and no, please don't matchmake me with a teacher in your school. I've had enough with teachers :P And I don't look like a horse's ass, so have a little faith, yeah? Kids? Perhaps, someday, but better make it fast, 'cos now that you have that scary Embryology book, you know, to a certain extent, how to calculate your risks. And dammit, you've got geneticist friends who'd be more than happy to tell you your eggs are wasting (nice way to put it) or rotting (SUPER NICE way to put it)... Fark 'em :P Death? Not really. Kinda hazy...
Until you come face-to-face with the reality of death. 27/28-year old comes in for a routine medical check-up, and gets diagnosed with end-stage liver cancer. You remember the face of the patient when he was informed of the diagnosis. You remember the shock. You remember how his yellow (jaundiced) face turned white at the idea of having only a few years at most to live. A thrombus (clot) in the portal vein? Clots are for fat, old uncles! Not for a relatively fit young man below 30! You think of all the chemo he has to go through to get through the next few years, how he'd need Palliative care, 'cos there ain't much anyone could do at that stage, how there's very little chances for survival, considering that there might be metastases elsewhere, and you think: SHIT... 25 and 27/28 isn't that far away... And then there's the 19-year-old girl with breast cancer.... And no, she hasn't got really large boobies, either. Another myth down the drain.... You freak out and go home and do BSE everyday for 2 months...
You go home, and stare in the mirror for awhile. Which is a feat in itself, considering you're one of those nuts who never combs her hair (you do digital perm for precisely that reason :P), never checks to see what kind of clothes you've thrown on on a normal day (jeans and tees and sneakers/ flats (have to walk mar...) is your informal uniform), and hardly ever, if not never, looks in the mirror before she walks out the door. That itty-bitty mirror is for applying make-up when the need arises (work (Customer Service, what... you get paid to look good and make assholes feel good)/ interviews/ clubbing/ hot date (rare :P)) But here you are, staring in the mirror, thinking: If I get diagnosed with cancer tomorrow and I die within a year (touch wood!) who'd remember me? Who'd remember my face? Who'd remember my laughter, who'd remember my tears, who'd remember my faves and my fears? Who'd remember what I've done? If I've done anything much in the first place?
You hardly check your breasts.. heck! You're too lazy. Your attitude towards them? Those things just happen to be there. Thank goodness they're small and don't get in the way much. Could be bigger... but... Oh well... You don't bother using push-ups, 'cos they're hot la, dammit... All that fake padding.... You don't like heat much... You'd rather sleep nude on sultry nights, except you have housemates :P Unless you have air-conditioning, different story. You like 'em bras strapless, 'cos you hate fiddling with the stupid straps. WHAT DECORATIVE STRAPS? NO STRAPS BETTER!! Yeah, you're one lazy lazy girl :P And those sunny-side-ups of yours are good enough for lactating when the time and need arises. If a man complains, you'd tell him to get a penis enhancer before you get a breast enhancer :D Big is good, no? Same same both ways :P You're so lazy, checking your breasts slips your mind the way taking those little OC pills do. Until something like that happens. And you're forced to think about it, and deal with the possibility.
I'm frightened of that. And yet I love it. The reminder of our mortality. That we may try to build/ reach for the proverbial Tower of Babel, but there's a Higher Power that we cannot avoid/ ignore.
Death doesn't discriminate. It'd come to us sooner or later. Whether by senescence (if we're lucky) or by some other means.
So yes, I wanna work. If anyone knows where a hospital is wanting to hire an ultrasonographer, let me know :P My email is just there.
Tuesday, 5 December 2006, 1032 hours.
I talked to Bren on MSN yersterday, and she says I should start working and making something of myself :) Makes me sound like I enjoy being a bum. Trust me, ain't no fun being a bum with absolutely nothing to do. I can't cook, there isn't gas. I can't watch TV, there's none. I can't surf for porn :P I haven't the Internet. (Okay, I was kidding about the porn, but you catch my drift)
I wanna work, dammit!! But I doubt I'd be getting interviews soon. It IS the end of the year. Big bosses a.k.a decision-makers are probably holiday-ing overseas with their wife and kids (or mistresses the age of their kids :P), or shopping overseas (if they are women). It IS the school holidays and the Christmas season. I gather I'm gonna be jobless at least till January, when it's the start of the new fiscal and financial year. When the audits are all done, and they can estimate how much they can spend to hire new goons.
I know I need to work soon before I lose touch of scan techniques. How much pressure to apply, where to apply it, etc. I do love what I do.
I love the fact that ultrasound scanning allows me the freedom of isolation and yet I'm working in a team. I love being in a darkened room all alone with someone else, behind a million-dollar baby.
I love staring and making sense out of pixels and shades of changing gray dots on a monitor.
I love the adrenaline rush I feel when I hold a probe, wondering if I'd see anything fascinating or unusual, and the apprehension of making a mistake I cannot afford.
Lives depend on it.
I love meeting new people, seeing new faces. Something new everyday. I get bored fast :P
I love the knowledge that when a person lies supine on the bed, (s)he'd have to listen to me (MUAHAHA!) whether the person be male or female, king or beggar, father or son, saint or sinner. Medicine or disease does not discriminate. Muslim, Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, Scientologist (:P). All that talk on equality. At the end of the day, we're all gonna die anyway. Just a matter of how and when. And I love the fact that I'm part of that.
I love the fact that doing what I do, I can help assuage fears, or I can be part of the solution to a problem. And yet...
I love the fact that I get to ponder my own humanity. We may plan, but ultimately, it's God who decides. Nothing like the field of medicine to remind one of that fact.
It is in medicine that one needs Faith the most.
When you're 25 and single and at the threshold/ crossroads of life, you don't look too far ahead. The thought of death? It baffles your mind. You take each day as it comes, and hope it's better than the last. You wonder when you'd save enough to buy that dream house/ apartment you've always wanted, so you can decorate it the way you want, and fark lousy housemates. You dream of getting that car (so you can have a ride, regardless of whether or not you wanna pimp it, dammit!! One can only bear putting up with Malaysian public transportation for so long) and have enough to get you an Alsatian, and keep it. You don't even think of marriage, 'cos heck, mum!! I need me a boy first, and no, please don't matchmake me with a teacher in your school. I've had enough with teachers :P And I don't look like a horse's ass, so have a little faith, yeah? Kids? Perhaps, someday, but better make it fast, 'cos now that you have that scary Embryology book, you know, to a certain extent, how to calculate your risks. And dammit, you've got geneticist friends who'd be more than happy to tell you your eggs are wasting (nice way to put it) or rotting (SUPER NICE way to put it)... Fark 'em :P Death? Not really. Kinda hazy...
Until you come face-to-face with the reality of death. 27/28-year old comes in for a routine medical check-up, and gets diagnosed with end-stage liver cancer. You remember the face of the patient when he was informed of the diagnosis. You remember the shock. You remember how his yellow (jaundiced) face turned white at the idea of having only a few years at most to live. A thrombus (clot) in the portal vein? Clots are for fat, old uncles! Not for a relatively fit young man below 30! You think of all the chemo he has to go through to get through the next few years, how he'd need Palliative care, 'cos there ain't much anyone could do at that stage, how there's very little chances for survival, considering that there might be metastases elsewhere, and you think: SHIT... 25 and 27/28 isn't that far away... And then there's the 19-year-old girl with breast cancer.... And no, she hasn't got really large boobies, either. Another myth down the drain.... You freak out and go home and do BSE everyday for 2 months...
You go home, and stare in the mirror for awhile. Which is a feat in itself, considering you're one of those nuts who never combs her hair (you do digital perm for precisely that reason :P), never checks to see what kind of clothes you've thrown on on a normal day (jeans and tees and sneakers/ flats (have to walk mar...) is your informal uniform), and hardly ever, if not never, looks in the mirror before she walks out the door. That itty-bitty mirror is for applying make-up when the need arises (work (Customer Service, what... you get paid to look good and make assholes feel good)/ interviews/ clubbing/ hot date (rare :P)) But here you are, staring in the mirror, thinking: If I get diagnosed with cancer tomorrow and I die within a year (touch wood!) who'd remember me? Who'd remember my face? Who'd remember my laughter, who'd remember my tears, who'd remember my faves and my fears? Who'd remember what I've done? If I've done anything much in the first place?
You hardly check your breasts.. heck! You're too lazy. Your attitude towards them? Those things just happen to be there. Thank goodness they're small and don't get in the way much. Could be bigger... but... Oh well... You don't bother using push-ups, 'cos they're hot la, dammit... All that fake padding.... You don't like heat much... You'd rather sleep nude on sultry nights, except you have housemates :P Unless you have air-conditioning, different story. You like 'em bras strapless, 'cos you hate fiddling with the stupid straps. WHAT DECORATIVE STRAPS? NO STRAPS BETTER!! Yeah, you're one lazy lazy girl :P And those sunny-side-ups of yours are good enough for lactating when the time and need arises. If a man complains, you'd tell him to get a penis enhancer before you get a breast enhancer :D Big is good, no? Same same both ways :P You're so lazy, checking your breasts slips your mind the way taking those little OC pills do. Until something like that happens. And you're forced to think about it, and deal with the possibility.
I'm frightened of that. And yet I love it. The reminder of our mortality. That we may try to build/ reach for the proverbial Tower of Babel, but there's a Higher Power that we cannot avoid/ ignore.
Death doesn't discriminate. It'd come to us sooner or later. Whether by senescence (if we're lucky) or by some other means.
So yes, I wanna work. If anyone knows where a hospital is wanting to hire an ultrasonographer, let me know :P My email is just there.
Monday, December 04, 2006
One Mark!!
ONE MARK!!
I need one more mark to pass my exams fully. Am appealing. Gah... Pray for me. Place is driving me bonkers....
Fairydust and Birthday Wishes...
Fairydust and Birthday Wishes...
This is a blog on nothing, and on everything. Fragmented thoughts, loosely linked together by strands of associated ideas. This is the result of sleepless nights, of daydreams, of meditation, of the subconscious self, of floating on clouds, of fairydust...
Boredom. It has become my middle name. I blogged on December 1, but I changed my mind about posting it up. Too... personal. Strange how so much emotion can be expressed in so little words. Hmm...
I think I should start writing again. I wonder what happened to my short stories. Probably decomposing in some dumpsite somewhere. I regret not keeping them. Might have been interesting to read about what the me of a decade ago thought and felt, and see if anything has changed since then :)
Don't you think that: People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, and then repent? I find myself doing that, more times than I'd like to admit.
I'm quick-tempered. I've an out-of-whack guydar. Must be compensating for my right-on-the-spot gaydar :P I'm a stubborn, moralistic, arrogant, unrelenting, elitist biatch. Mmm... and I make mistakes I really don't fancy analysing too deeply, and yet I should, and I know I should. Methinks I need a psychiatrist.
Dont you think, too, that: The old heart needs to get itself broken a few times to learn how to love? My friend, A the boy (of the double As (:P)) said on Thursday that in most cases, men get more stable with every consequent relationship, whereas women get more jaded and cynical. I don't really know about that. I wonder what others would say about that statement?
I've wondered, and I wonder still: Is there such a thing as a love immunity?
Where's the love? 6 billion people in the world probably wants to know. It's everywhere. And yet it's as elusive and illusive as fairydust.
Written somewhere in Old Saint Paul's Church, Baltimore is this: ...Everywhere life is full of heroism.... Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is perennial as the grass... Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness... Strive to be happy.
:) I will most certainly try. I've the whole of the Desiderata pasted up on my wall for reaffirmation every day anyway :P I need all the help I can get.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAVI!!! One year older, one year wiser, one year of experience and maturity to garner your strength from :) And one year of gorgeousness. Plenty more to go! Some women age with grace and beauty :) You, darling, is one of them!
This is a blog on nothing, and on everything. Fragmented thoughts, loosely linked together by strands of associated ideas. This is the result of sleepless nights, of daydreams, of meditation, of the subconscious self, of floating on clouds, of fairydust...
Boredom. It has become my middle name. I blogged on December 1, but I changed my mind about posting it up. Too... personal. Strange how so much emotion can be expressed in so little words. Hmm...
I think I should start writing again. I wonder what happened to my short stories. Probably decomposing in some dumpsite somewhere. I regret not keeping them. Might have been interesting to read about what the me of a decade ago thought and felt, and see if anything has changed since then :)
Don't you think that: People seldom do what they believe in. They do what is convenient, and then repent? I find myself doing that, more times than I'd like to admit.
I'm quick-tempered. I've an out-of-whack guydar. Must be compensating for my right-on-the-spot gaydar :P I'm a stubborn, moralistic, arrogant, unrelenting, elitist biatch. Mmm... and I make mistakes I really don't fancy analysing too deeply, and yet I should, and I know I should. Methinks I need a psychiatrist.
Dont you think, too, that: The old heart needs to get itself broken a few times to learn how to love? My friend, A the boy (of the double As (:P)) said on Thursday that in most cases, men get more stable with every consequent relationship, whereas women get more jaded and cynical. I don't really know about that. I wonder what others would say about that statement?
I've wondered, and I wonder still: Is there such a thing as a love immunity?
Where's the love? 6 billion people in the world probably wants to know. It's everywhere. And yet it's as elusive and illusive as fairydust.
Written somewhere in Old Saint Paul's Church, Baltimore is this: ...Everywhere life is full of heroism.... Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is perennial as the grass... Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness... Strive to be happy.
:) I will most certainly try. I've the whole of the Desiderata pasted up on my wall for reaffirmation every day anyway :P I need all the help I can get.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAVI!!! One year older, one year wiser, one year of experience and maturity to garner your strength from :) And one year of gorgeousness. Plenty more to go! Some women age with grace and beauty :) You, darling, is one of them!
Musings: By Marina Mahathir
This came to me in an e-mail from a friend and this is interesting. Considering all that's been going on, I'm glad Marina is speaking out on behalf of a lot of silent people. Thank God for leaders like her :)
Musings: By MARINA MAHATHIR
LOOKING at recent developments, I think there should be a new association registered for the propagation of the shallow and superficial. It should be called, for short, the SS.
The SS is open for membership to people who have nothing better to do with their lives than look for monsters under their beds, enemies in their blankets or crosses in their buns. The first members of the SS are the people who believe that the path to hell is paved with ice-cream biscuits.
In case there are still people out there who only read the mainstream papers and therefore have been blissfully cocooned in ignorance, a group of defenders of the faith have lodged a report that a certain brand of ice-cream biscuits have (Christian) crosses on them, and therefore this is a grave threat to our faith. If any of us were unaware that all it takes is ice-cream to melt our faith, now we know.
The SS would comprise of people who really believe that their faith needs to be protected from confectionery, lipstick, books, magazines, songs, maybe even SpongeBob SquarePants. Everything should be scrutinized for their ability to creep into one's soul and destroy one's beliefs. Having laws that allow for this scrutiny would apparently show how superior and strong their religion is.
The SS are not in the least bit interested in any real issues that might truly be threats to their community. Not for them the trivial matters of poverty and hunger nor of people being bombed to death every day in Iraq or Palestine, or dying of diseases such as AIDS. Nay, these are unimportant compared to the dangers of ice-cream and lipstick.
In case anyone thinks I am making this up, some people might remember that in the days before the United States invaded Iraq, an e-mail listing out the brands of cosmetics one should not use because their lipsticks were not halal was passed around. Undoubtedly, several hundred thousand dead Iraqis later, those who boycotted those lipsticks feel very good now.
Let us not forget other SS members, those who should be conferred the special title Simple-Minded and Stupid, otherwise known as SMS. These are the sorts who believe every little message that comes into their hot little phones, no matter how unlikely.
Without even asking simple questions like "Is it true?", they pass them on as if they were, well, gospel. Even worse, instead of just relying on electronic gadgets, which one can always blame technology for, they pass on these messages verbally to other members of the SS, all of whom accept everything the SMS say is literally The Word of God.
The alleged Word of God is then borne into action by Korrupt Kombative Knuckleheads, otherwise known as the KKK. These will do things like throw firecrackers into churchyards, destroy temples and raid married people's bedrooms. Pretty soon we may find them dressing up in bedsheets and stringing up people they don't like on trees.
One thing about the SS, the SMS and the KKK is that they never take responsibility for anything. Unlike hijackers, kidnappers and terrorists who want to be known as people who do bad deeds, the Malaysian versions don't own up to anything. If SS or SMS talk about how Other People are bad, and the KKK then go and string up people by their necks, the SS and SMS simply put their hands up and say, "But I never told them to do that. I only mentioned these things in passing."
Thus they can pass out simpleminded but dangerous messages without having to take the consequences. Unlike Other People who are constantly being threatened with all sorts of Dire Consequences should they so much as open their mouths. This is how less than a dozen people talking peace and goodwill can be told to shut up in the face of 10,000 talking war and hate. It's the same sort of argument some Neanderthals make about cameras peering in inappropriate places; the victims shouldn't have worn skirts.
The sad thing is that an association like the SS would have so many members in this country. While those who are reasonable, moderate and tolerant are getting marginalized every day.
The voice of hate is these days so much louder than the voice of peace, love and inclusiveness. Just as we don't see the supreme irony of trumpeting our religious superiority while at the same time claiming that it only takes biscuits to destroy us, we don't see the irony of extolling ourselves as a superior race while at the same time insisting on crutches and handouts.
Musings: By MARINA MAHATHIR
LOOKING at recent developments, I think there should be a new association registered for the propagation of the shallow and superficial. It should be called, for short, the SS.
The SS is open for membership to people who have nothing better to do with their lives than look for monsters under their beds, enemies in their blankets or crosses in their buns. The first members of the SS are the people who believe that the path to hell is paved with ice-cream biscuits.
In case there are still people out there who only read the mainstream papers and therefore have been blissfully cocooned in ignorance, a group of defenders of the faith have lodged a report that a certain brand of ice-cream biscuits have (Christian) crosses on them, and therefore this is a grave threat to our faith. If any of us were unaware that all it takes is ice-cream to melt our faith, now we know.
The SS would comprise of people who really believe that their faith needs to be protected from confectionery, lipstick, books, magazines, songs, maybe even SpongeBob SquarePants. Everything should be scrutinized for their ability to creep into one's soul and destroy one's beliefs. Having laws that allow for this scrutiny would apparently show how superior and strong their religion is.
The SS are not in the least bit interested in any real issues that might truly be threats to their community. Not for them the trivial matters of poverty and hunger nor of people being bombed to death every day in Iraq or Palestine, or dying of diseases such as AIDS. Nay, these are unimportant compared to the dangers of ice-cream and lipstick.
In case anyone thinks I am making this up, some people might remember that in the days before the United States invaded Iraq, an e-mail listing out the brands of cosmetics one should not use because their lipsticks were not halal was passed around. Undoubtedly, several hundred thousand dead Iraqis later, those who boycotted those lipsticks feel very good now.
Let us not forget other SS members, those who should be conferred the special title Simple-Minded and Stupid, otherwise known as SMS. These are the sorts who believe every little message that comes into their hot little phones, no matter how unlikely.
Without even asking simple questions like "Is it true?", they pass them on as if they were, well, gospel. Even worse, instead of just relying on electronic gadgets, which one can always blame technology for, they pass on these messages verbally to other members of the SS, all of whom accept everything the SMS say is literally The Word of God.
The alleged Word of God is then borne into action by Korrupt Kombative Knuckleheads, otherwise known as the KKK. These will do things like throw firecrackers into churchyards, destroy temples and raid married people's bedrooms. Pretty soon we may find them dressing up in bedsheets and stringing up people they don't like on trees.
One thing about the SS, the SMS and the KKK is that they never take responsibility for anything. Unlike hijackers, kidnappers and terrorists who want to be known as people who do bad deeds, the Malaysian versions don't own up to anything. If SS or SMS talk about how Other People are bad, and the KKK then go and string up people by their necks, the SS and SMS simply put their hands up and say, "But I never told them to do that. I only mentioned these things in passing."
Thus they can pass out simpleminded but dangerous messages without having to take the consequences. Unlike Other People who are constantly being threatened with all sorts of Dire Consequences should they so much as open their mouths. This is how less than a dozen people talking peace and goodwill can be told to shut up in the face of 10,000 talking war and hate. It's the same sort of argument some Neanderthals make about cameras peering in inappropriate places; the victims shouldn't have worn skirts.
The sad thing is that an association like the SS would have so many members in this country. While those who are reasonable, moderate and tolerant are getting marginalized every day.
The voice of hate is these days so much louder than the voice of peace, love and inclusiveness. Just as we don't see the supreme irony of trumpeting our religious superiority while at the same time claiming that it only takes biscuits to destroy us, we don't see the irony of extolling ourselves as a superior race while at the same time insisting on crutches and handouts.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)