Hello dudes and dudettes. Tis a time of celebration, for CTs are over and my three weeks of social isolation are over. Beyond the fact that my Universe has been confined by the boundaries of art room and home for the last three weeks, and every meal I’ve eaten in that period has been crammed with lipidy junk goodness, my life has been pretty much the same. (Though now that i think about it that isn’t much of a difference from my normal life anyway.) Since the start of my Jekyll and Hyde transformation into a mugger, I have been pretty much cooped up in the artroom with mugging buddies and food sources lorr and smint, which helped relieve the boredom somewhat, cracking jokes about a certain friend’s height or lack of it and all that. But I shall not be mean and put down someone for whom puddles are a water hazard.
Followed Lorr to go plant shopping this afternoon which was more exciting then it sounds and less exciting then I expected it to be. Despite her insistence on stopping and staring at every plant/weed/ greenish looking thing along they way we made it there eventually and I oohed and aahed at the pretty flowers till she dragged me to go ogle flower pots, turning to me once in a while to ask which pot looked nicer before unceremoniously dumping them into my arms and scurrying to go scavenge another. Sure pots are nice and all, round ones, square ones, fat ones etc, but they are hardly the most interesting phenomena in existence. Its like toilet bowls. You might have the most beautifully carved, platinum plated, T.T. Duraish toilet bowl in the universe but, like a flower pot, it still doesn’t change its functional purpose as a fertilizer container.
Sorry, just taking a random cheap pot short.
A urinal on the other hand, is different. Sign your name on it and call it Fountain and its Art with a capital A.
The flowers on the other hand, were really quite nice. Some I felt were hideous, but there were a few that got my hands itching to try and grow some, though considering that everything I’ve ever tried to rear has died on my hands that itch soon subsided. I mean, I killed 200 guppies and a suckerfish. I even killed a cactus.
Who on earth kills a cactus. They’re like a G-Shock, black box and cockroach mashed into some indestructible lifeform, and I killed it. Lorraine meanwhile took a perverse and sadistic pleasure in asking me the colour of every purple/blue flower we walked past, which for obvious reasons I got wrong more often than not. The saddest bit was yet to come as I strolled off to admire a particularly pretty bunch of flowers.
Ohcy: “Eh eh, this blue is super nice. I really like the dark-blue to white gradient, its my favorite type of blue.”
Lorraine: “Chin Yang….”
The rest I rather leave unsaid but you get the gist.
In any case, plants are quite cool, and I can’t believe I just said that. The sheer number and variety of gardening tools/ insecticides/ pots etc etc is rather astounding. There was like this entire rack of insect pesticides which I shall never touch for reasons once again best left unsaid. My mugging buddies should know.
After that went back to school to stone awhile before zix and lorr crashed my house. I’ll admit I took a great deal of fiendish glee in watching them surmount Mount Braddell, a sad sad process I go through every day, albeit without killing myself in the process like my friends there. Played some 02jam and other random stuff and basically chill pilled around.
Left for dinner after they left and came back to start blogging. Well that’s about all actually, congrats to everyone who has survived CTs.
Happy belated birthday Heidi.
Hey there Delilah – dedicated to my art class
Hey there Delilah
What’s it like in New York City?
I wouldn’t know because my art trip has been canceled by RJC.
Yes it has,
Times Square will never see us pass
Our sad art class.
A thousand miles seems pretty far
Though we’ve got planes and trains and cars,
still in the end its here that we must stay
Our friends have all made fun of us,
And the reason for that is because,
For ISLE they’ve already flown away.
Delilah I can promise you
That by the time that we get to
New York the paintings will have rotted in their frames
We need a plane
Home – Dedicated to the previous owners of my house
Whenever I am feeling low,
I look around me and I know,
There’s a place that is right next to me,
As long as I’m in RJC
I will always recall, with pity
the sad folks on mrt,
For while they wake up at 5am
I’m sleeping, as sound as can be.
This is home, truly,
ten minutes from RJC,
I wake at seven thirty,
for me transport’s scott free.
This is home, surely, not pasir ris or yew tee,
Where it is, will never be unknown,
For from my school, I see my home.
This is where, I know I’m home
I’m sorry if, you live in border zones.
I am a truly privileged person. To the sad people in Pasir Ris, Bedok and Yew Tee, my sympathies, and a gentle reminder that violence is a very unbecoming habit in public.
P.S. Fear Factor is damn sick. To me.
“this is my favorite part of fear factor. I always think girls getting tied up and showered by blood are damn hot.”