Signs of teenage angst? One up yours. Ooops.
So I went to pierce my left eyebrow that day after meeting Ma, kinda err ironic? Well, thats my parents for you. The wonderful ones who let me drink, smoke and do whatever the hell I want. I just hope I don't turn out like my future kid. Anyway, pierced my eyebrow at Utopia Studios, Roxy Square. I didn't get the dude's name but he's really good at piercing man. Seriously, the painless, best placed and precise measurement(of the stud and my eyebrow width) from this dude. Kudos to unknown dude!
Now, on to what I really meant to say. I don't want to lean too much on either side of this controversial argument 'cos I am involved one way or another.
Do piercings, tattoos, rebelious behavior and hairstyles display a living portrait of teenage angst on show?
Now now, If I had said that to a group of teenagers with their parents. The chatter and constant 'I'm Mr Wise Guy' explanation would occur. So, spare you the trouble. Any worried parents that their kids will turn out bad just because they have piercings? Fuck you all. Conformist pricks.
To me, before I pierced anywhere. I would always do a whole lot of research and digging up of personal experiences from friends before I let any needle or piercing gun touch my soft, angelic skin(Go ahead, laugh. It's not true anyway.). I believe I'm not really much of a risk taker. Call it whatever you want(directed to the macho-wacho beefed up dudes), I call it a sign of intelligence. Do you know that a piercing on your eyebrow that went grow could lead to rupturing a 'fat' vein and cause massive amounts of blood loss and possibly death? Or perhaps the lesser of the two dangers, constant twitching due to the irritation of minute veins that cannot be seen by the stud. Or the worst of 'em all, getting some idiot virgin piercer and watch him push that needle through your eyebrow and into your eyeball, if you're lucky your cornea. Ouch.
Back to my main point. Piercings have allowed me new experiences. It has taught how to appreciate my natural body(forced diet by tongue piercing and that really increased my pain tolerance level a whole lot.), responsibility(taking care of piercings, blah.) and lastly- A sense of Identity. Don't give me all that peer influence bullshit. We all want to be special, look deep down inside you and scream to your conscience that its not true. If you hear someone screaming Fuck You! while you're supposed to be all alone.. err. Run out of the place.
So, end of story. Quite messed up from the Vodka already. Piercings aren't as bad as you think, Mom's and Dad's. Just think about this, when everybody had bell bottoms. Didn't you just want to get a pair of really nice straight cut jeans? Or perhaps the Banana Fucking Hugest Bell Bops ever? C'mon, it's normal.
Something to write here in case I forget.
Next entry's topic, The Supernatural Realm. Why does it intrigue the human mind so much? (Plays X-File's Theme Song.)
So the show must carry on..
Well, I'm back after a tremendous ordeal that some people obviously won't let me get through easilly. So she messages me, calls me and is she really that dumb? Or perhaps I do mean something afterall. The more I think about it, the more questions surface and I find myself thinking about the 'could haves' again.
The Indonesian Reds that I'm smoking is seriously taking a toll on my lungs man. It's fucking heavy shit and I have 8 more packs to smoke. God help us all.
Studying, the item foremost on my list of things to do. Is the thing I've been doing the least really. I'm not one of those people who lie about not studying just to let the competition lie low. Seriously, I don't give a fuck. Though I really should care more. I guess I will soon and I'm kinda intelligent so hopefully things turn out fine.
There's a open slot at George's every Saturday night. If we could get it, it'd seriously be a taste of my lifelong dream.
A glint shimmers through the cave, I walk toward it and..
She says no.
So, I gathered up my courage of whatever little of it I have and told Dannelia how I felt. She seemed expectant and almost as though she had a whole lot of practice turning dorks down. She very calmly acted as though it was another 'one of those dudes' kinda thing. Hey, it's me man. I thought we at least had a strong friendship going on. Oh well, what can I expect eh? I sat in front of this screen for yet another hour, listening to Dust In The Wind by Kansas and Led Zep's Stairway to Heaven. Just to get the emo juices flowing, they're flowing but the words don't seem special enough. Special enough for her, she deserves my finest work ever. I write songs all the time but it's strange 'cos I just can't think of any words to put down that will accurately display how I'm feeling.
How to sing it? Think Aaron Lewis(Stain'D), Placebo dude and Bruce Dickinson(Iron Maiden) rolled into one. Try to do it in Bruce's tone in Iron Maiden's Blood Brothers.
So what shall I title it? Her name sounds like a flower, so..
It's called 'Forget Me Nots'
The flowers are dying, the flowers are dying.
In their golden glory, nobody's trying.
The flowers are crying, the flowers are crying.
In their golden glory, here I am crying.
We sat on the bench, to catch our breath.
This journey together that had no distance left.
Hopeful reminders ease my mind.
This pain has rendered, me blind.
Blind to the world that I once called love.
Blind to the guns and wounded, the bloody doves.
This entire mistake, it was all my fault.
Smell the dying flowers, forget me not.
Let time speed you on your path now
I shall not worry about how
I must forget the dying flowers
For my anguish is a tower.
Absence Of Serenity
Hmm, whats wrong with being wrong? Wrong or rather different from what you term to be correct. If we live to be ourselves, why should I care about what you want me to be? Now, I should like Confucius or something. It's all fucked. Ever since the O Level Pressure began, I have lost my love and fluidity for writing. I went to my blogger thrice today, anticipating the words to flow like a ruptured vein. But no, nothing happened. I thought and thought and thought. Is this my end?
Angst. - MTV's Our Song special.
Was watching TV that day when I chanced upon MTV's Our Song special. The MTV people set a theme for the week (e.g Angst) and you're supposed to suggest songs that illuminate how you felt during that theme (e.g Angst). The episode that I watched was themed after Angst and they played Radiohead's Creep. My holy bananas, I have been in love with that song ever since. With lyrics like, 'When you were here before, couldn't look you in the eye. You're just like an angel, your skin makes me cry. You float like a feather, in a beautiful world. I wish I was special, you're so fucking special.' Honest, down to earth goodness. This song combines rage caused by insecurites and the pain of rejection. I'm totally in love with it.
So this week has been rather eventful. Went out with Dannelia, watched Corpse Bride and Longest Yard, got my tragus and upper cartilage pierced. I was playing around with my ears today, trying to see if my previous ear holes had been completely closed and to my surprise they weren't! Now I have two lobe piercings, one tragus and two upper cartilage, all on the left ear. I kinda have a idea, like you know the Two-Face character in Batman The Movie? Yep, everything on the left. Planning to get a left labret, eyebrow, conch and my long awaited Celtic Cross Symbol on my left chest or bicep area. Far fetched? Heh, you have no idea what I actually really wanted to do. My current plans would seem like elementary basics to you if I told you what I had actually intended to do with my face.
Got my prelim results back. 27 points for 3 subjects. That kinda score is enough to send my lazy arse to ITE already. Not that I have anything against ITE but I would rather go to a Poly.
What I need now is a miracle, alot of hardworking-ness and loads of pig brain soup. Strange, why would eating a Pig's brain make you more intelligent? Don't get all that grandmother herby recipe stuff.
Rope in the western medicine, down with the cheena pek herbs!
This is My Family.
I've decided to touch on a rather sensitive topic to some, violence at home. It's a reality, I believe in every couple's endeavors together there would have always been moments where the partner was really 'asking for it'. What happens after that is purely up to them. Moments of hostility will always take place in households, be it shouting, ignoring the other or at the extremes- the use of violence.
There is no doubt, that the kid or kids in the family affected by violence is affected or rather influenced by the violence. At the teenage years, the mind is more receptive to behavioral influences that other forms of information such as books. The kids go on to grow up, marry and continue the cycle of abuse that his father passed on to him. Talk about carrying the Family forward eh? Books such as the critically acclaimed 'The Boy Called It' have touched millions and given a lifesource of will to fight on in abuse cases. This blog's address is actually inspired by the book.
For a man to hit a woman, it is disrespectful and disgusting. Maybe it's just that my Mom ingrained these values in my head or perhaps it was the spiked
Agar Agar she fed me with every Saturday morning at the market, I remember terrible diarrhoea issues on Saturdays. Was it some mysterious anti-abuse powder that she put with my favourite dessert?
Hitting a woman is an obvious display of cowardice. Physically, the woman is weaker most of the time. Why would you wanna fight someone whom you know would not be able to fight back? Cowards, thats what all those abusive spouses are.
I guess, the worst part for the child or children involved would be the divorce. No matter how abusive the family, most of the time there are always happy memories that had happened, proabably a long time ago. The emotional torment of being separated from one to please the other and the surreal 'splitting' that every divorced child feels. Some choose to take their frustration and pain out of games, sports, music blah. Sad to say, some are also influenced that since they are children of the divorce, they are incorrigible,corrupted and putrid little shits that no one cares about. So, what do they do? There you have your answer to gangsterism participation which lead to theft, fights and so on. I'm not saying that in the equation of gangsterism, the divorced child is always the constant. It happens though.
Well, not all children that come out of broken families turn out bad, look at me!
