Punishingly dumb.

Okay. And here I thought the world couldn't get any more lenient...and dumber.

Here we are, the ever-gullible public demanding the need for stories and then [mis]placing our faith in the writing on the papers. Yes, how lovely news reporting truly is. Except that the kangaroos have got it all wrong.

So Singapore has a death sentence. And we do it by means of the gallows. And to some of you dumb Americans I know, people are still executed here with a noose around the neck. Now as the world becomes lazier and so mind-numbingly "humane", capital punishment is supposedly wrong. What with the case of the recent Vietnamese-Australian national's offence.

And the newspapers there had the cheek to falsely claim a bunch of wonderful hogwash and then cry pity for a refugee which some of your countrymen are less than willing to welcome on your own soil.

Let's just say that the hangman still has his job and by falsely reporting otherwise, it hardly makes me ponder the stance of the Aussies. Sloth does enfeeble the mind with conscience. Do yourself a favour and don't follow your ancestors. You are a penal colony afterall.

Why I speak with such confidence? Simple. I have my links to the local prison peoples and I don't mean just growing up next to one for the past fourteen years... The death sentence is a wonderful thing. It reduces the cost of living and fear is the greatest gift to running a society.

Dumb, dumb roo buggers.

Tch. Femininity?

So, like, I ran through some of the SPAM from my Mumsy's e-mail account. There was this supposedly inspirational -- to me anyway -- little tidbit about a woman's feeling good on the inside... and I'm not talking about getting knocked up.

Something about "have-to's", "need-to's" and "ought-to's". Whatever. All that clutter in the head and that kind of shit. I guess it must really be neat to just let go and not begrudgingly cling on to memories like a shrivelled up old witch. Well, my old self died a torturous death, sad to say, and I couldn't possibly dwell on the concept on conscience...since I can't sleep well either, with or without one.

It'll be just like a post-dinner afterthought...so I picked up a cat by its tail and threw it to see if it landed on all fours. It didn't.

"A SAM gone rogue? Hmm."

Oh, yes! More delightful man loving from my side of the bed. That old crone of so many gamers is coming next year, spring. Whenever that is. It's always summer all year round where I'm at. Can't imagine what it'll be like wearing winter clothes in 85 degree temperatures and 75% humidity. I dare you not to sweat. Piece of cake, right? Dumbasses fashion people. You can't even bloody cook for crying out loud.

Hubba Hubba.

Lyne Out.

"Lest we forget"

Lest we forget...

Let this day be a tribute to the fallen and not just in the field of Flanders.
This be the eleventh day of the eleventh month of this year.
We remember you.

Amazing how many things we tend to forget, even this day has slipped the minds of most people. I would often hear stories about the days of Colonialism and this is one of those many things that stays in the curious mind.

Why poppies? I will never have a clue. I am no biologist but I hear these plants are of such resilience that they can grow in...Asia. Har Har. In all due seriousness, even the bloodiest of [modern day] battlefields, a lovely red flower sprouts on the ground where the numbers have fallen.

And I have to say... K-19 is truly a tragedy.

"In a year, Earth hasn't been the same."

Exactly a year ago, the Covenant descended upon our world and threatened to take away our very existence. And we answered to their challenge, with a Spartan. The circle is near complete, our civilization's legacy pushes on to survive. This is Halo.



But -- Who am I kidding? This was a big project no doubt and an unfinished one at that. Sure I had a blast taking down the other players on Xbox Live, and then kept the fact secret that I was a female gamer. (Alas, such sweet sadism.) The primary story of this Ring World was left dangling in mid-air. Bungie really was hardpressed for their time.

Note the date : November 9th or 11/9. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that would mean 9/11, wich is also how I write the date in my part of the world. A year has passed and one full of heartache, hardship and...hope? Maybe the last one is still irrelevant.

This was also when Mumsy had her back operation, a year ago. Sure I might have lost my mind back then, and did break down to the point of incessant self-inflicted insanity. But now I am here writing. And there is little progress. I wonder sometimes how did I manage to see through this all. My world came crumbling down, not that it is all that unusual amidst the conflicts of acknowledging my own existence...This does explain what therapy is for.

It certainly has been a crazy 365...and I am even crazier than ever before. God save us all.

A festive week in review --

Wha...?

Anyway, it has been quite a bedazzling week. Literally. Christmas lights are up (not mine! DeepRaya.)and racing garishly upon my window panes. Oh, insomnia come comfort me. Also, how painfully nostalgic since the Yuletide season is around. And I really despise, no, hate Christmas. When everyone goes overly gushy about sentiment and stuff. Who needs such emotion when they cannot bother themselves with such for the rest of the year? That part of me died over a decade ago.

Be. Damned. Hypocrites.

Oh, like, I caught the 9/11 report on NatGeo on Sunday. I never realized how much I love Billy Joel's music. And how little I am bothered to sort through my CD collection.

And my therapist says what gives me the blues is that fact that I need social interaction. Just who the fuck I can get to converse with me, the devil only knows.

Patriot Games time. Turrah.