When I look into your eyes
I can see a love restrained
But darlin' when I hold you
Don't you know I feel the same
'Cause nothin' lasts forever
And we both know hearts can change
And it's hard to hold a candle
In the cold November rain
Siren's Song
Saturday, October 18, 2003
My proposal to do my neurobiology term paper on how excessive and/or frequent alcohol bingeing can possibly wreak havoc in Hannibal's fabled palace of memories just got approved. What a way to honour my alcohol tolerant friends! My greatest respect goes out to those who can drink like a fish. Hur hur hur.
On another note, me thinks me have been blogging too much. I've got this mental blog (block?) thing in my head running twenty-four-seven. As I stare morosely out of the bus window (actually ignoring some stinky ah pek with fleas hopping on leprosy-struck skin and dandruff the size of snowballs flaking, ops no, a-v-a-l-a-n-c-h-i-n-g down the mop of a head (a really yuckilycannotmakeitly filthy mop too - kapui!). Ops, did I digress? Anyways, as I stare outta the glass pane, I blog. As I walk down the streets, my attention flitting from person to person, face to face, I blog. As I sit on my ceramic throne tending to necessary purification matters of my inner system, I blog. As I stare up at my ceiling fan, spinning monotonously, I blog. I blog anytime, anywhere, any place. I just blog, in my head. My faithful mental blog.
Yet when I connect to my cyber kingdom, fingers all ready on my magic-wandy keyboard, I can't seem to blog. Words evade me. Avoid, bilk, double, duck, elude, eschew, shun, shy away. Totally and utterly S-I-A-M me.
What happened to those grand ideas, beautiful songs and magnificent rhymes? That maelstrom of thoughts that threaten to consume me?
When I come online, it feels as though I've been sucked into another consciousness. I'm no longer on my own, no longer tumbling and freewheeling in my make-believe world - contained within myself, yet vast enough to transcend all boundaries of space and time. Heaven within the confines of my cranium. Why do I still seek solace and company from the Internet then? What is it that my mental abode lack?
A pet? A plaything? A prince?
Perhaps so, perhaps not. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I know not why. But do I care less? The only thing I'm sure of is that the net saps away my energy, yet I'm drawn to it, lapping it up like chilled spring water in summer's heat.
