Seeking the Dark Tower

hang in there (LIEK A BOSS)

2011-11-16T21:45:00.003+08:00

Gosh. i never knew something so silly could be so popular. And to think i put in so little effort into it. In any case here is the
WIDESCREEN VERSION

and ORIGINAL VERSION

Ann Nomalie and the Ig traverse the caverns

2011-11-04T17:23:00.001+08:00

CEC RIG shirt with battle damage...

2011-04-29T12:41:00.000+08:00

Light Prancer

2011-03-22T13:16:00.001+08:00

Light Prancer, fastest grid-pony on and off the grid:

Avatar Sequels

2010-02-01T15:29:00.004+08:00

Ridley Scott will be directing Avatar 2: The Sky People Strike Back. In which Weaver's Na'Vi body is retrieved and rigged with a virus program. Eywa is then infected by the biological trojan and transforms into Enya, whose lilting strains drives the whole of Pandora into bloodlust, a Zerg-like hive community.

Things soon run out of control in Avatar 3: Rise of the Dark Na’Vi. Earth is destroyed by the Dark Na'Vi horde. The last humans escape aboard the Elysium, details documented in PANDORUM. As a last ditch effort, An android Sully is created to terminate the real Sully-of-Jarhead-Clan. He succeeds, but is captured by the Na’Vi and falls in love with Sully/Neytiri’s daughter. Together, they must find away to stop the crazed Enya-mind and purge the virus from Pandora before everything is destroyed.

Don’t miss also Pandora Earth, the spinoff series. Duke Nukem leads the final pocket of human resistance on Earth against the Dark Na’Vi onslaught. Aided by the surviving original Na’Vi, their mission is to destroy the Thought-trees that function as control nodes for the Dark Na’Vi. They prove to be so successful that Enya reanimates Miles and sends him to Earth to terminate Nukem as a priority. Don’t miss the showdown between Nukem on a Powerloader and Mile’s biologically augmented RDA AMP mech!

Ann Nomalie: The Price for Normalcy

2009-04-28T03:52:00.002+08:00

Why not. Why not start it? I have a story. Stories. I have a character. A whole host of them. I have the tablet. I have the power to draw. Damnit. I'm going to start my own story.

Go Ann!

Dead Space

2009-03-08T15:51:00.003+08:00

As part of celebrating my completion of Impossible mode with only a bitchin' plasma cutter (now thats a FEAT!) and getting a new Wacom PTZ3 tablet, here's a commemorative piece done on photoshop.

On the 1st day of March,

2009-03-01T01:43:00.007+08:00

I saw you shiver, like

the note a gust stole from the gutter
you had so recently crossed.
Wet from swill, on it written –
“Did you know it’s monsoon again?”
It's late on its promise
of a torrent that speaks
louder than the Garand you hold
But your words still hang like bullets in the air
And I will be there to reap the skeletons
that you will have sown.

no one makes it out alive

2009-02-15T03:51:00.002+08:00

I hear funny things out here.

I don’t want to stay out here anymore.
Please, I promise I’m alot better now.
Don’t leave me alone here.
I wish I could just talk to somebody.
Don’t walk behind me.
I don’t trust any of you.
From now on, no one gets out of my sight.
We should sleep in shifts.
Anybody tryin’ to leave, we kill ‘em.
He’s one of them!
You lying bastard.
Cut off their limbs!
Make us whole again.
Who says I want you going with me?
Everybody watch whoever you’re with.
You guys gonna let him give the orders?
It’s obvious this is sabotage.
Then I’ll have to kill you.
The dead stay dead.
Not here they don’t.
Auxiliary light cables been cut.
Cut? Been pulled apart.
You’re going to have to sleep sometime.
Where’s the damn flashlight?
Makes you a murderer then. Don’t it?
Whatever it was it was, it was weird and pissed.
No known survivors.
Everybody’ll be dead inside twelve hours.
Not everybody.
Only the dead survive.

3.18am

2009-01-28T02:15:00.002+08:00

3.18am
he sits by the fish-tank
seeing them drift effortlessly
cobbles and bubbles
are all that fills his eyes
fish, water, moonlight
swirling thoughts
mecurial
in a snapshot

The publican and the Pharisee

2009-01-24T23:39:00.000+08:00

I sighted land
'pon endless sea
alighted hence
away from the Pharisees
to this new land
the publican flees
still to fall prey
to his own bigotry

Whence I alone dream

2008-12-25T04:17:00.005+08:00

We lighted the moon
in full colour
our thoughts speaking to each other

We helmed the ship
that sailed with easterlies
in currents flowed to our favour

We were the serpents
twined at sea
with marinere’s bless –
So we did confess!
to the scent of our own
sweet ardour

But Lo, I wake!
the sea is dried
the land already asunder

No rain, nor clouds
my throat ever parched
and the sea still farther

Yet my tired mind
doth still preside
upon this luctuous dolour – Ah, Hark!

I thought I heard some slight
patter of rain
mayhap you were singing to me
Apples red
fields halcyon green
could it be
you still think of me?

Yea, mayhap.

but only in this silent sea whence I alone

Dream.

Turn, memory, to face the moonlight

2008-12-09T03:04:00.003+08:00

turn, memory, to face the moonlight
see, memory, the stars that linger their light
upon your face, and smile back to me
the smile that always sang to me
of days long and pleasant nights
of those times long ago in a halcyon light
so turn, memory, to face the moonlight
that i may once more see
your face in the light

I DUNNO LOL

2008-12-08T01:10:00.000+08:00

yc the whiney
though he sure be wiley
prancin round the mulberry
hands in the air a'smiley
why this silly rhymey
linked to a doggy
well
IDUNNOLOL

roses grow from seashells (I)

2008-12-01T00:40:00.001+08:00

Ask him to find me an acre of land
between the saltwater and the seasand

ask him not to tread upon the crabs lying
between the broken shells and surf

ask him find out why the whale beaches itself
suffocating between the sand and its weight

And ask him to pick up a conch
and hear of what secrets it shares with the sea

for roses grow from seashells
and the shells are aplenty.

2008-10-29T00:47:00.003+08:00

Your thought addiction
fuels depression
ignites reaction
and your head gets stuck
in a compression.

Your thought addiction
worthless contraption
worrisome contemplation
deprives your life of light
horrendous infarction

Your thought addiction
Your Jim Morrison
You are John Farson in
your own head you see
your own delusions

Your thought addiction
your thought addiction
your thought addiction
you better stop
this terrible condition

2008-10-26T01:06:00.003+08:00

I'm drinking wine, the same kind of wine, in the same kind of bottle, same as we had during our little 'honeymoon' up north in the pristine beaches. Misiognes. Some Peruvian wine. We'd drunk the wine, and we were giddy with love. But that was in the good past. Maybe I was drinking to that.
And why I walked the streets like a hobo at 1am with a bottle in hand I can't really say, but I do think it has something to do with the act of severing something akin to an artery this morning. One of the last few beams left standing. The whole day had seemed colorless after that. In any case the streets at night always seemed more appealing - it belonged to me and the dogs, no one else in sight. As if a sudden plague had struck and everyone was gone. The only ones left would be the now dead occupants of the cars I would circle in the orange sodium lights, and while it wasn't happiness, it was something I could be content with. Strange thoughts would permeate. My eyes are bloodshot, and not just from the wine.

I wish I could make something of this. It wasn't any of that kind of sorrow I felt, just exceedingly sad. Like something come and passed away.

Many of my feelings i felt these past months have been selfish, and in a way, defensive. But I think this time, while what I feel isn't selfless, I don't think its for myself entirely.

I feel sorry for the entire state of affairs.

I keep thinking, hope is a luxury i may not have anymore.

Yet i still do wish. All I can do is pray, I guess.

I must be done with all that thinking, that analysis, that over analysis. It doesnt do a thing, never managed to solve a thing.

Am I mourning?

I really can't think of anything more to say. I wish I could.

Solace (II)

2008-09-30T03:52:00.003+08:00

Solace (II)

Hope alone
flew these dark labyrinths
forever chasing the fleeing gloom
for what is there but Hope alone
that would light these dark corners?
to Wish, Perchance, it said,
one day I may light your life again.

Solace (I)

2008-09-25T02:06:00.002+08:00

Solace (I) - Perchance to Wish

So Perchance to Wish
said
Where is this thin line,
where Hope turns to Wish?
I don't know, Wish replied,
the line was never much defined, and
Hope has not been seen around
All that there's been,
has been me.
And not to forget, Perchance!

Humanity (I)

2008-09-09T02:36:00.004+08:00

Loss

2008-08-22T02:01:00.006+08:00

Goodbye, my dearest, sweetest bunny. You were the best of my days. I'm so sorry. I don't know what else to do. I don't want to hurt us anymore. I love you. I always will.

-ig

2008-08-19T01:42:00.003+08:00

I thought it was dead, so why is it still trying to struggle and claw its way out of its sandy grave?
Why is it still alive- What does it take to kill it?

You're rotted and spoiled whats the point in trying anymore?
Oh my dear ig why can't you just lie down and sleep forever?
Why can't you give up?

Mia the anger management doll

2008-08-14T02:24:00.003+08:00

Its more or less within control now, but sometimes, rage arises unbidden and unleashed, from even the simplest thoughts that lead all the way back to that place in this cave where all the bad things are stored (and that place is RED) and tied down to hold them fast. Rage, as well as worry, frustration, all the demons that ride on my back, are the particularly large ones. I dealt with these demons fine, by writing, drawing, even reading, anything that releases the pressure valves and prevent that critical build-up of emotional potential. But in transit, there are no pads to write on, no pencil to draw, and no book to read. There's a problem. I can't just punch the next thing in front of me.

Early on I had to resort to 911-dial-a-friend-in-need, but how much credit do i have in the friend-bank? Better not run myself a pauper in that department, so i turn to other self avenues. Punching walls is a no-no for me now; i've busted, then realigned my knuckles more than enough times to care for that. Music, strong rageful music that hurt your ears so much you might forget the other hurt be strong medicine, but like all strong medicines, this one comes with a price - blasted ears. Not viable for long. Hence i've taken to bloody hippie treatments like counting to a hundred while focusing on something (a knife, a candle, a dildo, ahah. thats a laugh), but thats tame medicine, not much effective when the knob is cranked to 11, spinal tap, tap-tap zap.

Ought i get a little anger management doll, a little rag one, in which i shall vest in all my rage and sorrow when i travel? I might look spare, or worse, a psychotic sociopath, but thats for them to see and me to not care about.

She'll stare at me with her sightless beady eyes, that little bitch, and I'll direct all that anger into her, squeezing the life out of her. Still she stares Ooouuh you bad, angry man and then i'll pour in my sorrow for good measure, and she'll still stare with her sightless, souless eyes and accept everything i say.

Should emotions be a force that could be transferred between entities and objects, this doll could well kill chucky and not bat an eyelid. Not that she could, in the first place. She'll be in the barrens, the drawers, the wastelands, taking my place, my fo'special place.

What should I call her?

Ah. I think i know.

Mia.

an animal's response to the fate

2008-08-09T00:40:00.003+08:00

Within the loom this tapestry's strung
threaded anew; woven dawn's first light

Clotho spins

Love that is but measured tempore ticks
away since day's first trembled kiss

Lachesis metes

Time shall be your friend, and enemy too
flames once kindled to allay night now consume

Atropos cuts.

The Fates thus cruel blind
to time's passing of our good times
what have we O why
bother for this transient lie?

response -

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it's no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn't need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn't want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

Frank O'Hara (1926-1966)

for the rose, for your life

2008-07-28T00:52:00.010+08:00

As the hoary cripple looks at me, lies in his eyes, tis what he did mutter -

Walker, you ever walk on, but truth changes and life moves on, aye, so does the world! And your world has moved on, he but titters

Yet, bit by bit, all lies silent now,
the great circuits once bustled with life, now bled to ruin.
Be that these ruins, once held life, once held light (once held in your arms)
Now winding down, now emptied out.
The world's a-moved on, the path's far a-wry (say sorry!)
all now silent in these halls of the dead.

Silent enough, to hear thy own trembled breath
nothing else, save heart's beat (thump thump!)

But deeper down, in the core,
What would have been seen (the rose!)
what held true
Tis the rose! Tis the rose!
It beats for me! It feels for me!
Nor would there be rest, nor neglect
till I see it again, beauty wrap'd upon petals.

Tis but a dim glammer, he titters, of what you hear
when lovers whisper, when sinners hunker.
Tis a sham, tis a glammer! First the smiles, then the lies!

O, Discordia!

So while glow'd it be, dim as thee (Weak as thee!)
the rose calls for attention (It needs your protection!)
Across gulf and narrow corridor, aeons away
Too far to reach, too distant to see
Still the rose weeps (for whom, i say!)
and sigh'd whisper to thee (in no certain terms)

I love thee

(lies!)

(all that you loved, all that you love, titters he,
washed away, washes away!)

Yet dauntless to destiny, (lies, lies, terrible rosy lies!)
Forth to the rose he strove (after the rose comes the darkness of hel)
To the fields of red, (blood of your suffering)
where the great stoneblack tower holds sway (demon inside you like a bottomless well)
To lips parched and broken (nothing is safe everything is a lie)
Once more his voice will sing (lovers don't last no matter how hard they try)

O Discordia!

For the rose, for thy life, I love thee!

2008-07-21T16:02:00.002+08:00

These past few ... cycles in time ... I'm not even sure I could call them days or weeks, have been so much confusion and painful purgatory. The only solace I can get right now is when I can forget; a good book, some blissful woolgathering moments, or if I am lucky, a few hours of restive sleep. At least when I don't dream so much. But insomnia sees to that quite properly.

It is like I'm lost and gliding through a dark forest, and people and things are just coming and going like trees in the thick mist.

You think I have a knack for the dramatics, baby, then you make me want to see your teeth and my fist at the back of your head.

Oh help, how am I going to find the sun, my purpose, my focus again?

Where am I walking?

WHERE AM I GOING?

2008-07-17T22:19:00.002+08:00

It feels as if the gossamer threads of thoughts in my head, now fraying, now unravelling, are slowly sagging under the weight. I try to be strong.

But

she wept, and sigh'd full sore,

while the rest of them, pale faces all

murmured and whispered;

la belle Dame sans Merci hath thee in thrall.

I am slowly losing my mind

The gunslinger walks west.

2008-07-04T17:39:00.010+08:00

The blistering sand was too hot, even for igpaws; and its claws were already peeling with the heat. It had wandered out of its home territory, still seeking her scent, and now the dunes were ready to cover another victim under their shifting sands. It would die here.

The ig finally stumbled and slid down a dune valley, leeside of the wind. It sighed. It was very tired, very hungry, and the bunny was still no where to be seen. Tracking her was made even harder by the swamp-ig's cloying scent, which masked her tones and confused the ig. Maybe that was why it started to get lost. It was too hot. The ig couldn't think. It wouldn't die, but it was dying all the same. It had been tracking the bunny for too long. It wanted to close its eyes from the sun and sleep. Maybe rest a little while. It remembered so much fun it had with the bunny in the forest. If anything, igs are focused. Now it was focused on the bunny. Ig smiled. Mentally it started to muster its strength, to get up again. Ig can do it!

And suddenly a shadow befell it. A silhouette of a flapping coat, mildly tattered, topped with a broad brimmed hat. The silhouette shrunk as it knelt down and lifted up the ighead.
Ig regarded the dark, stubbly face that shielded it from the sun.

[Painful.]

I know, ig

[No more bunny scent...]

Its alright. Rest now

Painfully the ig tried to get up on its six tired limbs.

[No, bunny's still around!]

Lie down, ig. Rest

It shook its head and tried to wriggle away from this dark man. Six limbs, now useless with strengthlessness, thrashed about. The man maintained his grip.

Hush now, ig. Hush now.

The ig continued thrashing, weaker by the second, while the man tightened his grip.

[No! No! No! The bunny!]

Still the man held on.

[Why? Let me go!]

Still the man held on.

The ig's eyes were starting to cloud over, it could barely see the man now. It could still discern dark from light, and one claw finally slashed out at the face of the man. It could see the top of the silhouette break and fall away. Ig hoped it would be the man's head.

The man's broad brimmed hat fell to his left, while his cheek split to show his teeth underneath, like a garish image of the dragon of avarice. Blood spurted. Still he held on.

[Ig loves the bunny.]

Hush now, i know

The ig stopped struggling. It tried to gasp but could not, not with the man's vice grip on its throat.

[Ig loves the bunny.]

I know, ig. Rest now

[It loves the bunny]

The creature in his hands finally stopped moving. It was dribbled in blood from his cheek wound. That would heal over time. The wound in his chest, made so long ago by a girl with a gun, would not. It had started bleeding again.

I loved her too.

One solitary drop of blood made away from his torn shirt, and it fell on the now glassy ig-eye.

It was hours before the man got up and laid the ig down. There was no need to dig a grave. Soon the desert sands would cover it, and all traces of it, from the world.

The Gunslinger walked on in the wasteland that was the apotheosis of all deserts. He walked on steadily, head bowed from the sun, not hurrying, not tarrying. The whispers of all his ghosts played lightly in his ear. Somewhere over the horizon, to the west, or even beyond this world-without-end, was the Dark Tower. He walked towards it.

how the sun sets

2008-06-19T21:13:00.002+08:00

The sun sets all the same on any part of the world. Then again, not the same. Sometimes it's a devastating riot of colors off a craggy vista, rich with warm colors. Sharp. Sometimes it's a billowy bloom of candy floss infraradiant with the dying rays of the day. Warm, but soft this time. Sometimes its only a pale hint penetrating a overcast sky, sometimes nothing at all.

Sometimes you wonder, what's it like over there? How does the sun set there? Indeed, how does it set when you're atop a mountain, looking down as the sea of red clouds begin to settle down into the valleys oncemore for the night.

I wish I could see how the sun sets over there.

i've got to ramble

2008-06-17T09:53:00.002+08:00

Babe, baby, baby, I'm gonna leave you.
I said baby, you know I'm gonna leave you.
Ill leave you when the summertime,
Leave you when the summertime comes a'rollin
Leave you when the summer comes along.

Baby, baby, I don't wanna leave you,
I ain't jokin' woman, I got to ramble.
Oh, yeah, baby, baby, I wont be there,
Really got to ramble.
I can hear it callin me the way it used to do,
I can hear it callin me back home.

Im sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea
Ive got to be free, free to face the life thats ahead of me
On board, I'm the captain, so climb aboard
Well search for tomorrow on every shore
And Ill try, oh lord, Ill try to carry on

I know, I'll never leave you, baby.
But I got to go away from this place, I've got to quit you.
Ooh, baby,
Baby, ooh dont you hear it callin?
Woman, woman, I know, I know its good to have you back again
And I know that one day baby, its really gonna grow, yes it is.
We gonna go walkin through the park every day!
Its not goodbye!

I dont think so.

2008-06-10T01:14:00.002+08:00

I doubt so, a. I've chosen a wonderful person, who still remains wonderful. You don't know half of it and probably never will. Problems will always come, and problems will always have to be dealt with. And we will deal with it. And even if it was a mistake, it will still remain a good one. You can think what you like.

Perochaeta dikovi description

2007-12-11T12:36:00.001+08:00

And its finally done! my first ever morphology description of a new species, Perochaeta dikovi, in all its glory!

A night without my (yithian) umbrella

2007-11-19T18:42:00.001+08:00

2007-09-21T12:05:00.000+08:00

the hallowed piece of tablet finally arrived, and this was its inaugural sketch. courtesy gwynne n me. heh.

Linguafeoda acheronensis aiva strain

2007-08-28T15:05:00.000+08:00

Walking back from school i caught sight of a little bird. it was impregnated.

with...

ALIENS
*dangdangdang!*

tiny anemone

2007-07-21T02:34:00.001+08:00

I may not have been to Tioman for the field trip but I've been making good at our local shores. A Dr Daphne Fautin, world-renowned expert on sea-anemones was invited over by the RMBR to take an inventory of our anemone diversity here. Accounts of the trips are here; do take a look, the anemones are a-pretty!

Other than going on all fours and getting sand under my nails (they're all raw and smarting now), getting so damn gobsmacked tired after each trip, I've also managed to help Dr Fautin illustrate one of the tiniest anemones I've ever seen:

This l'il bugger was found on a tiny seagrass leaf of 3cm. You can imagine how small the anemone itself is.

A refreshing break from scleritized structures, and now im back to drawing tonnes of fly parts.

bunny loves cthulhu

2007-07-03T22:52:00.000+08:00

i suddenly got inspired to draw old skool pixels.

Here's cthulhu fitting right into the old school famicon FF world:

(the rabbit i got from a t-shirt. oh well.)

i draw pretty hairy legs

2007-06-27T23:43:00.000+08:00

Heterocheila buccata

So.

While you guys have been enjoying idyllic seas with clear blameless skies, beautiful vistas over sunset and vibrant cityscapes at night,

this is what i have been doing.

Gluma nitida

thats right, drawing. Drawing stuff. Fly bits. These are the anterior fore femurs of the outgroup species of seaweed flies, the Coelopidae. And these are the simpler bits. Wait till you get to what i affectionately call the prothorax 'chest hair' region, the head, and oh god forbid, the genitalia. Meanwhile check out the spines on this boy!

Icaridion debile

Soon, maybe I'll post up more complex structures, all in 3D detail, complete with stippling, which means i painstakingly dot the drawing to give the perception of depth.

Willistonelia pleuropunctata

wowee. What a summer this is going to be.

cthulhu ftagn

2007-06-20T01:11:00.001+08:00

You darkle, you tinct. O ye be damned.

2007-06-13T00:49:00.001+08:00

Roland looked down from the Vista. Craggy rock sheared the harsh sunlight and cast shadows so sharp they could almost bleed you if you stepped on them. Once it had been soft shadows and shapes, where white snow put a fluff cap on each sharp rock and capped the odd conifer here and there, perched precariously on some forsaken outcrop. The river at the bottom would have been frozen. Now there was no river at all. Dust devils swirled on the empty dusty banks. Once there had been spectacular sunsets, so devastatingly breathtaking you had to stop to watch. Now it was just harsh sun plying the same route day after day without fanfare. Things changed. Time moved on. The world passed on.

and he was stuck here.

As the man in black would surely say,

You darkle, you tinct, O ye be damned.

meanwhile, at the wildfilms blog...

2007-06-08T02:23:00.001+08:00

maybe its coz i blog so much more during precious net time on the other site that i neglect this one. Anyways, here's the next wildfilm blog. Bookmark wildfilms and read it regularly!

Morning packed full of seaside fun!

If your'e interested in coming for a guided tour, you can contact us naked hermit crabs here!

Tranquil bobcat sniffing plant sex organ

2007-06-03T13:40:00.001+08:00

Stance of the 'tranquil bobcat sniffing a plant sex organ', as seen on wall painting found in the ruins of the Kithhyina Pseudopolis. The bunny rests in tranquil undernearth the bobcat (not shown). This mural demonstrates the simple lines, colors and (lack of) perspectives that dominated the art during the height of the Kithhyina Empire.

Wild Sentosa

2007-05-23T00:59:00.001+08:00

Just the day before i fly to Kerala for a week and a half, i decided to pay our shores a visit.
Here are some of the shots.

The full post is in the wildfilms blog. Do go have a look!

The Life of Muffin

2007-05-07T14:46:00.000+08:00

For those who would bother to care i've just witnessed 14 years of memories slip from my very arms and grow cold even while the fur was still soft to touch. These picture frames do not even begin to describe his life. He was a fighter to the very end; the vet needed two shots of euthasal before his strong heart was forced to stop. For once he did not even wag his tail. And to think I was talking about getting a new dog. Its disgusting. While everyone says he's lived a good, over-long life, regret still stains my eyes when i realised how much ive been neglecting him and how much more i could have cared for him. in the end it does not matter, he's just ashes now.
Its so horrible.

swamp igs for company

2007-04-01T17:51:00.000+08:00

So maybe here's a fuzzy swamp ig to keep ya company.

Retro-virus

2007-03-15T13:56:00.000+08:00

Retro-virus:
Definition - A type of virus that has RNA instead of DNA as its genetic material. It uses an enzyme called reverse transcriptase to become part of the host cells' DNA. This allows many copies of the virus to be made in the host cells. The virus that causes AIDS, the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), is a type of retrovirus.

Also, known as a virus that was found in the 80s:

Haw, Haw.

are you sure which side you're on?

2007-03-07T23:41:00.000+08:00

See the animal in his cage that you built,
Are you sure what side you're on?
Better not look him too closely in the eye,
Are you sure what side of the glass you are on?
See the safety of the life you have built,
Everything where it belongs
Feel the hollowness inside of your heart,
And it's all...right where it belongs

If he could fall and spiral into the darkness

What if everything around you,
Isn't quite as it seems?
What if all the world you think you know,
Is an elaborate dream?
And if you look at your reflection,
Is it all you want it to be?
What if you could look right through the cracks,
Would you find yourself...find yourself afraid to see?

if he could question everything

What if all the world's inside of your head?
Just creations of your own
Your devils and your gods all the living and the dead
And you're really all alone
You can live in this illusion,
You can choose to believe.
You keep looking but you can't find the woods,
While you're hiding in the trees

If Trent made it out alive, then why can't I?

Meet Pann Demie

2007-03-07T04:04:00.000+08:00

This picture has always allured me. maybe one day i'll have something similar to show. Personally i call it the fair. Woman with the headscarf and brolly might be called Pann Demie, sister to Ann Nomalie. Who knows? We'll see...

(copyrights go to the Flying Sotong Can. Don't you just love her art!)

half life of fright

2007-03-04T16:48:00.000+08:00

a friend posed this statement:

What happens if you get scared half to death.. twice? *ominous tone*

um, you die? I mean, its like scared twice of half equals one, heck, that means your life is effectively scared to death, fully! Ha!

Genius people (like me), turn around and say, Nay, young padawan, you still have much to learn. Look at these figures and understand:

Lets consider your life represented by a bar, for your simple brain's comprehension's sake. Now, if you were to be SCARED HALF TO DEATH, it would mean you'd have, yes, yes, clever padawan! Half a life left!
Alright, enough rejoycing, little trailhand, there's still much that remains to be unfolded.

Now. Suppose you were scared, as we've defined, HALF TO DEATH again. Gasp! Does it mean the remaining life you had would be gone to the death of fright?

Think carefully now, little padawan.
No. I suppose you still need guidance. Gaze upon below figure and see if you understand:

Its simple math, you see. You can get scared half to death for an infinite amount of times, but never die. Your life just gets halved and halved but never reaches zero.

LESSON OF THE DAY: You cant get die from getting scared half to death, twice!

Well. Upon this brilliant explanation i was told to

"...get a life, you moron..."
"wtf yc where the hell you get so much time for such shit..."
"dude. (insert finger-flipping emoticon here)"
"oh man you need to get laid."
"errhhh...."

See? Genius is always misunderstood. And unappreciated.

- Yc out

hello, mail

2007-03-02T16:10:00.001+08:00

He scanned the expanse that was the desert. All around him was golden sand and clear blameless sky. As if it was supposed to sound that nice. The air was harshly dry and seemed to suck moisture from his breath. Still, it was beautiful.

All he had for now was his guitar, companion and sometimes friend, which even now was cracking in the heat of the sun. The desert was not kind to those made of wood grown from luxuriant forests. And the mailbox as well, its bright red paint nary faded from the sun but nonetheless peeling. Somehow the letter he sent from the wasteland was coming back. He looked onward over the dunes, trying to spy the nimbus beyond the horizon.

He tried to strum a few lines from an interstate love song, singing to the desert how some hickboy was hitchhiking on a train southward bound, explaining how some lies had made him decide to see the world from a carriage window. The chords rang thinly through the hot air, straining to reach past the dunes and gave up. Nothing made past the desert’s wide empty spaces for long, and it was a straining effort to even go past the few dunes circling the lonely knoll he was on. The song was soon ditched along with the guitar when he forgot what the rest of the lyrics were. The desert didn’t seem that concerned about hickboy’s ride on the train anyway. Maybe he made it to where he was going, found a job and settled down. Maybe he continued on the train until he was discovered by the conductor and thrown onto the rail. Maybe he got raped by a hobo. Dosen’t really matter, does it?

He stroked the neck of the guitar lying by his side. As if on cue, the top string finally broke in the heat of the sun. He stared at the now errant string ailing on the sand. Oh well. Just have to make do with five strings. Its just that the solos might not be that good anymore. Still, no worries.

Pink is a color. It is also how a letter being popped into a mailbox sounds like. He got up in a hurry, kicking hard alkali dust onto the guitar. The other strings were following suit, finally giving up and snapping one after another, slapping the body of the guitar in one final cry. The guitar itself was also beginning to crack, whiten and shrink. Like hickboy, the guitar was reaching its end of the road at the clearing. It was a shame, a sad thing, but it didn’t matter to him anymore. He stared at the mailbox and walked towards it.

He opened the cover, and darkness fled further into the recesses of the mailbox.

Hello, mail.

2007-02-27T00:39:00.000+08:00

well damn it sometimes i just wish my hands would get better and my knuckles wern't that busted up.

Sometimes.

wait....

2007-02-25T02:30:00.000+08:00

This big hairy monster sits on me. I'm unable to move. It looks down at me from its perch, from my belly that is. Its not even that big. maybe the size of a mouse? Maybe it seems big because its so close to my face. Like how butterflies seems like Mothras when they get up close to your optics. But it seems so heavy. And it carries a look. The look says, you will stay here. It says, you are helpless. It says, you cannot resist. It says, you are strengthless. I have a look that says, I'm hungry, i think i need to eat. Its eyes fill my universe. It says, you don't really need food. You can just lie here. It says, you're stuck. It says, Stay. With me.

I stay.

It has alot of names. It has all sizes and shapes. It is called, apathy. It is called, procrastination. It is called, inertia. It is sometimes called depression, but everybody knows thats a totally different monster altogether. They just happen to be mistaken from time to time. It was here the very moment Man had things to do, errands to run, projects to finish. It is, old as sin. It IS one of the original sins. It is sloth. Not the three or two toed ones, not those that live exclusively on the trees, lives a saintly vegetarian life, comes down to the ground to poop only once in a few months, no. It is Sloth.

And it sits on me, with all its weight that is comfortably numb.

But something will come along and chase it away soon enough.

I think it's called panic.

Well, I'll just have to wait.

dumdedum.. dumdedumm....

Mort

2007-02-11T22:54:00.000+08:00

He remembered being summoned into reluctant existence the very instant the first protolife came to be. It was but a sphere of hydrocarbons with some rather complex, self-replicating molecules in them. The first protolife appeared and died^*, and with that first swipe of His scythe^**, the certain knowledge was there that He would be the one taking every life there ever was, no matter how big, how small, how great, or insignificant.

He would outlast the last life there ever was, and with the final sweep of His sun-crushing scythe^***, all would end and He would be there still, to, proverbially, sweep up the bits and pieces, stack up the chairs on the tables and keep the registers, put up the CLOSED sign and turn off the lights. The lives he took would have gone to wherever they would be going, or where they thought they would be going, but He? He would be there.

And the He remembered the finality, the loneliness.

He remembered the nothingness, and the eternity.

For ever.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*It was actually one of the molecules in that sphere that had made the mistake of trusting and aiding replicating duty to the others, on the promise of itself being replicated in the process. That was life’s first foray at creating the first rift between the somatic and the germ line. Being a first time try, it wasn’t very successful. In the end the sphere budded off a new spherelet, taking with it all the viable resources it could get from the mother-sphere, but without that poor, cheated molecule, because they had a better resource generating molecule. Which teaches you that if you want something done, you should do it yourself. The poor molecule was left behind, to contemplate its worthless existence for a while, churning out resources but now bereft of replicative capability, before being engulfed by another new, predatory sphere^†. That’s evolution for you.

^†It was the descendent of the spherelet, whose descendents decided that it was easier to take over readily made resources rather than synthesize new ones.

**Well, it was actually more of a metaphorical digestive heme-containing enzyme complex; a scythe wasn't something the simple molecules could understand.

***The last life in the universe, incidentally, would be a sentient sun, who within ten minutes of achieving sentience, realized that he would be very lonely, and decided to try giving birth to a nebula in hopes of creating more suns from the nebula. Thus he went supernova, and in the process, wiped out his binary twin-sun (who had yet to achieve sentience) and created a supermassive black hole^‡. This black hole would eventually suck everything through to its core, and coalesce into a new particle. Once the pressure of this present reality had died, this new particle would expand and explode into a new universe, as it had done, so many times.

^‡ Smart as the sun was, one realizes that mathematics is never as cracked up as it seems to be. Einstein would tell you that. In short, the sun miscalculated how much it should have gone nova.

The Pornstar Pixies

2006-12-03T13:16:00.000+08:00

When i finally form a band, i will call it "the pornstar pixies", or PSP. The first album will be called:

The Frictional Adventures of Staticman and Rugboy.

Being a concept album, songs will revolve around the innings and outtings of the frictional duo staticman and rugboy, and their daily attempts to restore peace and love in this burnt out paradise of a world. Eventually, each song will be made into a cartoon for saturday mornings, aimed at teaching young children everywhere the importance of peace, love, acceptance, and how a little rubbing can induce things to stand up (static, my dear watson).

Here is the proposed song list:

1. static man and rugboy
2. a mouthful
3. hymn of the fudgepackers
4. best whore of my life (time of our lives)
5. buttman vs staticman (instrumental)
6. all buttered up
7. the horny march hare
8. gimme gimme gimme (a man after midnight) (cover)
9. i feel your love (inside of me)
10. starslut
11. dick asks pleasure first
12. no protection (cover)
13. condom cowboy (the bone ranger)
14. staticman and rugboy (reprise)

Records will hit the stores in march 2007! Reserve your order NOW!!

(all proceed will go to save the needy boys* fund)

*needy boys = YC.

species concerts and mnemonics

2006-11-25T22:40:00.000+08:00

"whats that? you want to know what species concert is?"

Well the first was when God created animals and they all sung in happiness in the garden of eden.
The second was when God got kinda pissed and created the great flood. This time each species had a pair of animals, who, like the first time, sung together on Noah's ark.

Oh what? oh you mean species concept?

oh this site has the answer. phish. why come bother me?

Oh and here's a mnemonic to help you along your work:

For those who just cant remember our biological classifications, here's one yer bound to rem:

King Phillip Came Over For Good Sex.
or,
Kathy, Posie and Candy Ordered Five Good Sperm.
this is easier to remember, but it ought to be read assward first:
Some Guy F**ked Our Cat! Poor Kitty.

Why the 2nd one i dont understand. I didnt come up with it. The third one, well, im sure its the easiest to remember.

In fact, here's a whole list:

"Kings Play Chess On Fine Grained Sand"
"King Phill Classed Ordinary Families as Generous and Special"
"Kevin Places Condom On For Great Sex" (From the manga High School Girls)
"Karen, Please Come Over For Gay Sex" (from Saturday Night Live's TV Funhouse)
"Kinky People Can Often Find Good Sex"
"King Phillip Came Over From Germany Seeking Valor" (standing for variety).
"Some Guy Fucked Our Cat, Poor Kitty" (reverse order).
"Kids Playing Catch On Freeway Get Smashed"

from wiki, the lazyman's encyclopedia.

Now run along and study for your exams. i hope the site and rememberathingy helped.

yc out

because you touch yourself at night

2006-11-18T02:50:00.000+08:00

Know why dinosaurs died out?

Its because you touch yourself at night.

cough like defense

2006-11-08T15:08:00.000+08:00

"laughter is a cough-like defense that occurs when a reader's cognitive facilities experience a sudden overflow of information -often in the form of a paradox, silly face, or boobie*"
-Nicholas Gurewitch of the Perry Bible Fellowship

*note: great tits apply as well

-yc out

gluttony.

2006-10-22T21:42:00.000+08:00

Thats why you should always chew your food.

and dont bite off more than you can chew.

I found this dumb archer fish (Toxotes jaculatrix) choked to death on one of its tankmates. And neither fish came cheap, damnit. Toxos are opportunistic hunters, grabbing anything they can. They've got specially adapted mouths to shoot accurate jets of water to bring down whatever hapless bug that may pass above the water and gobble it down in a quick munch. Hence they've got big mouths.

But not big enough, appareantly.

What a way to go.

Both were flushed down the loo of finality. Rot in peace, my little amigos.

the ice cream palour

2006-10-19T00:03:00.000+08:00

i walked up to ice cream palour, stopped at the edge of the door, looking
to the edge of the market square where the stone patriot had always stared
along the street so many mothers sighing, their children were left crying
while the newsman wept and told the camera, "its all really ending"

i walked down the street, and picked up a little girl
tears that ran down her cheek left clear trails upon her face
she cried "where's my momma" and that she wanted her back
i said, hush now baby child momma's not coming back

the cops finally came over, clearing away the crowd
curious onlookers, yet some did weep aloud
the queer whos partner, left lying on the street,
knelt and kissed the feet of a priest "please, can't you do anything?"

and i thought, was there anything to be done at all?

fukuoka day 1

2006-09-23T21:40:00.000+08:00

sporadic net comms doesnt do justice to what i want to tell you guys. i had to retype this twice. Anyways, here i am in Fukuoka, Kyushu, at my 1st international conference. The once every 4 years, 6th international congress of dipterology. tomorrow's forensic science and diptera. That includes maggots for gangrene therapy, pig corpses in CLOTHES to tell the level of decay according to the maggots and so on. Its geek galore here; so many people eager on their work. And one guy whom im real keen and excited to talk to, Wolf "thats right, just like the animal"Blackernhorn. Hes one of THE diptera behaviorologist. gosh. soooo excited!

Anyways, placewise this place inst that beautiful; mostly very boxy, modernist buildings; there were almost 2D buildings that were ludicrously thin - you could spread out your arms and almost cover the width of the flat. I wonder how any one manage to live in them. An to play along with the modernist/cubist theme, the hotel is BLOOODY snall; me and my roomie have to squeeze into this wee cubicle where when i open my suitcase i cant open the hotel door. The toilet... well imagine an airplane toilet and then enlarge it twice. There you go.

Oh and one thing that tickled me pink were the commodes themselves - they got buttons and all to 1.warm the seat such that it felt like someone had just sat on it for an hour, 2.rinse your prosterior, 3. rinse a women's anterior(!!!!), 4.blowdry it and even 5.make tweety little noises to mask your fartin and all. heh. hilarious.

the keyboards here are really wierd, and lapse into jap language now and then. annoying.

k. till then, maybe more on the conference itself. AND shopping. Wowwowweewaaa!

-yc out

OH! IM READY FOR IT!

2006-09-13T00:07:00.000+08:00

What happens when you smuggle aboard a host of poisonous snakes in your suitcases aboard a plane?
What if there was turbulence that jarrs the suitcases off their racks?
What if the snakes were all black mambas?

Snakes on a Plane's one good movie you oughta watch. If you liked pulp fiction, you'll love this! What really caught my attention though was Cobra Starship's music Video of Snakes on a plane (Bring It), which can also be found on the official website as well. The blonde's a sassy one too!

Samuel L Jackson says: Enough is enough! I've had it with these mutherfucking snakes on the mutherfucking plane!. Pulp fiction nuff ferya?

With a gazillion spoofs in its wake, you should also check out (among the cornier ones) aadvark on a tank, racoon in a spaceship.

Oh im ready for it! Bring IT!

sly one

2006-09-03T00:22:00.000+08:00

oooh. sly bitch. hands up now, don't be shy; how many of you blokes been wiled away by them vixens? This with special reference to someone of great charm. oooh yeah you know who yer'ah!

2006-09-01T19:59:00.000+08:00

it was an august morning when i was told,
'its time to go'
and as i turned to you, you smiled at me...
how could i say no?
oh to fill the head
with wistful dreams and wishful air
then came the bells that sang
come to thee thy fancies have...ave...

ay... we cross a bridge

set beyond the endless hills
from those who claimed they knew
was a secret spring of joy
that bubbled, brooked and flow...oh...owed...
oh to smell the streams
of nectarine;
fair maiden hair
only you, this feeling remains
that's passed beyond and now never had...add...

come to touch the dreams of old
before they turn to stone
everything we know and see
will all be set in stone..own...own...
oh to fly away
like travellers of both time and space
only the feeling remains
in celebration of a dream.

ay... we pass a crossroad

and the rains of spain, fell mainly on the plain...
yes the rains of spain, fell mainly on the plains...

(thus walked on the man of la mancha, seeking chariots! gold! secrets! fire! he came across the mighty atlas mountains, and there on, the story is told, what happened no one now knows)

alert

2006-08-13T11:34:00.000+08:00

Uh huh. Exactly as is what it seems.

So did Lord Perth fall

2006-08-13T00:36:00.000+08:00

you'd never expect so much blood to spill from such a small cut. And in such a short time, too.

So did Lord Perth fall, and the countryside did shake with thunder

there are other worlds than this

2006-08-04T14:13:00.001+08:00

Remember, the man in black said, there are other worlds than this.

Roland looked at the warbling thinny, pockets of existence worn so thin they had practically broke down the core fabric that was time and space. To look at the thinny directly, as some of the old folks said, would draw out your soul into its maw, so that the next person foolish enough to gaze upon it might see you within its squirming shimmer. Even glancing at it from the side had made his eyes water. And then there was that high pitched warble that went straight through his head like a nail.

He looked around for the final time. All his history, all that he was borne with, all that he had made, lay here and there in disorganised clumps. Here was a rock he had collected along the shores of the mythical river yamuna, there was a lock of hair given by someone so fair halfway across the world. And beyond was the carving he had made, half done, its half formed face staring its accusing stare - you made me, but never finished me. Finish me off! End me now! He turned away to look at something else less disturbing. There, there was his red guitarro, rosy as ever, and he had remembered the good times he had with it, and all the times it had helped him while away the moments in the wasteland, before it was broken and left behind in the sand dunes, its silent cries ignored. All his memories and worldly belongings. They had all tumbled out of his gunna, his pockets and belongings, as if a wraith had rummaged through his life and strewn all his memories in their physicalities across the wasteland.

Soon, even all this history might be so much worthless crap left to set in stone, left forever in
this wasteland, the drawers, forever gazing its blind idiot eyes into the barren sky as the sun made its way across it every cycle, each day playing its rays a silent devastation across the land. Maybe in the future (or past, time had a way of fucking around forward and backward in this world), he, or some other hapless traveller would come to this place. If it was someone else, he wondered if that person (or thing...) would have the same blank, deep emotionless darkness he felt now.

This is it then, Roland thought. Endworld starts here. The endtimes are coming, so the gannalach said. "The lands dry, the seas parch, and there will come the time when all will be set in stone. The world is moving on, and events are set into motion that which cannot be reversed; discordia will consume"

Roland took a step towards the thinny. It drew to him, and repulsed him at the same time. I go to a new place, then. Leave you all behind. The wastelands. The deserts. the waystation. Mia, in all her beauty and all her previous incarnations. The inner baronies whence I came from, when all was still misty and beautiful, at the dawn of time. And yet, you only step through to another wasteland, isnt it? The man in black's bitchy titter. This world is dead.

Elsewhere, a person (as it thought itself to be, but not in the homo sapiens kind of way; in the loligo kind of way, h'targn was its name), found himself in a huge dusty hall that seemed to have kept time frozen throughout all the ages of the millenia. He drew towards that shimmering portal that was tennhauser gate. It took what a gasp would be for Roland, and drew to its full height. I come, it thought. From this undying stagnation elysium, I come. As both h'targn and the oracleas the key, I come! For c'thon, for tethys, for all my beloved loliganth, for the fufillment of the gannalach, I COME! you will open to ME! Arran! Open your eyes! I now leave Sheol!

Elsewhere, in the void that filled the space between stars, the entire fleet was amassed and prepped for the jump. The last few scout escorts and repair corvettes docked into the mothership, and the rest of the frigates and capital ships reached their final alignments. One final broadcast as fleet command echoed through the radios of all the ships, cutting all chatter.
We are here. Coordinates for tennhauser gate are now set. The Eye of Arran is activated. Mothership drives are fully charged. All ships prepare for the exodus. We leave K'harak for the last time.

Roland sighed and stepped into the warbling thinny.
Tyler darkled and tincted, tittering gleefully as Roland dissapeard from this wasteland.
Ralph tossed about in his bedroll, dropping even deeper into the dream that was all about darkness.
H'targn, eyes ablaze, strode into the shimmering wall of water that was tennhauser gate.
Hyperspace windows opened in front of each ship, and drew the entire fleet into the Eye of Arran.
The wordslinger put down his pen, and reached for a new book.
And all that was left to rest, was set in stone.

Elsewhere, a world is being born.

Stacy's not good enough

2006-07-30T22:52:00.000+08:00

each time i listen to fountains of wayne's song "Stacy's Mom" i grin a big wide grin. And this is why:

Stacy, can I come over after school? We can hang around by the pool! Did your mom get back from her business trip? Is she there, or is she trying to give me the slip?

You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be,
I'm all grown up now, baby can't you see....
Stacy's mom has got it goin' on!
She's all I want and I've waited for so long....

Stacy, can't you see you're just not the girl for me..
I know it might be wrong,
but I'm in love with Stacy's mom!

The attraction of.. ah.. mature women. =D. Com'n guys, stop eeeeeing and hissing, i know each of you have had THAT fantasy too, eh? *nudges*

Got milf i mean milk? XD

Ralph and the stars

2006-07-30T04:39:00.001+08:00

Ralph did not so much wake up as he did move from a state of sleep to un-sleep. He opened his eyes to a black nothingness, and then blinked a few times, as if such an act would shed light in the infinitesimal darkness his eyes perceived. He could not comprehend it. Why is it nothing… am I blind? was the first thought that ran through his barely conscious brain. Then his mind and the rest of his consciousness, held up in the customs while checking out of never-land, finally caught up with Ralph and woke him up, reinstating sense and order into this perception of nothingness.

Damn rag, he muttered as he reached up from within his bedroll to pull off the quilt that he had snuggled all the way up to his forehead. Darkness immediately gave way to a splash of soft glittering jewels, pinned upon a coat of the darkest velvet, gracing his view and welcoming him back from his sleep. It was an exceedingly clear and crisp night, and at this altitude, the night sky was so clear you could almost imagine you were staring at the sky through a telescope already. A sudden image came to Ralph; a huge galactic star-map studded with so many pinpoints and an arrow pointing to one of the miniscule dots somewhere down the bottom left side, with the words YOU ARE HERE ->. It was oddly romantic, and it made him smile.

Not millions but trillions of stars clustered and squeezed into the huge expense of sky, ringed only by the crowns of the ponderosas that surrounded this glade. Ralph drew in a soft gasp of wonder. Out here there was not even a cottage light to be seen, so even the faintest of stars could be seen without much effort. Star clusters were everywhere, and the Milky Way ran its faint band, traversing the lower left region of his view. To the right he could see the slightest sliver of the waxing moon, not bright enough to block out the nearby stars but enough to show itself as a huge grin in the sky, like the Cheshire cat. Right above Ralph was the Corona Borealis, with its seven sparkling gems inlaid in the crown staring down at him. He led his eyes down to the unruly mess (to him at least) that was Serpens and Ophuichus (heck, even the name seemed messy), and then finally settled is eyes on the most discernable constellation to him. It was Scorpio, the bright and elegant sequence of stars that held one of the fire-jewels in the night, Antares. He snaked his eyes from the imaginary head of the celestial scorpion all the way down to the curl of the stinger.

He smiled again, this time with a tinge of sadness. He remembered, almost a year ago, and halfway across the world, had he first recognized the constellation. And when he had left that place and took only its memories, it was bittersweet.

Lay as I might
halfway across the world
where even stars may shine different
tonight I walk in your dreams yet again
if I can't see you now
I'll wait for you
to put the light back in my eyes

Then again they didn’t seem to shine so differently after all, he mused.

It was a full five minutes that Ralph spent motionless, with only his eyes moving from constellation to constellation. Time to time he would catch sight of a dim satellite crawling its way across the sky, and follow it for a while, and then he would dart his eyes away to catch a shooting star. Finally he settled on Polaris, and propped his hands behind his head, content. He watched each breath that he exhaled form a little mist that lingered in the scant light for a while before dissipating. The campfire beside him had burnt low; all that was left was steady warmth and a few red embers, like the stars in the sky, only red. Bliss was close enough to perfection to be content with.

Ralph snuggled back into his quilt, and went back to sleep with a content look that was few and far between come these tiring days and nights. Trials and tribulations may come soon, but for now, it was respite, and it was perfect.

It was bliss.

2006-07-29T12:15:00.000+08:00

Out of the warbling thinny came forth this:
Soon followed after by this:

speed knots

2006-07-23T12:40:00.000+08:00

here is how you, the asian dude, should pick up caucasian chicks.
*eastern msyticism + mumbo jumbo shoelace tying voodoo*
or at least manage to save 0.03s of your time in acutally fumbling your laces.
or just go velcro.
From my favorite vlog, rocketboom with amanda.

Cthulhu Visits Insectary

2006-07-22T01:32:00.000+08:00

ok, this i will share so that if i dissapear off the face of the earth you might have an inkling to my fate.

As most of you might know, i have been staying over in lab the past few days for an experiment. Having recently obtained more than 30 species/samples of flies, including a species of goose-dung specialists Themira Flavicoxa, we had a few time-critical experiments we needed to do. And especially so since the bird flu scare has killed off most of our sources of goose/duck dung. (amazing isnt it. want shit also cant get. harrumph.)
and what better time than now?

That actually means overnighting in lab. Again. So, there i was, waking every 2 hour intervals to check on the flies. Still am, in fact. That means, NO GOOD SLEEP AT ALL. My head right now is a tired fuzzle of static and white noise. sigh. That also means that you might fuck up the cultures and have to redo the procedures each 2 hour interval, turning it into a 4 hour interval.

Now, the place where i work in, called the insectary, consists of nothing more than a narrow room cluttered with incubators and rows upon rows of cultures of flies. the door lies on one side of the narrow rectangle. It was yesterday when i was sleeping on one of the bench tables with my measly bedroll, when i thought i had fallen asleep on the microscope chair, eyes ringed on the microscope itself. I started waking to some.. sensation, and the door suddenly opened a little, then closed shut again. As if something had kicked the door open halfway then decided not to come in. And THEN i felt my friggin chair being dragged towards the door, which was in fact still partially opened.

What do you do in such circumstances?

You yell and try to move your limbs that cannot move and finally after an eternity wake up and nearly fall off the bench table.

I kind of think that cthulhu might have been giving me a friendly psychic tug, maybe it had been one of his horrible tentacles that had sneaked in and decided to drag my chair to his warm maw. only that it was invisible. gah.

Do Not Fuck With Cthulhu.

maybe i should lay off the calamari for a while. IF you dont see me for the dinner, maybe its just because cthulhu is actually snacking on my eternal soul. nyeh.

...and no birds sing

2006-07-17T11:48:00.000+08:00

'O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

'O, what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.

'I see a lily on thy brow
With anguish moist and fever dew;
And on thy cheek a fading rose
Fast withereth too.'

'I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful--a faery's child,
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.

'I made a garland for her head,
And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
She looked at me as she did love,
And made sweet moan.

'I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long;
For sideways would she lean, and sing
A faery's song.

'She found me roots of relish sweet,
And honey wild, and manna dew,
And sure in language strange she said,
"I love thee true!"

'She took me to her elfin grot,
And there she wept and sighed full sore;
And there I shut her wild, wild eyes
with kisses four.

'And there she lulled me asleep,
And there I dreamed--Ah! woe betide!
The latest dream I ever dreamed
On the cold hill's side.

'I saw pale kings, and princes too,
Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
Who cried---"La belle Dame sans Merci
Hath thee in thrall!"

'I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.

'And that is why I sojourn here,
Alone and palely loitering,
Though the sedge is withered from the lake,
And no birds sing.

The Gunslinger: Prelusion

2006-07-15T11:01:00.001+08:00

The Gunslinger walked on in the wasteland that was the apotheosis of all deserts. He walked on steadily, head bowed from the sun, not hurrying, not tarrying. Somewhere, he knew, maybe in the same desert, maybe in other worlds than this (for he knew there were many) a Wordslinger was chronicling his every step. Hush now, Gunslinger, the wind whispered in his ear. He pushed it aside. The Gunslinger walked on in the wasteland that was the apotheosis of all deserts, seeking the Dark Tower.

The Gunslinger: The Waystation

2006-06-29T13:22:00.001+08:00

Roland lay on the floor, bleeding. The last shot had been so unexpected and so sudden that even his honed senses could not provide any warning. The bullet had gouged a large ragged hole in his shoulder, ragged like his breathing. His guns, those that had spilt so much blood, now lay spilt from his hands, silent and unmoving. He moaned.

Slowly the shadows cast by the waystation in the hot blistering sun moved, and spit out a little form. Roland's eyes, watery from the shock and the sun, could see only a light coloured frock moving towards him. A light patter of feet on the hard alkali dirt signalled her approach.

"Hush now gunslinger", she said, mopping his brow and shielding his eyes from the burning sun.

"I was there all the while, yet you saw not me. Too preoccupied and too aloof you were."

Still she continued to mop his brow, dust his shirt, making him feel comfortable, but did nothing to staunch the blood slowly seeping away. The hard soil sucked it up like a greedy thing, leaving only an ever-growing brown stain.

The gunslinger was now giddy with pain, and to raise his head up was like moving the mountains far beyond. His eyes finally found focus and saw who was it above.

It was one of the sisters of Eluria, the one that had been the first there to greet him, smiling, before she was pushed away by him and the rest of the sisters. The one that had brought his medicine down to him when he was in his own hell of fever-delirium brought on by the endless days in the desert. The one that had stroked his hair while he slept. Or feigned sleep.

"I watched you all the while. And i needed to know, needed you to know". She raised the little revolver awkwardly, looked at it with a frown and dropped it beside his heavy, polished, sandalwood-grip guns.

"Hush now", she said again, lightly kissed his lips and bade him to sleep. Roland fought to keep his eyes open, to see her, to tell her he was sorry. Sorry while she continued to bleed his life. Slowly but surely, he got weaker and weaker, and even now his eyes were no longer his own. The sun was now but a pale moon, and then slowly nothing, save the distant bells of todash and discordia, spiralling deep into nothingness. Death.

***

Soon he would wake up, all wounds healed, his shattered bones mended like nothing had happened. He would get up, looking at the scar that would remain for all eternity. He would collect his guns and wipe the sweat off his brow - his lips he could do nothing for they were cracked beyond feeling - and dust his shirt, then will himself to walk on again. The first try and he would he fall back, but manage to haul himself up with enormous effort on the second. He would reach for his waterskins, and find nothing in it. There never was, it had been like that the past few weeks, yet he wouldnt throw it away. Someday he would find an oasis, someday. Then he could fill it up.

And all he had was a notion of a light patter of rain, a few drops hitting his forehead, one even managing to fall into his mouth. A cruel, harsh feeling, yet oddly refreshing. Yet there would be proof of the rain - for he would see little flowers all blooming around him, latent things lying dormant, waiting for a slight respite to bloom. They would die in a while, but not before they lay their seeds, their hopes down to the hard soil to wait the next rare shower.

Then the gunslinger would walk on, winding his lonesome way in this tractless wasteland, the apotheosis of all deserts, seeking the Dark Tower, ever always seeking the Dark Tower.

NOT A CHANCE, CHUM: Ellen Muth

2006-05-18T01:35:00.000+08:00

In today's episode of NOT A CHANCE CHUM, we look at ELLEN MUTH, or better known for her dead-girl-reaper character Georgia 'George' L. Lass in 'Dead like me'!

Aint she a beaut? That intense stare melts plastisteel like so much butter, while those pouty lips are just so _____able. Defiance is all in her! Look at the cocked shoes with the simple floral design. All grrrrrrrrrrll and more sass! Her low (slightly) nasal tone can only add more to her saucy effect. Words are inadequte for her uncommon beauty. That steely gaze bears intelligence too, she being a Mensa member (hey hey so am i! wowie! chalk one similarity!). She collects burmese cats! actually i love burmese cats too. I really do! i love their er pelts - really lovely. Really. Anyway, she drives and races an SS, well, i drove and raced a jeep (well... illegally). Shes a Pisces just like me, and im just 2 years shy of her age. But since when does age matter? She looks a sweet 19! Starting since young, her acting careers is admirable, having played selena in 'Dolores Claiborne', and winning an award for that. She clinched another award in 1999 for 'The girl and the hurricane', an indie film where she plays a rebellious teen. Rebel ahead, Miss Muth!

In DLM character, she plays a 18 year old girl who dies on her 1st day of work - killed by falling space debris from the decaying Mir space station. A Zero-Gee Toilet bowl, to be exact. After she getting blowed up, she's recruited as a reaper.

Newest (and cutest) reaper on the block - stunned from an obviously unglamorous death.

Reapers take the souls of those who are about to die, and help ease the transition for the dead to their 'further destinations'. That she's dead dont mean her body's dead - she's still full of young fire, and gets into a hitch quite a few times in the series. In 'Send in the clowns', after having her finger ripped off by the paper shredder, she feigns faintness so that her dumb-as-a-doornail but 'hot' (he dont look that hot to me... nyeh) co-worker 'rescues' her, all for a little office politiking. What would i give for just that cameo role. Heck - ill even play a cameo for free as one of her reaps.

Look at her sweet innocence blowing bubbles. ooh. perfection. I give her a 9.99/10. These pictures are not so much for you as it is for me to look dreamily each time i visit my own space. I would die to talk and talk and dive into those eyes and get lost in those lips and...

you get the picture.

If you havent watched Dead Like Me, hustle down to your nearest video stall and rent it out now (better yet buy it). Its not just eye candy - the series is hilarious and thoughtful enough to have you asking for seconds. But of course if you do manage to get me a George poster pinup i will be eternally grateful and be your bitch for a day.

I know i will die one day, and all i wish for is to have George as my reaper. But of course, its NOT A CHANCE, CHUM.

Right folks - here's where you poll. Now you've seen how astoundingly wonderful Ellem Muth is, vote how well YC will do in getting a date with her - the poll's on your right! Vote now, and leave all your encouragements and congratulations on how superb YC would pull it off in the comments section.

Thus concludes the 1st episode of the not a chance series. Stay tuned.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Oh yeah...

By the way, dont you love brits?
I absolutely adore them. Here's one.

The reaper Mason from 'dead like me'. Absoutely british, in fact VINTAGE brit rock of the 60s. that means lots of hair, bad hygiene, worse breath, and absolutely British manners. Which means horrible, disgusting.

- yc out

trained flies

2006-05-06T02:27:00.000+08:00

I realise that its too soon to complain about my state of listlessness, my holidays are now suddenly packed full with the impending ISMS, PLURAL. And no rest. I do realise its fatigue eating away at my bones, but what can i do?
A simple wish of curling up for a few days at home or on a beach with NO homo sapiens around might be too much to ask for. To do something non-work related, to squander away time legally, and happily, and not with the constant axe above your neck.

At least im going to be doing what i like. The happiness was palpable when the boss finally answered that nagging question - is this material paper-worthy? YES. I have a goal now.
And Doc Don, ever the nicest prof ever, has been so accomodating to my requests and sent me home with a few readings to help me along the biosemiotic way - id been looking for Temple Gradin's Animals in Translation for so long and now its dumped right on my lap. Gradin, being a rahter severe autistic woman, is able to see what the animals percieve better than the general homo populace. In short, she provides a very objective view on the subjectivities that science so much shuns. A new perspective here on ethology and behaviour would do nicely right now. Grin. One more book to devour.

And speaking of beahviour, lookit this:

Eyebrow twitchy isnt it? My take? the flies are drugged. If you'll notice, all the flies have their probisci fully extended - very unnatural - i only see this when they get doused in alcohol. They look rather sluggish too. All flies move darn fast, and especially for this fly, a tabanus, or horse fly, is a blood sucker on (you guessed it) horses. Since horse tail makes a mighty good fly swatter so you'll bet their reflexes are lightning. Only now in this clip, you see them behaving like ineberated men.

Oh i do hate that silly jap guy eyes a-bulging going OOOO OOOO OOOO like it was some midget giving birth to elephant kind of scene. Damn japs.

Anyway, i'd say the turn-around was probly caused by either some physical trick (pulled by strings or blown down - im betting on that), or that the flies in their drugged state react to the finger and the shadows cast by the finger. From here on it gets easy - the playing with the balls is just the fly's motor-reflex to walk, hence rolling the ball around like any good circus bear.

So in the end, id bet the fly is in alot of discomfort and probably pain if it could feel it - extension of the probisci say as much. As ive always said, japs are wierd. Sick ol lady. We'll see what beachball you'll be rolling around, with your tongue permanently sticking out of your lockjaw, after we drug you wont we?

nyeh.
yc out

want to be a rancher?

2006-05-05T03:35:00.000+08:00

back then you had deadlines to drive you on, now its just up to your internal reserves of self determination - i do hate that. sigh. things that ought to be done, in the immediate future:

....

now im at a loss

himalayas prep, talk to fayeth on regarding supplies
finalise chalet stuff
ism with doc don
ism with prof (which is a bitch)
grant from usp for fukuoka
plan itinerary for bintan trip

and half a million other things that will nip me in the butt in no time.

muse: dont kid yourself dont fool yourself this life was too good to last.
Im coughing alot less but nonetheless i feel like my lungs are in rot or something - its refusing to go away. I might get lucky and die, i guess. Of course, i wouldnt want that till ive expereinced all the wonders of the seven seas and beyond, so i guess im still stuck with the choice of life. Its beginning to become a real drag. Asked a friend last night if she'd want to live in the rustic country, complete with grit and all. Rancher style. Like those in Montana. Beautiful sunrises, stunnign sunsets. Snow in the winter, flowers in the summer. Milking cows and collecting eggs each morning. Bringing the cattle out to graze. Shooting the cayotes. Shearing each year. Driving down to rodeo each year. Repeat. The same, the same. She said id be good for a while but the monotony would eventually kill. Hell is a special kind of stagnation and languishing. I was left pondering with that the entire night - its more been a case of me driving myself onwards all the time since the more recent part of my life. Just following the signs, maam. If it really came down to the beautiful monotony and simplicity, i doubt id have a problem with that in the end. Id just sink back in. And that souless stare. Lord knows ive been there before, for a long long time. I dont know if i want to go back. And maybe i do. And not.

I've got so much to do, but id infinitely rather sit down and rot in my room reading a book maybe a whole series, food can wait, sleep can come, id be prefering to rot and not do anything but hating no loathing it immensly all at the same time. So many feelings, wow. Gah.

yc out.

why rubber was invented.

2006-05-02T01:38:00.000+08:00

Ive heard news to which i can only say, they should have watched this advert before anything of this sort happened:

Other than that,

YES HOORAY im going to Fukuoka! Seems that my indica material was good enough after all! But theres hell lots to do now to back up what i have.

That chestburster in lungs seems to have died down for now; no i havent seen a doc and i dont intend to - im wholly capable of whipping the bug myself. With copious amounts of PROCODIN if need be. nyeh.

And...
Pet mantid Regina's finally mated! short of almost eating up prince william ( i was screaming when she pounced on him and started to nibble on his wings), they managed to mate twice at least. The copulation timing was cause for worry - too short for my liking. But im sure at least some sperm packs at least got to her spermathecae. None the less i'll try to mate them again tomorrow or the day after. Pics and movies on their nuptial up when i finally digitize them =P

yc out

seeing and feeling my hands

2006-04-28T01:18:00.000+08:00

meds so strong it kicks you high...

Lia, bless her soul, for my ailing breath, 2 nights ago proffered me some wicked-strong PROCODIN cough syrup that 'may cause drowsiness', which also warned me not to 'drive or operate machinery'.
Which could mean my laptop as well.
5 minutes into taking a swig i could distinctly see and feel my fingers tapping on the keys.
10 minutes i could see the room. and i could REALLY feel my hands.
and next thing i know, im goozling in bed, the sun is bright, my phone's beeping for me; my dad calling me to wake up.
i did.
and then next thing i know, im goozling in bed, the sun is bright, my phone's beeping for me; my dad calling me to wake up.

bless dad for his snooze function in the wakeup calls.

It was like some fucked up groundhog day sequence while high on flaming deathcaps. Even then the grog was still in my head, but feeling and infinitely better and thinking i was actually sensible(or maybe not) i decided to run the old charger up the slopes of PGP. I think i cheated death twice, once with a horn. i DID in fact physically scrape against an A service bus - that was when i was trying to adjust the bike seat. But thats just between you and me, k? Couldnt see the driver's eyes but i bet they were daggers. That was yesterday.

***

The wonderful thing about PROCODIN is first, you get a little heavy. You *can* in fact feel yourself swimming. Then comes the pronounced finger thingamajimie feeling hands that kinda thing. you sway. Wonderful stuff i tell you. why valium when you can PROCODIN? Gets rids of coughs fine too.
oooh.
and why can i tell you this?
coz im going to go out like a light again. but ill see how long i can last. It gets especially heavy when i tilt my head.

Ah. Alls well ends well.

SHIT DATA = NO DIPTEROLOGY CONGRESS IN FUKUOKA

2006-04-23T01:24:00.000+08:00

The Master of The Universe (that being the Lab) said:

The Dipterology meetings in Fukuoka are coming up in September and the abstracts are due on the 31.April. Here are the usual tricky issues:

(1) Funding. I will support the whole operation with SGD 5000 from the NSF grant. The rest will have to be raised by yourself.

....
....

I will rely on you to make up your mind during the next few days. If you don't submit a title and abstract, you won't go. All titles and abstracts have to be vetted (first by fellow lab member then
by me). So, get started soon. Please let me know if there is anybody else who wants to go…

I have SHIT data and hence practically NOTHING i can talk on, other than the frigidity of sepsis indica AND EVEN THEN ive found out that this may not even be true anymore; id missed some minute but VERY important telltales signs....

How am i to go now? The deadline is far too soon!

arghhh

sucks to be me.

yc out.

tats is gone.

2006-04-21T18:44:00.000+08:00

sigh. is tats dead? is he bound to a chair being tortured right now by one of the MATRIARCHY's hench-women? has he been abducted by aliens and being anal probed? coz there has been no update to sinfest since that piece of mature action, dated MARCH 22. sigh. Dissapointed.

Dissapointed also with another group of people, dissapointed especially with a downright inept person who let his personality take over his job and hence muck up what has been so painstakenly built and cherished. For the other i reserve only my special brand of hellfire; woe betide that.. affront.. should i ever get a chance to dish it out.

Things to update after exams

-Safety stuff for himalayas (yes, im going). particularly worried that alot of the folks dont really seem to know what they are in for.

-Hunting trip to Malaysia. IF i do manage to catch this really rare mantid, ive got an instant, publishable ism right in front of me, and not to mention that each of these critters go up to 150USD a piece. I can record my flies there too.

-Another hunting trip tentatively to Langkawi or Frasier's Hill. Flies on the agenda once again.

-Planning the itinerary for the bintan trip.

-Planning the chalet thingy, which i did not even realise that i was involved in. bleah.

-DINOSAURS! exhibit!

-more ISM work with Dr Don n Dr Lonce

I think thats more than enough for this stretch of hols.

yc out.

ARE YOU CONNECTED?

2006-04-06T02:26:00.000+08:00

Its hellish 2.24am and this guy came up to your door and says, 'Hey dude, please take one'.

wtf?

You expect some residential warning, maybe coz you leave your shoe mat out that and that 'constitutes as an obstacle to people while evacuating during a fire drill'.

No such luck.

It appears to be a spam flyer, and it says, in attractively garish technimulticolour:

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
CAMPUS JOINT
YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR COLLEGE
(show picture of 6 ordinary looking people smiling in a group photo, and a shot of temp YST conservatory).

(on back)
How many do you know? Campusjoint is an online social networking site that allows you to connect with your college friends in Singapore
(show collage of normal looking people trying to smile)
Register today!
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Undoubtedly the SDU has a finger in this endeavour somewhere.
But... so tame.
Collage has complete CMIO, but all look so averagely drab - where are the hot hot babes you'd be meeting if you sign up? all sho nerdy...
And oh shit. you think you see someone you know.
Suddenly it seems alot more sinister.

But wait!

Sign up a friend and you will recieve our exclusive goodie bag filled with goodies!

You peer in:

-"CAMPUS JOINT! IM CONNECTED!" T-shirt. (80% cotton, made in Thailand)
- "Hi, I'd like to know your name! What to say to your date" - a booklet on dating
- Crinkle-nose-no-more Deo spa aromatheraphy Soap. "Basic hygiene for dummies" pamplet included
-"Who's afraid of the Cooties? What you should know about the opposite sex" (another book)
-vouchers and coupons to a number of candlelight dinner outings
-Free pass for 2 to MOS (on sunday nights only)
-Whole stack of SDU flyers
-and a whole load of other junk.

Wonderful.

On the otherhand, dear peeping tom of NTU, who in actual fact happened to be my class CHAIRMAN back in the days of yore, appareantly was visiting his girlfriend, was too lazy to go upstairs to the gents, and went straight into the girl's loo. Girl exits from shower, screams. The rest is history.

Now this sounds awfully like what we have up here in PGP. The Fat-Blondie-who-looks-like-an-illegal-VCD-seller-who-laughs-like-a-hyena as well as loonybitch's gayboy happen to use the ladies quite often. Once the cluster leader, miss petite, was in the loo when TFBWLLAIVSWLLAH walks in. She screams and screams at him while he quickly backs away.

Now why wasnt this guy caught and subject to the same ridiculous situation as my NTU friend was?
Unfair is the world, and it continues spinning.

-yc out

Someone loves HBK

2006-04-02T22:24:00.000+08:00

Well, i must say this should not be approved of at all, such mischief will almost very likely lead to mayhem unrest and anarchy, as such we can not tolerate such criminal acts like a little redecoration to the NJC crest:

I am of course, still heartened to find that some kids still have the spunk to pull of something like this. Salutations to the mischief monkeys of this project mayhem.

Appearantly last week students coming to school saw the lion adorned with killer shades and a cool handlebar mustache to boot (me heart). The letters in question actually stand for Heart Break Kid Shawn Micheals - a prominent WWE wrestler. I personally worship HBK - one of the coolest, most tenacious fakers no fighters in the ring.
The mischief must have been done in the night; brave souls scaling ladders and pasting cardboard onto the crest. And most probly with the involvement of house/council members (access to roof IS restricted after all).
A refreshing sight to the boring crest we'd seen all the while.
Soon enough of course the cardboard was removed, much to the dismay of students. AND THEN the school authorities had to call in the cops, if only to investigate a non-malicious act of creativity and ingenuity.

Imagine the pepertrators caught - and there would be no choice but to charge the kids. Treason and sedition, rabble rousing! Reminds one of the buangkok white elephants.

My heart goes out to the kids. Viva La HBK!

slytherin henna + Cocktalking

2006-04-01T12:35:00.000+08:00

Happiness is a warm henna tube - I have my first customer!

Jet was going for a hogswartian-themed party, and in coming up with a mythological creature, i decided to go maya-egyptian for her and do a quetzlcoatl design to embrace her hand. First decorating her palm and fingers, then on to the snake bracelet:

The hardest part was actually to do the tendrils around her fingers, as (dammnit) she kept on laughing and moving around due to some idiot who was there as well cracking jokes. It got smeared a few times and had to be redone again.

Spraying the henna to seal it. Frowning shows frustration in trying to get her to BE STILL. It was on for most of the time. And eventually, the final product emerges.

The full dorsal view of hennasque and snake bracelet:

In the end i got too tired to draw the quetzlcoatl wings; i was kinda worried about the class i was supposed to be in too. I think its fine anyway, she'll go perfectly fine with the Slytherin parseltongue club =D.

Closeup on hennasque, dorsal:

Thin penmarks visible; they'll go away fast while the henna stays.

Closeup on hennasque, ventral:

Note how the tendrils on fingers fit together to form lines on both ventral and dorsal sides.

And the final pose:

Ssssspectacular! And she promptly went for shopping - gah. Jet is one who moves around so much that the henna was peeling off within 20 min, even after the spary-seal. I just hope it dosent come out blotched... I did warn her...

Oh well, im satisfied with the outcome, anyway.

Alright. Meat is my canvas. Next?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After that was the HCAP closing dinner - they'd invited Colin Goh of talkingcock.com for a dialogue. The guy's a natural comic. I bought a CD off him, and managed to get his snapshot:

So did Lia and Ab:

And of course a shot with the wonderful girls of HCAP. that's Eva n Vic to the left:

*GRIN GRIN GRIN*

heh. yc out.

Its a boy!

2006-03-28T02:38:00.000+08:00

Remeber the zombie cockroach a few posts back? well here's a clip of one emerging. Congratulations, its a feisty boy!

Caution: contains scenes that may not be suitable for young roaches.

Thanks to Zimmer and Dr. Fred Liebersat, oracle of the emerald cockroach wasp.

Next critter post: Whats this cute, furry little mouthless fly got to do with us humans? (And, no, it dosent revel in dung).

There are some horrible creatures out there in the world, and then there are the really horrible, horrible, nasty little things out there in the world. Stay tuned.

-yc out

ammonite tattoo

2006-03-24T01:56:00.000+08:00

got no time to post on blog, got time to do henna:

An extension of what i did for gwynne before, now incorporating the ammonite to hold a bracelet design.

Bracelet upside, closeup:

Bracelet downside, closeup:

On the person:

I havent peeled off the henna paint just yet, so the design looks a little rough. Come monring i will peel it off and look brand spanking new. fixing it with some gel spray generally helps. Periodically applying heat (blowdryer or otherwise) helps fix the acids in the dye better, making it darker.

there we go. want a henna? let me know. I dont just do disturbing stuff like this; cute/wimpy designs like sunshine and butterflies also available.

-yc out

letters from the wasteland

2006-03-17T02:46:00.000+08:00

Should i fall out of favor
of the paths in my life
to chase a feather in the wind

Yet again to wander
the wasteland that beckons
yielding the tears of bitter alkali
that one alone knows

The apotheosis of all deserts sings
as the smallest grain of sand
holds the promise of an eternal spring
nigh within grasp
and never within sight

And the invisible sun that shorns its light
bakes the ground
but a light that never
never warms
and still the feather spirals upon the thermals
points yet to the nimbus beyond the horizon

I am a traveller within this time and space
inside this terrible desperate beauty
All that has ended and all that has passed
are witnessed mutely as they are set in stone
their beauty uncompared
preserved for all eternity

I am called to sing the songs
whispers of so many lost stories
that the bones of golgotha can only cast
to the winds that sing their testimonies
to speak of stories
of the thread that never finishes
the tapestry unfolded within
of another epic
told only in secret
as we call to it silently
last stand, last stand, this is the last stand

Dancing high above the crowds
in the loneliest of places
is a silence that calls out
last call, last call, this is the last call

Now to cast my letters in the sand

Now to set my letters in the stone

Now to finally send
the letters from the wasteland

bushtushmushgoosh

2006-03-16T01:03:00.000+08:00

"Teach a child to read and he or her will pass a literacy test..."
No shit, sherlock.

Dont Misunderestimate Bush.
Ever. This cute little thingamagimiewhateversitcalled flash animation contains excerpts of booshisms collected over the course of his career. I'm sure theres more out there, but its good enough just to hear 27 clips. Some make you laugh. Some make you fall off the chair. That famoose one on 'tribal sovereignty' made me cringe.

props to fiza for letting me in on this gem =D.

that aint a lion.

2006-03-12T20:40:00.000+08:00

A sailor and a giraffe walk into a pub, and starts challenging each other to drinks.

The giraffe finally falls over piss-drunk, and the sailor starts to leave.

The bartender yells at the sailor: "Oei! You can't leave that lyin' there!"

The sailor turns 'round to look and says

"That's not a lion... thats a giraffe..."

Totally humorless.

Vlog foray to Big Sister's Island

2006-03-06T01:55:00.000+08:00

Deleted the videos; they were screwing up my blog. Go to the wildfilms blog (linked) to check out the videos.
-yc

***This is a virgin foray into vlogdom. I’m planning to set up a affiliated video blog with dedicated servers (Thanks Ria for the dough!). Hopefully the shitty resolution will be solved, and ill have it up and running by May. Then we can tinker around with the vids and see how the networld reacts. This way we can do trial and error as well as teaser build-up to the WildFilms documentary to come (guess who gets to host it!!), when it finally gets done***

***DELETED***

Snack for ockies.

Then, on to flatworms!
Here’s a really tiny tootsie one – 1cm! Spotted by the wondereyes in our team (obviously not me):
And another. One of the more common of planarians:

Off the shallows to the other lagoon; here are some soft corals:

Im not too sure about the last one. I'm not sure if these are anthazoans (the little guys that make up corals) or bryozoans - sometimes called moss animals. My knowledge breaks down here. Im pretty sure this one below is a sponge, though. A wierd-ass looking sponge, if anything:

(This sucks but my coralology isn’t that good. Ill be able to give a better commentatory once I go through some basic coral books =P)

And some algae:

Alage that becomes a pest at times.

In certain places they clog up entire waterways and kill off life in that area. In other places, algae is grown, managed and harvested for pigfeed, human food, etc. D'ya know that all icecreams include alginates from some algae; that which makes the icecream smooth and not chunky?

I found this beautiful featherduster worm swaying in the current:

These guys are polychaete worms, which means ‘many-bristled’. There are many kinds opf polychaetes, from errant predators to sessile feeders like this one. What you see are appendages they use to filter the water and drag tiny stuff to eat. Once disturbed, they quickly withdraw their ‘featherdusters’ from harm.

Then on to the beach, where I passed by ghost-crab central:

Note all the crabprints around, made by ghost crabs. These guys live further inland, and are quite big. Not too sure about their habits, but it should be a scavenger-predator role.

I also saw evidence for an abduction. See the scuffle and monkeyprints? There are macaques on the island, and these guys are known to eat crabs. This hapless crab was almost home when a monkey must have plucked it up for a quick snack. Random death is everywhere =D.

And that was all the time we had. After a quick breakfast we hopped back on the ferry for the really big island.

And coming back home, stupidity and tiredness hits again while in the car:
Ria in driver’s seat: *brings hand behind to reach for seatbelt and asks for assistance*
Yc in backseat: *shakes Ria’s hand*

Idiocy to the core. I need more sleep.

- Yc out

pics from BANG KOK.

2006-03-04T00:48:00.000+08:00

The hands say stop, but the heart says go on... What am i saying? Shouldn't it be the other way round?

Anyway.......

Meant to do this for a long time. I'm sure you've all been to thailand, so ill spare you the touristy dregs and get some more candid shots up. From BANG KOK. What a name, huh?

I'm sure all of you know why we go to bangkok for. The shopping of course. To shop for what kind of mech i'll leave it up to you. But the best reason actually happens to be all the imitation brands you find there for dirt cheap prices. By imitation brands, i also mean things like this:

Donald riding high on the starbuck success, high on coffee as well and drooling. But nothing really comes closer than the real IMITATION JEWELLY. I didn't know you'd have to imitate the spelling too. Nice try though:

And when i saw the dame, i really couldnt resist. She seemed pretty stoic about the whole affair too. This was taken just seconds before the shop keeper came to save her immobile lass as the culprit took off...

After making off with the snapshot, i stumbled across this gem. She’s gorgeous, she’s dangerous – and she sings! Male convenience store clerk by day, fabulous drag queen/ secret agent by night, Iron Pussy must yet again come (WHAT?) to the rescue!

She's hot i tell you, and only thing is that she's a he. heh. A pity i didnt buy the DVD. But thats enough shopping for a while. Off to the Chao Praya river, where dont we all remember how National Education's decree to imbue young minds with racial harmony and diversity required secondary school (or was it primary) chinese text to include the LOI LOI KRATONG festival. As we went to the ferry we spied this dog acting just so dawg. Lazy bastard was still snoozing there even after we came back some 3 hours later. I still can't figure out how he got up there.

We took the river tour, and while the guide was spewing her bad engrish, i was really impressed with the great waterfront property:

I mean, its RIGHT at the water's edge! No water woes here!

No suprise that the plants here grow so well, eh? They practically overtook the house! Somehow it feels so eldritchy, with Tim Burton undertones... Dionaea house should take this as their model i say!

One wonder where their plumbing goes eh? Convenience at the maximum and woe betide the neighbour downstream. heheh.

Waterfront porch too. I bet it'd be cool to keep ducks in there.

Hee. I just found this hilarious.

Well, here's the rest of the waterfront. And this concludes today's lonely planet BANG KOK edition.

- yc out

its got a wonderful defense mechanism

2006-02-27T22:36:00.000+08:00

"its got a wonderful defense mechanism.. you don't dare kill it"
- Parker, Ship Engineer, to Ash, Ship Science officer, aboard the Nostromo as the alien facehugger bleeds its acid blood.

Nature often comes up with ingenious ways to defend itself. Take the bombardier beetle for example; when threatened, it mixes a noxious soup of chemicals that react and explode from its backside in a high pressured, high velocity 212F blast of death - that usually encourages most predators to look for an easier meal.
So there should be other creatures that do the same thing, right?

Enter the humble sea cucumber. Here we can see one putting out its mouth appendages to sweep in food to its mouth. This ground mucking, detritus sweeping echinoderm is often seen gracing chinese dishes, a delicacy as it is considered. So how many people have actually seen them alive and thrashing?

Today i took my biodiversity class down to Sentosa for a field trip. Among other things (which i will get to), i chanced upon two black cukes going about their normal buisness. And since the class was around, i decided to show them natural defence 101: How creatures come up with ingenious ways of avoiding becoming dinner.

The cuke isnt exactly the fastest of sprinters, so it cant outrun even the slowest snail. And such a boneless, fat, juicy roll of meat is sure to be eaten to extinction, wouldnt it?

Enter defence mechanism 1:
The sc if under a rock, jams itself into any crevice by inflating itself with water. It becomes very turgid and cant be pried away that easily. This is actually possible by its unique body structure. The cuke possesses a very peculiar 'bone structure'; consisting of trillions of tiny particles in fluid state floating ard its body, allowing it to move lie well a bag of water. But on command, it can actually pump itself full of water and tighten its ossicles to interlock, thus becoming very rigid. Jamming itself under the rock, enemies can't really get to it.

If that still dosent work...

Enter defence mechanism 2:
It spews.

(i somehow can't manage to imbed the video; so you'll have to go to the link here. Anyone can advise on this??)

PLEASE, DO NOT TRY THIS ON YOUR OWN. Some cukes are toxic and their spew can give you a rash. Also, it is highly stressful for them. I did this for the benefit of the entire class; so please, don't go doing it if you intend to, ok?

Now back to the juicy part. What you actually see is, as i agitate the cuke, it compacts and becomes turgid. still persistant? it starts 'peeing' water. Still persistant? It starts hurling out white sticky threads (Cuvierian tubules) that entangles its would-be predator. Guys don't laugh. you've seen this before, haven't you? Should i further agitate it, the cuke will actually spew its guts, respiratory tract and other non essential organs. Even its gonads =). This provides a meal for the predator while it crawls away.

While this seems insane, spewing actually dosent kill the cuke; it now has less innards to take care of, and its metabolism can afford to drop. In fact, in periods of stress and overcrowding, cukes have been known to spew just so they don't need to eat so much to upkeep themselves. A very 'modular' system don't you think? The cuke then regrows its innards quickly, and becomes as it was.

Some other stuff worth from the trip:

Here is a clip on how the cuke feeds. Note how it extends its appendages and sweeps em back.

Here is a clip on an octopus CUTE AS HELL which i caught. Ockys are really smart, and are the houdinis of the sea. Had the hardest time trying to catch this guy.

The ocky is released.

Blue Sponge.

Soft Coral. Just like the hard ones, except lacking the hard CaCo3 shell. Hence it looks.. flaccid.

Algae growing on a sponge.

A marine spider. These guys are tiderunners, hunting for fish with their huge fangs.

homo nussies on the beach.

the last shot before we left. Note the seagrass; they've started to flower.

We put this festival for you bastards, with all our love!

2006-02-25T00:32:00.000+08:00

Liam you fucking bastard you were actually almost on time. Fxxking in the bushes was the actual opening act:

WE PUT THIS FESTIVAL ON YOU BASTARDS
WITH ALL OUR LOVE!
WE WORKED FOR ONE YEAR FOR YOU PIGS
AND YOU WANT TO BREAK OUR WALLS DOWN?
YOU, YOU WANT FUCKIN' DESTROY US?

WELL YOU GO TO HELL!

It could all have been:
"We pour our vegetables on you bastards,
with all our love... "

With the way they were speakin, there was no way of knowing in that thick accent of theirs. They'd go "Annowow-fucking-omenohea-fucking-neeonwomoo-fucking-ouryeah" and the crowd goes wild and in kicks another song.

It was more than high i say. Concerts are worth every cent when you're mashed up front with armpit in nose and elbow in eye, singing to the rythym of your favorite tune, then every so often some white kid pours water on his long hair, flings it around, screams yeah! and shoves, and it really pisses you off and you shove right back. Hard. See the inferno, the madness: Special mention goes to fiza, whom a tall guy just pissed her off bad enough and she went SUPERNOVA and started thrashing like crazy. Needless to say she cleared precious space for me to slip in. Poor girl was just so mashed, i had to lift her up a few times just so she'd get to see something. Others wer'nt that lucky. But still, for that thrashing you gave that asshole, you one up, dudette.
Not that it wasnt spectacular. Songs generally threw the crowds wild and it was an ocean of motion. Bitches and bastards everywhere so much i couldnt see ass nor the gallaghers much at all. You fuckers. But you could see that it wasnt as energetic as those they had in manchester. For one, liam wasnt as verbose. Y'got the feeling they were mechanically belting out song after song then hahafuckyouthankyouverymuchforyourmoney and its back to the hotel to get drunk again, throw some stuff around and grope the pretty maid.

But those rare, far-off (and admittedly bad quality pictures) glimpses of Liam in his trademark bent-forward-arms-behind-the-back singing pose with a tambourine were just priceless.

It was the glimpse of a legend.

for all that we have

2006-02-23T16:07:00.000+08:00

He, for all that he claims, for all his pride, removes his thoughts from view each and every time the tide gets rough.
She, for the lack of, maintains her posture and gracefully plods each step with surety.
He, for all his power, shows how much a romantic he is through his practicality.
She, for all her power and pride, lays it upon those she believes in.
He, for all his aloofness, bends weak where it hits hardest.
She, for all her dreams, only believes what she sees.
You, for all your concerns, hold what's most dear to you closely to your bosom.
I, for all that i have bothered to care for, take each step to rediscover life, and can only stand aside to watch it wash away.
For all your darkness, you burn with a unbearable light.
For all my devastation, i can only see this life.

Recce trip to Sentosa - Critter Hunting!

2006-02-20T21:47:00.000+08:00

hey folks, im doing a recce trip for a biodiversity module to Sentosa (see here for details on wildlife found there), so if you want to come along....

It will be on this sunday, ard 3ish till 6.
Expect octopi, seaslugs, sponges, crabs, odd fishes and even the occasional coral snake.
Let me know if you want to come be email azurehalcyon at gmail or replying on the tag - leave me your email.

Will most probably meet ard 3 at harbourfront, grab a bus to Sentosa, then frolick in the mud. Tide goes down 4ish till 6ish, then we come back up for a nice meal and head home. Cost is $3 per entry, and thts about it.

What to bring:
PROPER FOOTWEAR! - There are posionous critters like stonefish there, as well as sharp rocks. Booties are the best, but an old shoe will do fine if you dont have booties. Remember to bring another set of sandals to change to!

SHORTS! We will be going down into the water and mud, so unless you dont mind getting your jeans wet, i suggest shorts that dry easily. I sont suggest bringing an extra change of clothes as there isnt any convenient place to change.

LOTS of WATER! There isnt any convenient potable water source there unless you like seawater.

HEADGEAR! ITs going to be blistering hot and no shade, so bring the biggest broadrimmed hat you have, unless you want to get roasted. Oh, sunblock as well too.

CAMERA! There's bound to be a whole lot of exotic critters you aint never seen in your life, so you'll be aching if you didnt bring a cammy.

Survival Tips:
When in doubt, do not touch! Many critters on the beach go cryptic to avoid being lunch, but that dosent mean they cant bite back! Stonefish can pretend to be rocks and pack a nasty swelling sting, while pissed-off crabs will of course snap off fingers. So do octopi. If you see a beige-ish brown conical shell with zigzag markings DO NOT TOUCH - they carry venom that can down a man in minutes. Needless to say, see snake DONT TOUCH. Its not all that bad though, but precautions are always good.

Leave things as they are. Upturning rocks expose many critters to the dessicating sun and other predators, so if you really must take a look at a rock, leave it as it is when youre done. Best not to touch it at all.

If you get stuck in mud, dont panic, bend forward and slowly extricate yourself. Holler if you cant. Someone will probably hear you.

Stick in groups!

Tides can come back up fast - so when you hear the signal to leave, please go back to the meeting point on the beach - we dont want any swept-aways.

I further empahsise - DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING YOU DONT KNOW. OR THINK YOU KNOW.

- Yc out

Yc, Snake Wrangler

2006-02-20T01:45:00.000+08:00

Went snake hunting last monday. After getting stuck in the mud too many times, getting sucked dry by all manner of bugs, after wading in water full of wriggly things, im proud to report baggin at least 10 out of 35 snakes for the day. And not getting bitten at all!
The Dog-faced water snake is a smallish, well tempered snake that hunts small fishes after dark in mangroves by waiting in the shallows for fish to come by or actively pursues its prey.

Me proudly bagging my 1st snake, to be brought back to lab for tagging and experiments.
Its done over a week each month, so there will be plenty chances to bag your own snake if you want to. Join up with Toddy Cats for access to these volunteer jobs.

Henna approval!

2006-02-11T01:05:00.000+08:00

I was in the car at the pump station when i noticed this indian guy looking into the car ever so often. He motioned for another indian dude and then both started staring into the car. I was getting rather disturbed and looked around to see if there was anything valuable that had caught their eye... and unless they were interested in GU-ZHENG MUSIC OF CHINA i dont think there was anything else. Realising my bewilderment they raised their arms and pointed at it. In the end they were actually looking at this:

T'was the hennaisque pen-tattoo id drawn during the very mundane, very boring sonic arts lecture today. They smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up. Well thank you very much

Well it isnt the 1st time ive been approved by an indian on my henna art. Deepavali saw me doing 5 hennas at least, with the full approval of the host family who had invited me to their house. I think i REALLY would like to start a henna buisness. This should be proof enough =D

Any takers?

THE GAME

2006-02-06T23:51:00.000+08:00

I have a proposal to all who read this. To play a game.
DO REALISE THAT ONCE YOU START PLAYING IT, YOU CAN NEVER EVER STOP PLAYING IT.
IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO PLAY IT, then STOP READING, and ramble on.

Good.

By reading this you hereby pledge yourself into playing the game, wether you like it or not. Here goes:

1. To know of The Game's existence is to play The Game. Once you start playing it, you can never, ever stop playing it.

2. The object of the game is to forget about it. To realise that you have thought of The Game is to lose The Game.

3. When you lose The Game, you must announce this fact to everyone present. Announcing a loss is usually done using a short sentence such as "I've just lost The Game" or "I thought of The Game" or "I've just lost", or more commonly phrases like "I lose", or even simply "The Game" both to create intrigue in others as to what the loser is talking about and as an in-joke to other Game players.

4. After losing, you have about a half hour grace period before you can lose again, to allow you to forget about it all over again, and to prevent continuous losing every few minutes. ) Failure to announce that you have lost is considered cheating, and is frowned upon.

5. If you say you have lost the The Game in the presence of non-players and are asked what the game is, you must explain to them the rules of The Game.

6. You may screw other players by forcing them to associate common occurrences or objects with the game, as well as using reminders of the game in various places either online in usernames or signatures, or in real-life locations in order to foster game-loss.

It is not possible to have the knowledge that one has won at The Game, only to have won it and remain ignorant of the fact, as if one remembers that they have won it, they have subsequently lost.

Imagine, in a lecture theather, one guy suddenly says ' ive lost the game'. This is followed by a number of groans 'ugh damnit, ive lost too, thanks bud' etc etc. Bewildered looks on nonplayers, as the players explain the game to them. Its easy to play at first, but as more and more people get to know about it, well its the game to be played.

Welcome. You are in the game.

the final bastion.

2006-02-04T03:55:00.000+08:00

The Chatterbox
as Fayeth says it so well:
"...And now, there's a new buncha noisemakers in there.Singlish-speaking, overbearing noisemakers.There is no longer that atmosphere of friendliness, when anyone and everyone could just strike up a conversation with a fellow USPer.
There was some strange exclusivity to those half-chinese, half-english speaking fellas that made me leave for the library.The only stronghold that remains is the ChatterCube.Once the 02 batch of students graduate, I doubt even ChatterCube will hold out much longer."

And that will the the final bastion. Where have friends and allies gone, when i am finally the last one left? Bleak times ahead, and hammerhelm will sound one last time before all the hordes overrun it.

one comic to piss them all off

2006-02-03T21:26:00.000+08:00

I was surfing the news when i caught this article, on how a danish comic on the prophet was drawing very bad fire from the global Muslim community, something along the lines of "Lets go Jihad! We're ready for Jihad!". Well some comics were very much tongue in cheek, like using thw words "i will not draw the prophet" to draw out a face. How ironic. The danish claim freedom of speech, while the offended parties cry for blood.

I tried to google for the incriminating comic, but this was what i found, far scarier.

A comic called the Alberto Series VI: The prophet.
In essence, the entire christian comic states that the entire vatican, the roman catholic faith, was created/influenced by 'the dark one', giving old babylonian 'pagan gods' a face lift, like Venus ---> Mary, and in a bid to gain supreme power (i.e. winning over contested land Jeruselum), Islam was somehow a misguided side product of the roman catholic's foolery.

Here are a few excerpts:

"history proves that before Islam came into existence, the Sabeans in arabia worshipped a moongod who was married to the sun goddess. They gave birth to 3 goddesses called Al-alt, Al-0uzza and Manar. They became idols and were worshipped throughout the world as 'daughters of allah'. The cresent moon symbol is everywhere in Islam."

"in 1950 the moongod idol was excavated at hazor in palestine. The photo shows allah sitting on a throne. notice the cresent moon on his chest."
"ALLAH... is only an idol!"
Muhammad the prophet was somehow depicted as a poor misguided fool.

hold on here. making very BIG claims based on morphology/similarities. (Sounds ALOT like creationist talk.) And going straight to the biggun's.
Ching! i hear one angry party after their blood.

Satan carefully put the virgin Mary before the people to get their attention away from the lord Jesus."
"The betrayed Catholics atteempt to go through their church system to try to get to heaven. And using a similar trick, the Vatican helped set up a militant and sophisticated religion to keep the children of Ishmael from knowing the only One who could get them to heaven"

Uhoh. more big claims.
Ching! CHING!! I hear TWO angry parties braying for blood.

"Jesus knows how difficult it is to pull out of Islam, but He'll give you strength and courage to do it."

An insult to all that who are not us!
KA CHING! i think the comic struck the jackpot.

There is creepy in this world, and then theres the downright scary. i think this comic falls on one extreme end.

-yc out