She stood still while the travellator breezed her past the shelves. Bananas, tinned sardines, lingerie.. something caught her eye. Glancing at the rows of merchandise in front of her, she pointed and a box flew into her outstretched hand.

"NEW!!!" The neon label screamed at her. "BETCHA CAN'T TELL E DIFFERENCE!"

"Wht's dis? nother new produck? YES! FINALLY! a mechanical hsehold helpr

tt looks n feels lyke one o us!

NO MORE stranger @ home! NO MORE metal freak!

Dis guy or gal wld be a new membr o e family!"

Her heart thumped beneath her mithril blouse. Turning the box around, she customised the look of Raon. Blue eyes, brown spiky hair,


-shall I continue this?-

End of the World

The world's end came as a small dot
---at the end of a sentence. Everybody died
without ado, and nobody cried
---enough to show the measure of it.

God said: 'I do not love you', quite
---quietly, but with a final note;
it seemed the words caught in his throat,
---or else he stifled a yawn as the trite*

phrase escaped his dust-enlivening lips.
---At least, there was no argument,
no softening tact, no lover's cant**,
---but sudden vacuum, total eclipse

of sense and meaning. The world had gone
---and everything on it, except the lives
all of us had to live: the wives,
---children, clocks which ticked on,
unpaid bills, enormous powder-blocks
---chock full of arms demanding peace,
and the prayerful in a state of grace
---pouncing on bread and wine like hawks.

*trite
-Lacking power to evoke interest through overuse or repetition; hackneyed.
Archaic. Frayed or worn out by use.

**cant
-Monotonous talk filled with platitudes.
-Hypocritically pious language.
-Whining speech

A Dreary Day

Drained
An empty vessel of tears
What's this wetness down my cheeks? I'm not crying.
Brainjuice all gone,
Who stole my life?

A Love Poem

Amongst the roses dwell an egg
The petals too soft, the egg doth fall
Cushioned by the dulle moss
Bounces on the moss and flies
Back to the nest of roses soft.

The rose doth wilt and shows its brown
While evergreen moss waits patiently down
The nest of softness crumbles 'part
The egg teeters; falls down hard
Cushioned by the dulle moss

From whence they will never part.

Glass

Walking around surveying the wide world
With unseeing eyes, accustomed to all,
Stared at by a pair of dark orbs that would
Soon engulf, and here snow ceases to fall.

Lips move, but no sound escapes my prison.
Shaking, convulsing, a terrible quake,
White foam envelopes me like an infant
Resenting folds and chains that would not break.

Existing in my glassy boundary
No control more than a hunter's quarry.

The day the prawn died

It was swimming one moment, and still the next. I always would think it died after long long periods of inactivity and getting buffetted about by the bubbles in my tank, but it will always start moving as suddenly as though a switch was flicked.

Flika was my dad's prawn. He didn't exactly said it was his, but since he was the one who cared the most for it, it just seemed fit to say that Flika belonged to him. In fact, I wonder if Flika knows who he belongs to. Or maybe Flika would resent belonging to somebody - I knew I would. So, in all sense, I shouldn't say Flika belongs to dad.

Today morning, Flika died. Apparently he was really really dead, for he didn't start swimming after 2 hours of my staring at him, nor did he struggle when I put my hands into the tank and lifted him out. I brought Flika to my mother in the kitchen and told her Flika's weight, length (5 inches) and color (pinkish-red). Then my mother threw Flika into the pot.

Dad came home, had dinner, and told mum, "Nice prawn!"

Abstract Nightmares

Part I.
There was something different in the air, a kind of surly tension that hit me the moment I stepped out of the kitchen. My dad was staring hard at me from behind the paper. He thought I did not notice but I did. My mother stood at her bedroom door and watched me. I walked to my room. The first thing I noticed was many grey wires bunched behind the door. I cound not see clearly where they connected to. Then I realised that there was a weak glow on the wall, looking like those projected from an overhead projector in school. And indeed there was a small overhead projector directing the beam of light onto the wall. That was strange. Did my parents intend to convert my room into a classroom? What do they want to teach me?

I saw the videocam mounted at the top right corner of my room, pointing in the general direction of my desk and bed. In fact, it was pointed in such a way that everything I do in the room can be seen. I felt very uneasy. In fact, I felt sick. I'm being watched!

Apparently, the light is so that it would be bright enough for the videocam to record accurately what goes on in my room at night when I'm supposed to be sleeping.

-time rift-

I got no explaination from anybody about what was going on. And I overheard my mother talking to my sister about the windows. It seems that something has been done to the windowledge, which explains the workmen around yesterday when I was locked in my room. She said that the little ledge at the bottom of the little sloping cement thing outside the kitchen window has been removed. If anybody falls out of the window accidentally, there would be nothing to hold on to. I get the feeling that she wants me to die, the earlier the better.

-time rift-

I am caged. I cannot leave the house alone. I cannot go anywhere except the living room, kitchen and my room. I dash around the house, looking in vain for some way to escape this prison. There's no privacy. My every move is being monitored; there's somebody stopping me from doing what I want everytime. How can they do this to their own daughter? I'm going mad. Might as well commit suicide.

Part II.
Sleeping on a mattress next to the carpark downstairs. I was awoken by a civil defence fire engine with its siren wailing which tore by me. Firemen jumped out, and started chasing a guy who ran out from the void deck opposite me. He was wielding a gun or some sort of weapon, and started running. The carpark was oval shaped, and he ran along the oval diameter, passing directly next to my mattress. Still lying there, I stuck out my leg and tripped him. The funny thing was, he fell only after another 10 meters. I felt idiotically happy, and thought tripping people was fun. So I started tripping up the firemen who were running behind him. In the end, the firemen caught the guy and handcuffed him. Then, (surprise!) they rolled open a banner that had something to do with celebrating Singapore's civil defence day together with national day. So I inferred that it was a fake chase thing. Cheat my feelings.

Part III. (continuation of part I.)
Feeling wretched, the last and only thing I remembered was "I" crawling out of the kitchen window and keeling on the tiny sloping cement ledge looking 12 floors down.

-------------------------------------
It was a very weird night of dreams. These points give more details to those hilighted in orange.

-My dreams were in parts. I woke after every part and was concious enough to check the time. Then I'd fall back asleep, like something was pulling me to sleep. And I'd fall into the next part.

-Time rifts just happen, and after a time rift, I'd suddenly know something else. The setting would change, and there would be a feeling of time passed but I don't remember anything that happened during that supposed "fast forward" period.

-When I thought that in the dream, a more concious part of my mind was shocked that I'd think of such a thing.

-It seemed I was broke and had no other place to sleep.

-Weird that the firemen ran around in a circle too.. so dumb, they could just cut across the carpark. And weird that they were firemen.

After I woke from part III, I was so sick and nearly threw up. Sure don't want to repeat that again..

Changed something

At long last, I've decided to be more active and not neglect my blogs.. 3 blogs to take care of, all on different things, quite time consuming.. but I think I can manage =)
Hmm.. now I can be considered having an 'active hobby'.