A Fantastic EoM

So I couldn't find the link to this on my phone. But here you go!

This article discusses the positive effects of rape such as stress relief and anger management.

Our project seeks to increase the access and choice of rape by implementing mandatory public exhibitions.
Being written by Professor Forcedboney of The Grand University of Fuck, published in 2013, it is very relevant and applicable to my project.

In his article, Forcedboney describes a prevalent problem in rape culture as many people begin to conform to liberal western cultures that raping women is a crime and thus, has harmed our muslim societies here in the middle east. Back then, our brotherhood, untouched by modern and sinful ideals, had the best tool of entertainment and socialization, Rape. In the back alleys of mecca, our forefathers were blissful and our offspring prospered, for the holy gifts that allah bestowed upon us were shared with all women and men alike. Forcedboney has also attributed declining birth rates to the punishment of rape and subsequent economic failure due to the reduced women exports, which he quotes Dr Moneykok as saying that “Infidel ideas make money less for nightclubs and prostitution rings, harming economy of Kazakhstan.”

Now we question how increasing the access and influencing the choice of raping through implementing mandatory public exhibitions will solve the abovementioned problems. The fact that traditional Islamic ideals are the way to go to saving our ailing population and economic needs, is supported by the thousands of years of research our prophet has done raping many many women, eventually scaring women worshippers from entering a mosque ever again, with muslim families breeding like rats in a sewer. With this increase in exportable goods, our GDP rose substantially. Seeing the need to monopolise on this economic growth, our great prophets introduced the greatest strategy of all, mandatory rape.

In order to improve the effectiveness of mandatory rape, my group aims to approach Dr Woffles Wu and provide free breast implants for every muslim community in our glorious empire. On top of solving our economical problems, we may also use these implants as disguises for improvised explosives so we can fully expand and capitalize on the westerners’ stupidity

______________
Lol. A quick disclaimer edit here. I don't approve of racism or sexism or any sort of bigotry, but hey, in the name of a cheap joke, why not? This is what it is, a really shabby attempt at humour. So humour me.

posted from Bloggeroid

Crimson Touch

Writing the poem I'll be using for the collab, methinks. Been writing sonnet-ish stuff recently, for the past few pieces. Hum haw. Hey yellowbutton, does this work?

Crimson Touch I

The crowd laid out before him screamed his name
Calling for another song to be sung
Like rockets they had climbed the charts to fame
Again they took the big stage, banners hung
Behind and the last show keeps going on
Dance steps move the six from stage left to right
To the sharp sound of cheers and chants they won
Rightfully from an audience bathed in light.

But backstage tells us another story
One not so sane, woven from sorrow
Constant touring took its toll and worry
Wrought, weighed down from time he had to borrow.
One more show before the force was too much
Soon he broke and gave them his crimson touch.

posted from Bloggeroid

cityscape II

cityscape II

unexpectedly, on the hottest night
I've felt this year, the winds start blowing in
cool, soothing, calming - coupled with streetlights
glowing yellow, clearing me of all sin.

I would step outside to embrace the rain
and, dance beneath onyx glittering skies
dissolve, absolve myself of heat and pain
but droplets came, heard were not happy sighs.

but deep groans as trees swayed and snapped. to ears
like mine they made me cower, moaning like
one who heard punishment coming since years
before, wrongs piled on my head, on a pike.

mistreat my friends and my own body, I die
on a cold bedsheet, tears forever lie.

~ Jack

So its raining again. Hooray! Lol, poem time. Long holidays suck. Yeap. That's about it. Cya, imaginary reader!

posted from Bloggeroid

cityscape I

07.08.2013
cityscape I

from dawn to dusk we toll away, at our
fortress, impregnable, resigned to just
slave away, night and day, owls, late hours
crunching numbers - they knaw at me like rust

on iron, i am clamped, chained to the wall
helpless except to watch the clock tick tock
a groan erupts, from master and i, all
in hell, with just one escape which panels block

flying between meetings, one wishes he
had taken flight so long ago, instead
he is bound by paper, black and white be
dammed! but the time has past to use his head

he, and i, are all but the same creatures.
youth gone. love lost. time spent losing features.

- Jack


Sonnet above for the imaginary reader who comes for poetry, life update below.

I think its becoming a trend that whenever I send her back, the topic of conversation moves in similar yet unfamiliar territory. Comfortable discomfort. We ended up starting off with a recap, like schoolwork, and stuff, to something like a discussion on gay marriages, sorta, and then prospects in our little island. Here I am though, but five hours later, still wondering.

I never gave it much thought myself, recently at least, if I had wanted to stay in Singapore. Given status quo of our relationship, I might actually consider moving. It is kinda true that the kind of future I wish to pursue would probably be harder here, given our drive for science-y and stuff like law. The whimsical have no place here, not for long anyway. I'll miss it. Or not. I'm not too sure anymore. Its one of those moments where you might have to re-evaluate your whole life due to one or two decisions which define you.

Every year that goes by though, I know that I feel less and less inclined to stay. NPCC has made me lose faith not in the police, not that. No, that the authoritarian leader is still that preferred by our own leaders. By choice or not, we have to snap a salute to those who do things their way, regardless of the emotions you may possess. Because hey, fuck you, you will always be worthless as you're younger.

Age is a good quantifier for experience. But don't dismiss someone simply for their lack of years. Neither should we dismiss or revere our seniors for arbitrary reasons. I know this paragraph could easily be taken out of context, but well, so be it. I know who I speak of, that's you, sirs, and that's all that matters.

But back to the concept of home, I do feel more and more dislocated, as Kuan Hian described in his own blog. It took me two years in retrospection to let me convince myself I was gifted, and I'm still doubting that today. But I'm weirder than most others. Like some bastard child of happiness and sadness, genius and learning disability. Have I truly ever thought this land my home?

My house is, but is the land its built on my foundation?

In exactly these words from Parkway Drive's song, I question "If home is where the heart is, why do I feel so fucking heartless?"

posted from Bloggeroid

Roses II

03.08.2013

The picture drawn just perfect
The red its brilliant ruby hue
The rose is drawn and the artist gone
The entire room is still.

Except for sobbing at the table
Except for that is is quiet
Except for hands which are not stable
Except the wounds won't heal.

Keeping her thoughts within herself
Keeping her silence and her grief
Keeping her anger and her sorrow
Keeping a blade outside its sheath.

The rose begins to dry and wilt
The picture is merely a stain.
Except the part where the ink keeps flowing
Except that part, the rest is dead.
Keeping the picture in full hue
Keeping a memory on paper, outside the head.

Roses, she draws, she draws, she knew better.

posted from Bloggeroid

Roses I

05.08.2013

Drip, the nail scratches out an outline
A flower taking shape.
Drip, the thorns are made
And the blade begins to slip.

Cast, blade aside and begin to sketch
A picture made in red.
Cast, in flesh and blood
An image of the past.

Dry, the drawing begins to settle in
A browning stain remains.
Dry, tears and sorrow
A release and her spirit flies

High above her sadness
Last one awake, she bleeds
Her heart now hard like a cherry pip
When her wrists go drip, drip, drip.

posted from Bloggeroid

Intermediary post.

Well yeah, never got round to ranting about the stuff in term 2. That can wait for when I'm angry again. Hopefully not soon. I'm such a procrastinator.

Recently, a fair bit of my perspectives and thoughts have taken drastic changes, on top of not so drastic ones. Gonna just throw out the few that I have off the top of my head.

Should we mourn the progression of morality?

I REALIZED I'M POSTING THIS REALLY LATE. REFLECT MY ASS LAH WOOOOOO INTERMEDIARY POST FTW. LET'S WAIT FOR LIFE TO HAPPEN AND SHIT ON ME AND I'LL WRITE IT WHEN IT COMES.

Hmmmm...

I notice I usually write about notions of elitism, peer pressure, music and the arts, and sleep. Pretty sure that's characteristic of me. Oh and love and emotions and stuff, but who doesn't do that? Singapore's pretty much just the first four though, as far as teenage-y issues go. That and environmentalism and moral decay. But those aren't THAT fun. Or not. Sex poetry, or something.

I think its a bastardly and ego-centric move, but I think I'll adapt my life into a play. Not entirely of course, and hopefully I could co-write it with a few friends. It'll be fun, I suppose, and a truly grand release. Probably gonna end it off as a tragedy though, with me being dead or something via suicide... Heh.

Open, Passing, Gone. Down, Living, Breath.

02.08.2013

Another poem. This one, a quick one, musing, but I'm forcing myself to stick to a structure this time, a Sestina. Like the rain. Mmmmm, its beautiful, isn't it. At night, right now, contentment is beautiful. Nothing is fantastic, nothing sucks really horribly. Life ticks on, I just started writing my first play, and its raining. Like what Eileen said, float. Feeling really lit-ty now, so let's muse on!
Happy face to Nat and Yvonne, if ya'll ever read this. Keep smiling!


Pitter, patter, piff, paff.

Like solid red lips they part, wide open.
And in flash, like a flash, they are gone.
Exhaling, the cold night air condenses breath.
A fine mist reminds me I am living.
I swallow, sigh, and look down.
The moment of fallibility like clouds in passing.

All my life, failing everything I tried, time ticked by eternally passing.
They said to keep my mind open.
But never did they say to keep down.
Like the wind, a little more and I would be gone.
No longer among the angry, the living.
Shudder, quake, tension released as I drew another breath.

And then another, another breath.
One step too, and I was passing
From the world of the despondent, the living.
My eyes, they could not open.
Like a close friend, I was gone.
And the rain again poured down.

Within myself, deep down.
My lungs creaked, blood flowing in, attempting to draw breath
With length of bone stuck, the pain was gone.
Numb, emotionless in my passing.
But sirens wailed and doors were thrown open.
Out strode a man to bring me back to the living.

Inhaling, exhaling, living.
His heroics threw me down.
Again, have I no escape, no paths open?
All this, because of one breath?
That I took at birth, I cursed but soon white came into view passing
before my eyes, and my hopes were gone

any control I held onto gone
dissolved into that of anguish, remorse, regret living
never passing
any sort of success, defining the archetype of 'let down'
painful, inhale, exhale, but impossibly refusing to breath
staring out into the endless, scary, looming, imminent, landscapes open

Dark clouds, passing by again in the night, gone.
My legs dangling still in the open, the last drop drips down
Pitter, patter, piff, paff. The living draw another breath.

- Jack