This is going to be the weirdest entry - for now

I haven't got anything interesting to say right now actually. And no, I haven't got spare time either. But if I don't type, soon I'll be knocking myself out silly with my bare hands out of increasing agitation and the infinitesimal patience I'm quick running out of. So I guess that puts this into codswallop - but that word has already been used as a title for another post - hence the title of this particular post.

So.

kljf ;ksj;n; i tkjwrnt kehtaskfnakfn kaj las lkamskljijiouhwe;k jnsm smdbvlweuhfenfjksdnfkjshfiuweh iqwejrp9387572yv 4yv 8732y4 v87 fjsnsndndskjfhs;ldj nlsd ml!LOIU(*&$&^*& jksdfjkhsdkjfnsfn /.,/.sdlgjw eoiu4ot9 vwijklwjklwejglwij ;w9oow4u oijglkwje!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! kljewklj1KJL!J!J*((&(*&*(&(*&$(*&@(&!($&!(*$&!*(&$!(*$&(!*$&(*!&

Now. If you've ever read Japanese manga comic books, you'll know that the above random inserts are usually used to identify swear and cusswords used by a particular character in the story.
To your question "why not use the actual words themselves?"
Well, the books are generally sensored once translated into my language (what with it being very popular and all with children) - especially if you buy them legally from the bookstore here. So they'd need to replace the actual words with said random symbols. Although I personally think it kills off all the fun out of reading it in its natural state.

Take Lasse Gjertsen for example.
His famous "Lasse Vs. Technology" videos on youtube, provides an exemplary portrait of the message I'm trying to convey. Do check it out if you haven't seen it already - it's hilarious and made my day.
I won't tell you the details of that video, but in vague terms: it's where we say 'FUCK IT' and blasts out all the anger into its proper place and time - with perhaps unwanted consequences which wouldn't be thinkable under the said place and time. Inconvenient yes, but at least all that shit has been vented out.

As to why I had to resort to using symbols to convey my message- I just don't think the words existing in the english language presently is adequate enough to depict my meaning.

I feel so much better now.

Malaysia UNtruly Asia

This isn't a new subject I'm soon ranting about, but those sneaky neighbours are getting completely out of hand.
A couple of weeks past I've learned that they have, yet again, snatched and claimed one of Indonesia's priceless heritage as theirs. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about the "Rasa Sayangeeee" Song.

That song, is of the Island of Moluccas origin. One of the most easiest ways to distinguish a Moluccan, is by the way they say 'eeee' at the end of every sentence. That is not, I believe, a trait of Melayu people, whose distinguishable sound is : 'pe-laaah', 'aaah', and the scrunched up 'can' . (How I wish I could emulate them to give you a vivid picture. Sadly, but thank God for it, theirs is one of the few accents I haven't been able to imitate.)

The reason why we Indonesians are so pissed, is because this last is the most recent of their never ending attempts to steal other people's culture. Let's not forget the lost Sipadan and Ligitan Islands, whose geographical lines have always existed inside Indonesia's territory, but due to Indonesia's people own stupidity of not looking after what is theirs, it's bloody well gone now. And OK, for this one I can admit the fault is somewhat ours, albeit reluctantly.

But what about the rest of their inhumane and degrading treatment to us?
How, most recently a Karate expert from Indonesia was randomly attacked by a group of Malaysian officers without even given a clear reason why he was attacked, and when he only reasonably tried to fight back, he got pounded even worse.
How, the Indonesian workers who clean their homes and make their houses are rarely paid well, are often treated with hot-tempered hands, subjected to vicious cruelty nothing short of having boiling water thrown carefree at you, discrimination and undeserved scorn.

How, they refuse to call us by our proper name: 'Indonesia' and insultingly say 'Indon'.
How, when I went there a couple of months ago, at the airport I was stopped and got badgered by arrogant dicks who looked their noses down on me only because I happen to wear a headscarf and look like I might be Indonesian.
How, they claim our Batik and Dayak patterns when for God's sake, those two go hand-in-hand with the area it comes from, that when people go to Jawa, they see Batik. When people go to Kalimantan (Borneo), they see Dayak people, Dayak patterns, Dayak shields. But just because you happen to own a part, an insignificant part at that, of our island, you dare to claim what is rightfully ours. And you bloody well know it.
How, they think we're stupid and look at us like we're the dirt who had the nerve to lay grace upon their spic and span bedpan. And because of it, think they exist, live and breathe on a higher level than us and that every Indonesian who go there must be a servant. No, we can't be smart people. No, we can't be intellectuals. Surely, surely we can only be dicks.
And to think they were actually educated by Indonesians before.

So people, those are some of the reasons why Malaysia, is UNtruly Asia. Because all they can do, honestly, is claim bits and pieces of everybody else's culture.

Of course, I realize that I may be generalizing here and stretching the application of this particular entry a bit far, so let this be a disclaimer: this entry applies and applies only to those who act like what has been mentioned in this entry from start to finish. Anybody else who feel it's untrue, well, then it doesn't apply to you.

Another post from John which seriously cracked me up

John's blog on myspace

June 21, 2007 - Thursday

Slut Payday Category: Movies, TV, Celebrities Paris Hilton is going to be paid a million dollars for her first interview after jail. In other words, Paris Hilton is going to be paid more money than most human beings will earn in their lifetimes, as payment for being sent to jail. A commodity is a strange thing, and to understand what you're looking at when you look at or hold a commodity in your hand requires a specialized critique into the nature of market economies. A commodity is more than the sum of it's parts. Let's look at a wallet as an example. The wallet is made of black leather. There's also some plastic in it to hold pictures, maybe some thread to stitch it together, and maybe a small metallic money clip. A square foot of leather, a square foot of clear plastic, and a gram and a half of aluminum, as raw materials, might cost you a dollar. When you go to the store to buy a wallet, you end up paying say fifteen dollars for it. The fourteen dollars between the cost of the raw materials and the price you, as the consumer, end up paying for the wallet are where a commodity takes on some very peculiar qualities. There was labor that was necessary to tan the leather, to assemble the wallet, to market the wallet, to put in on the shelf at the store. There is more labor necessary to stock the shelves, to store it in a warehouse before it is purchased, to ring it up at the register, etc. Then there is an amount of profit that the individuals with the vested capital need to render the wallet in order to ensure their continued existence. The raw material that goes into the wallet can be marked up, but only so far. The labor necessary to put the end commodity in your back pocket can be marked up far more so, hence you end up paying fifteen dollars for a one dollar wallet. Paris Hilton is a human being who is a raw material that can be added to a commodity in order to increase it's price. She does not work to add that value, her existence is the labor, so she's not labor, she's raw material. For example, you can add Paris Hilton to a television show or a magazine article, and the show or article or whatever the case may be becomes more economically viable, by the amount of money that was given to Paris as compensation for showing up at a nightclub, or lending her image to a perfume or an album, but also by the markup that's placed on the act of compensating Paris. Further complicating the peculiarities of the life of Paris Hilton, she became a raw material in the first place by being named after a commodity, by being pretty, and by seeming to have not a care in the world that runs deeper than the surface of it. In other words, she's a raw material that acts as a reminder of a complicated sequence of social relationships that inspire a weird mixture of awe, envy, and depression. In other words, she is the perfect image of what it means to be an American today. People ask me why I hate her so much. The answer is that I don't. It's not her fault. She's a dumb slut. What I hate is a society that makes Paris Hilton possible.

Fashion is Stupid - by John

John is one of my favourite bloggers in myspace. The guy has amazing insight on so many issues, and recently he wrote on something that has been a bug to me since I can ever remember: Fashion. Here's what he had to say about it, and I agree!

October 10, 2007 - Wednesday

Fashion is Stupid Category: Fashion, Style, Shopping Last night, I was watching America's Next Top Model with Jen, and I was distracted from really getting into it because I was trying to think my way to the heart of what it is that bothered me about the show. Every time I watch the show, which is pretty often, since my wife loves it, I get this uneasy feeling that's pretty close to anger. Obviously, fashion is another word for mindless conformity, but that much is obvious on the surface level. What I've realized is that I don't think the fashion world should even exist. These are women who look nothing like any woman you're ever going to encounter in everyday life, though granted, beautifully so. They are wearing clothes no normal human being would ever wear. In fact I've done some math. There might be 100,000 people in the world who have enough money to wear clothing like the clothes these women model. If half of those people are women, we're down to 50,000. Let's use a nice round number and say there are three hundred million people living in America, where the show airs. That comes out to one person out of every six thousand that can even afford to spend $15,000 on a dress, whether or not they'd be inclined to. And that's in the wealthiest country in the world. Then you have to wonder, out of that select group, how many of them are the right height and weight for these outfits? If one out of five of them are, and that's generous, we're now talking about one person out of every thirty thousand. So high fashion is clothing for 1 out of 30,000. That kind of shoots down the idea that these people are trying to sell clothing. Target and Wal Mart make ten thousand times more money from clothing sales than Versace does. So what the hell are they selling? Or maybe a better question is, what the hell are they doing? What IS the fashion world all about? I think it's about commodifying an unattainable image that's attractive to people specifically because it's not attainable. It's an escape from the drudgery of being normal and living a normal life. I think most women flip through these silly magazines for the same reason people buy lottery tickets. It's an excuse to have a fantasy. So now I know why the show makes me angry. It's because it's a show that glorifies a brutal and worthless industry. An industry that puts children in third world countries to work and makes its money by convincing normal people that they're too poor, too short, and too fat. It's an impressive con, I'll give them that.

"porn novel fan"

I read historical romance novels.

That may or may not come to surprise you, an answer which I don’t doubt would entirely depend on how long you have come to know me. I daresay if you haven’t known me well, you’d have no idea. This is because I don’t look the type who reads ‘those books’. Or so I’ve been told. I must admit it’s not exactly something I relish in sharing aloud, knowing what people expect and think me to be.

I’m a “porn-novel fan” said one. This is a common comment uttered by some people upon learning that *gasp* I read what is considered 'sinful', in my culture at least. Supposedly. A comment that never fails to have me cringing and wincing in pain upon hearing. Because it's simply not true.
As a matter of fact, I think it's actually insulting to the writer. Not that they're listening but I am a fan, and as you well know, fans are usually nutters.

Truthfully, the book isn’t about porn at all. Yes, in one scene or two or perhaps three, depending on the writer writing the book, you do occasionally come across those scenes. It’s inevitable. In fact, I’d be downright lying if I said a romance novel, any romance novel, would be good without at least one sex scene. Or as the term is generally preferred in those novels: ‘making love’. I mean, come on. You have a hunk and the ubiquitous babe, they fall in love, but they resist the love until before the very end, in the middle of which they or she, as it is usually, gets broken-hearted, and they fight, and get stormy and things become too heated and whaddaya know, they're doing it right there on that page. You have two, I have two. It's not that difficult to put together, doh.

So I hope you’d understand why I disagree with anybody who says I’m reading ‘porn’ because it’s something on another universe altogether, never mind genre. I prefer calling it like it is: historical romance. Having read that many books on that particular field, I think I have enough credit stored in me for you to count my words and myself for that matter, trustworthy. I’ve read porn. ‘Erotica’, as is the more vulgar and sensual term for it. And boy, it is not the same with historical romance.

Why am I such an avid reader of historical romance, you may ask.

A number of reasons.

But the numero uno reason in my list, is because it makes me happy and gives me hope. Because those novels, as unreal and idealistic in sense and every way imaginable as they are, are what forms the very basic of my soul. It’s where I run to when I’m sad, it’s the one place I know I will find refuge, it’s my so-called ‘haven’. Albeit a temporary one, much to my ever present dismay at finding myself yet again at an end of another wonderful, wonderful book.

I guess a lot of people would call me gullible. Foolish. Idiotic. Unbelievable. Unreasonable. Irrational. Incredibly unreasonably unrealistic.

But that’s me.

I grew up, reading fairy tales and playing Barbie. Watching Care Bears and Disney’s Little Mermaid. Reading quirky Japanese manga. And to my joy in my middle salad days, historical romance.

So I’ve come to want that in my life. I want what I read in those books to happen to me. Without bloodshed, preferably, but otherwise I want it all. Because it’s all good.

Don’t think that I haven’t told myself off enough for living in puffy clouds and having cotton candy dreams, I’ve been there, done that. But I simply wouldn’t give it up. I just can’t. My fervent belief in the one Almighty, instead of downtrodding the idea as most people would believe ought to happen, only instills more hope in me. The more people shake me the stronger my hold on it. The more people try to force me to have relationships the more adamant I become in resisting unless I know that the chemistry is there. The more I try to not kid myself, the thirstier I become for it.

Obviously the world wide web is not a place where one can easily dispatch and lay bare all that is making one’s head pound like the ever swinging pendulum once touched. So I can’t, much as I’d like to, open one and everything here. But I can give illustrations, however vague they might later appear to be.

A couple of months ago, I managed to achieve an amazing achievement, one that I never dreamed of, but weirdly enough, did come true. As a result of that achievement, I became quite well-known, at least to law students in Indonesia.

It is truly striking to have people look up to you and think of you as someone ‘cool’ or ‘outstanding’. I still feel awkward about it. When others in campus pass me by and glance at me in a particular way, I’d feel weird. Because to me, what they see or what they think they see, isn’t me.

I’m not a genius. And God knows I’m not super or maddeningly smart. Often I’d feel strongly insignificant and low around people, because I honestly never know how to place myself.

What I do know of myself however, is that when I want to achieve something, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, so long as it’s within my power to do and it doesn’t involve me in anything illegitimate or wrongful. I’m a perfectionist, and because of it I can’t rest until I know I’ve done it right.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that I face an awful lot of challenges and obstacles. Whenever one falls down, hundreds more sprout at me. It’s never-ending. Then there’s the many complicated situation in my life which is not perfect, even if some people might think it is. One such situation, I had recently confided in one of my best friends, and she was astounded at the weight of it, that she was quiet for a good number of minutes.

I’m not trying to put more emphasis or ‘dressing’ on this, I’m telling it like it is.

And it’s exactly all of this, that drives me into that one passion I have that seemingly is never satisfied no matter how many of them I try to put my hands on: historical romance novels.

Is it wrong? Perhaps, possibly, probably.

But I know it won’t stop.

the TruTh

I'm going to abandon all pretense right now
and tell you what you want to hear
whether in the end you'll regret my insincerity
has no bearing on the present place and time.
If you feel the slightest hesitation
now would be a pretty good time to speak
or keep your doubts at peace
for without your belief in the matter
worthless is my sacrifice.
The ghosts of the past do not come to haunt
though many of us would reason so
only for the human ineptitude to accept
what lies beyond all reasonable boundaries
and the hopefulness of the future though vague
may be the only thing certain
if we only dare to reach
and say hell to all that we fear.
You're not hollow in your vanity
though I once were among who disagree
you're just a little pretentious and much too fanciful
to not let your colossal ego get the better out of you.
I'd prefer to name it weakeness but I've a penchant for truth
that more than meets my thirst for subtlety
and beatific smiles
so I've deigned myself to cover
not the untruth, and never to conceal
just not to reveal
anymore than I need to reveal
just not to tell
anymore than I need to tell.

listen

Tell me again of that story about a boy
although I won't promise to listen
you provide too much of a distraction.
You can blame it on my stupidity
or reckless abandon of my senses
I prefer to call it foolish romance.
I've been wondering whether you've been noticing
but it's not like anywhere you stand
would be of benefit to me anymore than
my own ears have been to me,
because I haven't been listening.

come again (with) your last sentence
I caught something about a past
I hope it wasn't mine by any chance
though a second glance at your face tells me otherwise.
I don't suppose you'd care to repeat
just that one last thought
but it's not like any way I stand
would be of use to me anymore than
my simple self have been lately
because I haven't been listening.

and they say I had it coming
that the rules of the game we play was written somewhere
and I've broken a couple of serious ones, and that I'm sure to pay.
but I'm not hearing any of this
I'm not having any of it
unless the rules are down on concrete stone
I won't be listening.

KL

am in KL right now..transitting on my way to participating in the International Youth Forum in Sharm El-Sheikh, Egypt. and what a transit it is.
my flight to Cairo is at a half-hour over midnight, and I've been here since like two thirty. so it's been a long, long wait.
but during my wait, which I chose to spend by staying in the airport and read up on materials for the conference, I am totally flabbergasted by the inadequate attention my own government is giving to its airport, because KLIA, is, really, really good.
I think it even surpasses Singapore's Changi.
crap.

feeling like so much crap

the title of this particular blog says it all really. I am, as of now, feeling like so much crap. Like shit, if I want to be crude about it. why?
well there's actually a couple of reasons as to why. but the main reason why I'm feeling like this, is because of this one person I know. for the sake of maintaining privacy and avoiding childish name-calling (as well as for my own personal security reason lest this blog gets read by the person itself or some untrustworthy other, I.E. protecting my BUTT from getting unnecessary and most definitely unwanted kicks), lets name this person 'X'.

so I met X today, my heart beating erratically as it always does whenever the occasion, as this one, forces me to come face to face with X, as X is a person I must say I do not particularly like, and can certainly say that I harbor a rather strong dislike for. and I didn't meet X alone, no. but with a couple of other people who had to be there too.
the meeting started off well enough, X giving out X's trademark dry jokes to which all of us painfully forced a laugh at, and like I had predicted only too well a couple of days ago since I got X's call summoning me to meet X , the meeting then went downhill. horribly so.
X lectured about ethics, how it was imprudent for us students to go off on a particular trip, bearing the faculty's name and all, but not letting some people who needed to be told know about us going on said trip. about my failure to notify said people. questioned the most recent team who went abroad for one of such strips who failed to pay a visit to X before leaving, never mind letting the other people know, about how X has not received my organization's timetable, which I'm telling you now, was not my fault since the person I had delegated the duty to had performed disgustingly unwell by derelicting his duty, for the umpteenth time, down the drain, leaving me to bear all the flipping blame which shouldn't be borne by me at all.
and then X carried on about ethics again, X ever carefully phrasing X's sentences and elaborating his point in such a way as to not say expressly but expressly implying X's contention and personal view I've no doubt, of my person, that I, the bloody so-called best oralist is in possession of an uncaring nature, certain disrespect for elders, or rather, for particular people that I should pay more specific attention to, by assuming and judging opinionatedly of my behavior and relationships, by X saying this and that bla bla bla, which though perhaps had a lining of truth somewhere in it was still nevertheless unjust, unfair, and plausibly untrue for the most part.
and if I were to make this long story short, what it comes down to is X successfully made me feel low, downtrodden heart-wrenchingly degraded, and like I was the biggest pile of shit who ever had the grace to be wasted on this godforsaken planet.

I can readily enough, though perhaps somewhat reluctant, submit to the fact that X had good intentions. (with hidden agenda of course. doh.) and I can just as well readily agree to some of X's points.
but I just hated, the way X chose to address the painstaking issue, where I felt cornered and defenseless, where now that I come to think of it, I in fact have some reasons to explain, not justify, those actions and situations which were partial to his dislike.
I did my best not to shed tears before him and other people who were present who would then bear witness to my weakness (yeah, I have an unfortunately humongous ego which I sometimes resent to the largest extent), but as soon as I got home, on a speeding frenzy and myself probably became the numero uno reason to a number of drivers' rising emotions whom I carelessly honked at quite barbarically along the way., I bawled my eyes out like some four year-old who just had her lollipop brutally taken out of her hands.

it's only natural of course, then, for me to choose posting this blog in blue, it being the color of the day.

and after all this ranting, I haven't even come to the other reason why I'm feeling like crap: I have ticketing problems for my due flight to Egypt in two days. but now I haven't the energy to rant about that too, so I'll save it for another time, unless this reason in the near future is solved and as a result becomes nonexistent.

struggle

I am brainstorming with all my might, so that I can write a thesis that far surpasses my beliefs, and my hope is that it would even be good enough to be made into a book.
but alas, like all good stories, nothing is ever that simple. aiiight?
see, what I really want to write about is capital flight. but no matter how I look at it, whichever point I take myself to and take myself out of, I seem to end up in one direction and one direction only: that in the end I'll be talking about expropriation or nationalisation, which is a part of public international law.
why this poses a dilemma for me, is because I major in business law. which means I cannot take a theme which belongs to other majors. unless I want to side-track, which is completely out of the question since I despise the lecturers who reside in that particular field.
and I've been researching. but I always seem to come up with only economic aspects of it, and not the law related ones, which is what I really need.
so now I'm looking for a substitute theme, just in case I don't make it with this one. every day is like a nightmare, with me going to bed thinking: what if I don't graduate by January??? what if my thesis don't make sense?? and more 'what-ifs'.
which sucks.

Reflections

the vision staring back at me
through the especial glass allows
and allows me not to see
truth
the eyes would only take to view
that which is penetrable to the mind
for we often would refuse to see
what to others is simple clarity
possibly illness,
political corrections,
or blatant rejection
that serves as platonic grounds
for why we are
who we are.
Excuses stretch only for a time
and white lies only go so far
what was once the only thread
has branched out, is imbued and
imbibed
by all the others.
and as fingers touch cold surface
wanton fleetings seep in and out
pondering chances,
pondering imponderables,
where question marks floats and out numbers
the little of faith and reason that is left
to be replaced by growing doubt
and restless fear
that efforts to block out and repel
proves both futile and immaterial.
For black on white is
white to black
and either prospect's dark
and so it will remain thereafter
unless we take the plunge
and brave ourselves
for what is yet to come.

Jeremiad

Life is about choices. right? or at least, that's how I've always viewed it. Between sinful offerings and daiphanous thinkings, and not to forget impulsive cravings, the Big Guy sure did make the world a difficult place to live in.
am I complaining?
you could say that. or, you can choose a more preferable alternative (to me anyways), and say that I'm being critical and thoughtful.
I, however, will choose neither excuse, silly, pitiful and unjust as they are, and go with the simple truth: I, down to my small and insignificant toes, am lost and am looking in every angle possibly viewed through 360 degrees rotation to justify my present state, which is sad, lazy, and oh, very, very, ugly.
I've got what looks like a large pile of quixotic wantings, unwavering from their limbo since I've deigned to keep myself like this.
yes, I know I shouldn't. yes, I know it's bordering shameless. yes, I don't need to be told that I need to get my huge butt off my bed and rise and shine to greet the day instead of lazying about abed.
but my knowing all of this doesn't make it any easier for me to do just that: getting up.

now, even though I've just described this in a way that I'm sure is visual to you, rest assured what I mean to say is not so much visual than being hypothetic.
I need to get up, as in, get my thoughts composed, emotions controlled, and to quit lollying about like some waddling dolphins in the arctics.
I've been doing a lot of thinking, and have arrived at a somewhat palpable conclusion that I simply enjoy being in this state.
I don't mean that I'm thrilled with the fact that I can't graduate in four years as is the normal length of time of studying for law students (undergraduates) in my country, hell no. if anything, the thought positively itches me, and makes me want to wail, pathetic as it may sound.
no, I hate it.
on the other hand however, my life, which, even if I do not yet have it sorted out completely, had, invisible latitude and longitude lines drawn on it, marking the main things I would like to achieve in what probably is going to be a short life.
does it mean I'm sorted out then?
no. because those lines, had, as of a couple of weeks ago, been tarnished by close-to-snide comments, and lucid doubts, upon my goals. so I've gone back many a step, retreated, and question those temporary decisions of mine.

around here then, the subject of this particular blog should be cleared well up. I am, pondering what seems to be imponderables, dwellings on 'mights' and 'probably nots', and am drawing to a close to biting off quite a bit more than I can chew.
"easy does it," people always say.

as you should already gather by now, I've got more than a couple of things to say to that.

All The Time

all the time
you uncover me bare with your eyes
you unwind my lies with a smile
and you can tell, you can perfectly tell
when I'm unwell

all the time
you shake me out of my system
you put me back in my place if you know
I've gone too far outside the line

all the time
I'm as good as naked in your eyes
and you're as good as shadows in the dark
you never tell, and I rarely can tell

all the time
I'd wish you to come up and come out
so I can break down all these walls that
I can't readily see but you keep out
all the time
I'd be close to tears trying to figure out
but I never could and I'm as close
to understanding you like I know I'm lost

all the time
you get me before I
get it out
you stop me from becoming
what I know is the worst side of myself

all the time
you lead me back when I'm seconds from
giving up
if only with a wink and a reassuring smile
that I will, I will get through it all
without so much of a sweat breaking down my wall

yeah, all the time
I'm as good as naked in your eyes
and you're as good as shadows in the dark
you never tell, and I rarely can tell

all the time
I'd wish you to come up and come out
so I can break down all these walls that
I can't readily see but you keep out
all the time
I'd be close to tears trying to figure out
but I never could and I'm as close
to understanding you like I know I'm lost

Cherry Pop

so here I go again making another blog when I've actually already got three. or one really, since I don't update the other two.
and obviously the question is why I bother putting myself through all the trouble of creating another blog. Well, it's nothing to do with my dissatisfaction with the one I have on myspace, no, I'm very much fond of that one,..but I suppose I just wanted a change. (of what?) a change of atmosphere, a change of 'feel', a change of audience, a change of style. those would be some changes for starters. although I doubt it'd be much of a change of style since I generally stick to what I like and be done with it. (I can imagine some people who'd snort at this statement, said snort lined with much opinionated opinions. whatever.)

anyway, I thought I'd make my first entry here short. I don't really feel like writing a big gala entrance for this cherry pop.