I'm finally back. Back from supposedly a gruelling experience in the jungles of Brunei. It was difficult in its own way, yet not in a way I expected. Now I am back and I am asked? Why does my life have no meaning? It's really simple actually. Because faced with survival, i know i could just survive, day to day, just like that. Alone. I don't really want to sound like Holden caulfield and all. Yet I can't help it. It is at night when i am the eternal pessimist. I pay attention to detail but I just cannot help talking about grand feelings and stuff. I am now listening to piano pieces from Amelie. Soothing, and maybe it helps me to sleep.

Well. Let's look forward to some things. if all goes well, tomorrow I shall be baking cookies with clarence and rumin. friends. friends are lovely. I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.


I am a very well balanced individual.
I rarely do anything stupid.
I'm sensibly sensible.
I'll be brought to see your mom.

I am typically curt to myself.
I have forgone all artistic integrity.
I think I have found the truth.
I am guilty for not telling it.

I have started all sentences with I.
I am self-absorbed.
I worry about other people's lives.
Only because they're too much like mine.

Balanced all, brought to mind.
Son of Cain, hermit kind.
I occupy myself with less important things.
That are horribly urgent.


I'm currently in the project room of my OCS Wing. We're having this interesting discussion, sure, we're not too eloquent and verbose, but sort of having a good time gossiping. good for my ennui. which is better for me. it isn't dull. i just have an inverterate, naive, interest in others people's lives which doesn't satisfy me.

wish i had something important for you to hear.

it's ok. maybe it was meant for us to laugh this day off. consign it to the rubbish bin of all other days.

i've no one to address. no pa system. still. as now we are psychoanalysing other's personal problems, i feel strangely worriless and blameless. and other's fates.

i am the walrus.

where are the people we admire. lennon and harrison are in the sky.

inspiration, motivation for the course, quite close we are to reaching the end, and we are ruminizing, a combination of things and words. fodder for forceps. fight for frenchmen. seoc.
OOP. sign off now.


Waltzess poem.

Waltzess of Duchess Hill

The first wasn't much of a dancer
The murmurs hushed down through the hall
young, naive, fun-loving, equipped, with
the freedom to thrill or enthrall.

no frills, no messy after-talk
she'd ask the men for their hand
and turn the timid ones gay
as the music was struck by the band

the second somewhat more subtle
although you couldn't tell from her glance
she'd stand in the corner behind the crowds
simply too terrified to dance.

to the other me of the crowd
she charmed me more than the first
perhaps the looks, and the quiet
deep down my throat, this thirst

for someone i truly loved
yet i never knew what it could be
the first changed me, yet she was nice
but i didn't lose myself completely

what now, some asinine comment?
in a bid to grab her attention
with each piercing look
she loves me, she loves me not, ooh the tension

but i'll leave it all till tomorrow
if only it were just a dance
i attach too much worry too much pain
but darling we're not in france.

the last a one as yet to come
not just fun, nor crazy, nor obligatory
you just have to get off your bum
and dance damnit, dance and make merry.


Evidently, something is wrong. After 3 days of off-in lieu. You need time, and here comes creativity. No one likes you they browse


This is not exactly a waltzess story. Just could be the prelude. Let's call it cool chick.

There was a dancer I loved, who lived on Duchess lane, where I'm sure there were trees and a lovely apartment, and where I ran past from time to time.

Ever wonder where we came from? It's hard to know where we came from, but it's certainly easier to know where they came from! No I'm not mad, if you'd only listen to me this bit. Give an older man his due.

Boom - pa - pa. Boom - pa - pa. Boom - pa - pa.

1 and 1 and 1 is 3. 3's the magic number, for the past, present, future and waltz. the 3rd relationship. and the 3 men I admire the most.

It snowed torrentially, and the sign of a true madman is whether or not he'd go in this or t
having typed so much it all disappeared. Oh well it was just a draft. Again.

Fury. 1. and 1 and 1 is 3.

"A glass of wine, a loaf of bread and Thou"

But thou art gone now, and I have my wine and bread.

I do not know you
I do not know you
I do not know you.

And the cock crew, wondering why you call me only by a sobriquet you invent or not at all.
Yet He did not wonder. He knew, people are themselves, they have them and their loves to protect.

Remind me again, why I torture myself so.

Do you? You have a laptop at least, and some air conditioning.

Back again at this time of asking, how prodigal.

Can't you be more normal! And not be the guy giving away Pulitzers to yourself in your brain. This blog is yearning for it.

Some semblance of normalcy. The everyday description of the weather, your loves, your anxieties. Not for you to return, to demonstrate your power, to say, I renounce you words, I consign you to the flames in an overreaction to these same words which are your friends, but used by your enemies.

Enemies. I have none.

You claim not to. A spade is a spade. You have the power to kill. And hate. Even for just 5 minutes.

My life cannot be defined in 5 minutes.

Stupid philosophical dialogues attract little interest, romantic ones do. I know, you've been talking to your waltzess. it has kept you sane, away from me.

I'm not romantic.

The problem is you have the wrong heroes. Or you have too many. You to yourself, say oh 'What strength, what beauty', his ability to sacrifice, to live without love and you think you can do it too, when every ounce, every ounce of you demands that you suck dry every bit of love you need, to nourish your self, to placate your choler.

Tant pis.

You like French, the way it looks on the page. Tastes better then the umlauts. You, even words on a page, not spoken, can seduce you. You're too soft.

But I like the strong and the sentimental.

The strong are always sentimental. That's what gives them their strength.

I am beating around the bush. I need to interlocute my hate and frustration.

You can't, you're too soft.

I can't.

No you can't. You love drama. Now. Just count silently. Write me a waltzess chapter. Cover it up. Tolstoy thought he solved it all, and writing the biggest fattest book in European literature didn't make him happy. He had to turn to THE Big Fat Book. And it was right.

Why have you forsaken me?

To love, twenty cents and love. Not with love, but yours sincerely.


No time to play CM4. Heh...well can only do it while writing my Ops orders and stuff. Oh well. Had a little fun this week seeing the zoo@orchard and stuff. Well hope to have a less hectic weekend next week.
Haven't been back for ages...everything on this blog has changed
I wonder if this thing still works. Haven't been back for ages.


It must have been a year now, when the initial flurry of activity has petered down into nothing. Washed away by all the little worries of life, yes even the lilies don't worry yet they are still clothed in all their splendour. Maybe, starting again at this time, it's the season. You just have to look at my previous entries, about losing the enthusiasm I have at the start of the year. Yet honestly, I quite enjoy the adrenaline of my army life. it's just that booking out, I do realise that there's a whole world out there that I may have been neglecting. And perhaps I will have to write again because over numerous guard duties, there are so many times when I have written letters in my head over and over again. I basically have probably un-remembered these things until it's too late to say them and this will priobably do nothing to stem the tide, though it's a small step. It certainly allows me to write differently from the journal I keep in OCS which is more or less focused on military stuff. I would really prefer two way communication through letters but then that really also involves people's time so this would be a substitute. If you have any comments, you could write back to me. Whee. Weekends are all I have to update this little journal with, and I do not know how many significant events I have missed. I look forward to the days when I can enjoy my weekends with good games, videos and quit worrying about next week's training or losing stuff like keys or OOCing. Ah well. Irony, I hope I shall be able to carry this through. ANd yes let loose, and enjoy the little things like getting high on third grade beer at Happy Hour. Here's to the rest of 2003. Cheers.