kamikaze volunteer?

starting on the same note as the previous post finished, i'm beginning to warm to the idea of 'infiltration from the inside'. that is, donate my time to the grand wyd08, with the sole intention of kicking up a shit and getting booted out. how long would one expect young catholic pilgrims to tolerate someone hellbent on a mission to rampage?

yay or nay?

ignorance is not bliss

i'm oblivious, and i wish i wasn't! i wish that i could pick up on the non-verbal signals that people send me, consciously or unconsciously. but, still i remain thick as a post, try as i might to to be the reverse.

on a totally different note: official wyd merchandise?? what the hell?! is this commercialisation of religion or what! far out.

concrete filter

oh i love the dungeon! today there's someone singing next door, adding some vocal texture to my usual playlist of instrumental electronica. but, if i can hear him, i presume that he can hear me! but his nice voice, although filtered through a concrete wall, would sound so much better than my incessant tappings on the keyboard, interspersed with bursts of frustrated swearing at my petulant code. just as well i've taken my violin home, otherwise the sounds of a dying cat would surely throw this eclectic aural mix.

braindead. again.

i long for just one day where i don't have to think. no problems, be it from politics, people, or the constant pain of phd. someone please just pull me by the nose and spoonfeed me information. menial labour never looked so enticing...

tight with pants but not $$$

is the poor student an endangered species? time-poor they may be, but certainly not economically poor, judging by the arrays of fancy cars, long lines at the coffee shops and the bar, not to mention the ever-changing fashion trends making trails around the place (even down at the traditionally nerdy end of campus!). oh why are tight black jeans back in fashion for men?! i'm not sure that tight pants are good for anyone's health.

pants aside, i wonder at how increasingly affluent students are changing the tertiary education landscape and student community. laptops, mobile phones, lattes, and bug-eye sunglasses (corey worthington you have a lot to answer to!) are a staple for incoming students. has high school mentality seeped into the tertiary world? and how limited are the days of the struggling student, working two jobs whilst juggling textbooks and painting passionate placards for anti-war protests? perhaps the negative correlation between student affluence (read: apathy) and student activism is monotonically increasing. or is there a generation gap and ideology shift that, in my failure to understand either, simply shows my age and itch to change scenery...

timing timing timing

please return my brain space that you've unconsciously and unknowingly occupied! it's not your fault though and certainly not your words. but perhaps your actions had some part to play, they have always spoken a different language. as much as i love to daydream, it's not making this c program code itself any faster. and i don't know what spurred your change in interaction, but alas the timing! such mismatched timing is somewhat ironic given that time delay estimation is my technical specialty... but even that doesn't work right now!! damn code.

checkmate

my brain hurts. a lot. and often. having to think at your level for so long has taken its toll: i'm mentally exhausted. it's very unnatural for me and i'd much rather use that wasted head space for issues and people that really matter; you've completely redefined the meaning of petty. but you've probably been like this the whole time and i've just had my head and hands in the sands of my philosophical worlds. having to deal with your level of low is quashing my spirit and truly testing my patience and optimism; but i'm far too tired to be angry anymore, now i'm just sad. i'm either going to crawl back into and hibernate in my shell or land with all guns blazing. but i've wasted enough on you. shell, it is. o curse'd human greed!

prescription factory

oh the medical centre in town, how i hold fond memories of this place! my favourite recollection is being told that i couldn't possibly ever have skin cancer because i am asian, regardless of the fact that i have been baking under our ozone hole for a some time (as should be evident by my accent!). sitting in the waiting room and observing the goings on for at most 20 minutes today, that same doctor churned through at least five patients in that time; an impressive and worrying throughput by any standard. why is it no mean feat to find a decent medical professional, be it a gp, dentist, optometrist or physio (I was told repeatedly by one that I had torn my ankle ligaments, a diagnosis quickly dispelled by a second opinion)?!

Self-Preservation

Salting, drying, making jam out of, or soaking myself in brine or vinegar doesn't sound enticing. An alternative: I need some acting skills. And I need them now. Curse those who unconsciously (or consciously!) force me to act and be false to deal with them so that I don't crumble in an sad, angry heap on the floor. Perhaps I should learn (by osmosis?) from those careening about outside my dungeon of an office. They're good enough to fool me: screaming, crying and what not, creating a lively soundscape resembling a midday soap opera in the corridor. I love the sounds of creative life in the background of fantastically loud Paganini; but I just wish that I could be as emotionally convincing! So please, any takers on helping me with some acting advice?! I don't have much trading currency, but I can barter with you for food, nerd gear, philosophical discussion, or skills in milking the udders of this (educational) institution...