You name it.

Let's see, it's already May. Maybe i should start being more active in this space. And May-be, I should stop gorging on dark chocolates.

And here, a wishlist.

1. A new job that isn't so mentally and physically demanding
2. Income!!!
3. New wardrobe complete with a wider collection of shoes
4. Large everyday bag for school days
5. Car!!! My white or yellow Volks beetle
6. To paint my room
7. Queen-sized bed
8. New dressing table
9. Learn salsa
10. Learn to bake /cook
11. Learn to drive
12. FREEDOM
13. More Vitamin L
14. A better love life.
15. No more jerks.
16. Red or yellow or white trench coat
17. What I've always been waiting for.
18. A better re-birthday. It's impossible.

I'm not laughing

• While shaking hands get into a heated thumb wrestling match.

• Repeat everything your interviewer says, keep going until he or she yells at you. Then ask if you got the job.

• Stick a piece of broccoli between your front teeth, smile a lot.

• Sometime during the interview, frown and sniff suspiciously, ask the boss if he or she farted.

• Pick your nose and wipe contents underneath your interviewer's desk.

• Bring in whoopie cushion, set it off, roll your eyes and look at your interviewer with disgust.

• In the beginning of the interview pull out a gun and put it on the interviewers desk in front of you, then say, "Mind if I rest this here during the interview?"

• Demand that if hired, you want a desk plate that reads, "Big Kahuna."

• As you follow your interviewer to his or her office kick out their heels so that they trip and fall on their face, laugh uncontrollably.

• Show up in your jogging outfit, run in place during the entire interview.

• Bathroom excuse #1: Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, as you walk out the door make a loud fart noise with your mouth then sigh and say, "DARN!"

• Bathroom excuse #2: Excuse yourself to go to the bathroom, come back with the entire front of your pants wet.

• Comment on how much you like your interviewers spouses picture, then take it and put it in your briefcase.

• Some time during the interview slip some gum in your mouth, then sneeze as loud as you can launching entire contents in your mouth in his or her face, cover your mouth and say, "I sink I loth by theeth."

• As you reach inside your briefcase pull out a sock puppet, introduce him as "Socko" and harass your interviewer with it.

• During the interview reach over and grab at your interviewers face and say, "Got your nose" while clenching your fist, demand that you get hired or you wont give back their nose.

• Chew tobacco, spit in pencil holder.

• Announce that you are committing a hostile take over of the company, fire your interviewer.

• At the end of the interview end it with a three stooges eye jab followed by a smack to the forehead finish it off with a, "woo-woo-woo-woooooo....!"

Let me teach you a crying spell

My crying spells have been ongoing, even now. Only reason I'm updating is because I can distract myself from whatever is dragging me down. I will be okay. That is so cliched. But what else can I say? I can't be depressed forever, neither can I be happy.

Why must we hesitate so much? Why can't we just say what we feel? If we hate, can't we just turn it into vulgar raps and curse and swear? What's wrong? It would be genuine feelings, fresh out of the mouth. That's why I love Eminem's lyrics- to the cut, blunt, frank, direct, cutting, honest, brutal, dirty, raw, uncensored.

Why be so unwilling to dish out love? If we love, can't we just confess? Why the many complications?

If we're mad, why can't we break dishes and plates and bowls and bend forks and knives? Why can't we scream into space, or cry into our pillows? Why must we have anger management? Why can't we just slap the f***ing person? Why do we need to censure such vulgarities with asterisks?

So, why then, can't we cry blood when we're happy? Laugh and gloat when we're sad?

Then why can't the bad die? Why do all the undeserving lackeys get all the luck in the world? Why this? Why that? Why thus? Why?

Because it would be wrong? It would be wrong to be all human?

invisible writings

Ok, I tried to revamp but I do realise probably nothing's gonna get published. Oh gosh, tearing while I'm typing. But it's just because my heart is breaking from wanting and wishing for too long, too much.

I am fighting my battle- only the initial stage and there's a very high chance I might win. But still, they say, don't pin your hopes on too high. In case I don't make it, I don't wanna go writhing in pain. It does sound vain, but I wanna die beautiful, for the living to remember me by.

It's hard, living as a burden but also knowing that one stays as a burden on the heart, in memories even when one is dead. Meant to fade into oblivion? Or carved into scars that heal once time slips by? Am I about to join him? Why are our fates so connivingly twisted into a similar pattern? Is this some kind of game?

When fate plays with Faith.

So this is what happens when fate plays with me. Faith. (That's me, in case people start wondering where Cate went to, Cate is Faith. Catherine Faith.)

I just wanna ask. Why me? Why not her? I have been a good girl, (maybe not all year long) but good enough to know what is fulfilling and what's it like to live with a heart. It's so hard feeling so tired, not having enough physical strength to go on; sometimes I just feel like lying in bed. I've got my plans in my head- after I graduate from JC I wanna go round the region with friends, do relief teaching, volunteer again at Bishan Home, work, get into a decent uni to study psychology and philosophy. And more. I don't ask for As, I don't ask for huge bucks, I don't ask for fame, wealth. All I want is my health. My sanity. Whatever, and whoever makes me happy.

She has love. But I can't even love openly. She can do whatever she wants. I am not allowed to. She's not smart. I am. She's shallow. I know the workings of Man's heart, and what changes purpose. She loves fleetingly and unwillingly. I love deeply and am constant. She embodies all that's fun, sun, girlish laughter, makeup, skimpy clothes, small assets, secrets under the sheets, charms and potions. But I am all blood, flesh, frankness, raw uncensored emotions, the heart.

She loves to chatter. I love to talk, listen and get wrapped up in real conversation. She giggles, I laugh, or smile. She talks. I write. She writes with a feathery quill on fancy sheets. I write in honest blue or black on plain lined sheets.

I just hope I don't get taken away too soon. Please. Don't. A plea from someone who just wants to be happy. I am deserving of life. What more should I do to prove this?

Septembers make me cry.

Because I don't want you to cry. I'll be okay. I have to.

Come on, my beautiful girl...
by Cate V, August 2006

You'll never be blamed
If you take the knife
Upon the lives of your
Kindred.

You're loath to be of their blood
So 'tis Meaningless to beg for
Love so miserably dished out.
Who can sound a natural
Guiltiness about
You,
My overtly beautiful angel of
Blood?

Thus with reason cease with reason fetter;
Thou art not a summer's
Day beautiful,
but a hot Arabian night
Exotic, full of
Wild dances under the Devil's
Wings,
And under the night sun.

There you, my fair
One,
Should but dance away
And be blamed not,
Though your heart be filled
With sulphurous wrath.
________________________________

One-man Show
by Cate V, 30 Aug 2006

I watched a one-man show
Today,
Paid for no ticket,
but rather offered a complimentary
Front row seat upon
where I could
Catch a whiff of the
Girl-actor's
Powdered essence.

So what shall I,
Lone stranger,
Say upon the eyes
of a girl?
A woman
Nurtured and bred by rain,
Toughened by lighting flashes
Weakened by soft drops
Trickling down her
Emerald green skirt
Not reaching her
bloodied knees.

She and I, stood side by
side, Watching the sky rain itself to bits,
To watch heavenly grief:
While mortal pain itself gashed, wounds
Lashed opem,
Wedged a pool between us.
Never once did I attempt to speak,
and neither did she.
All she and I did was
To watch mortal
Creatures take away their
treasures from the
Trusted bloodsucking
Safe-deposit box,
and delighted with their find, went home
to spicy dinners and
Foolish wine.

Then out of the sudden blue,
the girl-actor life
My side, and
went where she belonged,
but why, I disappeared into
the rain, I don't know why.

Frogs are so darn lucky. they get to kiss the princess.

It's 3.20 am and I'm supposed to be doing up my best 3 achievements for graduation cert but I'm still not doing it. Things are just too messed up, too confounded that I haven't had time to talk to myself recently. (I'm not psycho, I meant I haven't been in touch with myself, nor for anything or anyone else, for that matter).

My crying episodes have been going on for a few days this week, and it sucks.

Oh well, this isn't getting anywhere so I'll just emphasise my realisation today that frogs are really really lucky sons of the bull-frog because they always get kissed by some beautiful princess who has undergone a sex change and plastic surgery, and then they turn into such hunks who croak. Okay, I told you so.