Game Start.

A few weeks since the last entry? Heh.

Well, surprisingly the first things I did as soon as internet connection was available, was catching up with Naruto the manga. Also, caught up with some incomplete anime series, the first on the list being Fullmetal Alchemists: Brotherhood. The next in line is Kuroshitsuji 2.

That's what I tell people.

The truth is more like this: I checked all 4 of my e-mail inboxes, cleared them of junk; I logged in to my internet banking and checked my balance and made necessary updates; I signed in Facebook and checked the PMs and cleared out junks; I signed in on MSN and Skype, and from there I chatted with my closest friends and my family and particularly my mom for more than 2 hours; last but not least, I've completed my student registration on the S3P.

So, it's just a frontal act, a playful and unserious impression.

Class starts tomorrow.

Thus the game to overcome the bug in me starts.

There's something wrong with me.

There's something wrong with me.

Like I'm Admitting My Disability.

"Mom, there's something wrong with me.

So stop telling me to do stuffs like that."

- on how I should socialize with seniors to help with my studies.

Too bad, oh how so bad.

Who or What will be the Plug?

Oh yesss. I am finally done with Lisey's Story. It does get quite dull. But it's a really emotional one. And as I read the last few pages, the next title I am considering to read flashes in my mind.

So, would it be The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, or, a start-over for Steven Pinker's How The Mind Works. They are both non-fiction, and they both excite me equally. One records arguments on theology slash religions in general; the other does mind-fucking in a seemingly logical and sensible way. I will choose one to fly with me on the plane.

Other than the few remaining canvases for me to doodle "art" on, the books I have will also be my companions. All that I rely on to save my piss sad life. "Save me save me" I sing - more frequently than ever -, but it's so darn hard to pull myself out from that pit that extends all the way through the Earth's crust. No, not quite reaching the centre of the Earth yet, thankfully and mercifully.

It's not even intimidating me, the fact that, the thoughts of cutting my arm are coming at me stronger and bolder. Like, I think I need to get myself a tool as soon as I can. Namely a blade. Get a high quality one too. If it's not cutting, it's puffing smoke. Flavoured cigars seem like a good idea. But I've been thinking Salem Light. Oh, I shudder at the thought of how people will start casting their funny looks on me. Only, I'm the only one who think it's funny. So I tell myself, yea, as soon as you get back to goddamn Newcastle, go consult a counsellor. Walk into the person's room and say

"I don't know, you know. Just talk to me."

Lisey's Story

I've always known that Stephen King is one of those bigger names. (Heck I didn't even know the genre albeit knowing he crafted The Dark Tower series. shrugs.) So I am glad I was not lazy that time, only to add the heavy book onto the pile on my hands and directed myself straight towards the cashier. Then, a year later - more precisely now-, I am one hundred pages away from The End.

Don't ask me how come it's "a year later". With the endless reasons and excuses, cutting a long story short is not even necessary in the first place.

Disclaimer: I am no reviewer by any standards, I am just here to share my sentiments.

I honestly didn't know what I was getting myself into. The author's name attracted me more than the title did. I mean, with a title like "Lisey's Story", my first impression was - how boring is this shyt gonna be? The little summary on the inside of the hard cover's jacket, did no clarification, just making me feeling intrigue and that I needed to give it a chance and explore. Also, it should be an exploration with no obvious lead. It tested my patience alright, the first 200 pages through I was still fumbling around in what seemed like a small suffocating dark cellar. But of course at the end if it, my perseverance was rewarded with satisfaction and contentment a literate reader extremely values.

The purple curtain drew back where Sweetheart hills came into sight, there, a wooden sign marked my path through the Fairy Forest all the way to The Pool - enough time till Night took over Twilight.

Lisey's Story is really spell-binding. The contrapuntal play between reality, Boo'ya Moon, and where "past is present" are all too real/honest, almost convincing. I say convincing, because the story somehow hit a hidden music note in me. A psychedelic music note. A part of me was a little in resonant with the story's mania. I found myself relating to being a "gomer" like the characters. Interestingly, gomer is in fact an acronym for "Get Out of My Emergency Room". How it tickled my funny bones. Though no longer funny if I do turn catatonic. I envisioned myself so, and it's not completely impossible. Did I also mention that when I was reading it I felt a chill running down my spine?

It was worth spending my time on this novel. And the author lived up to his reputation, so I just discovered. (Too slow but never late I guess!)

And if it's down to not wasting time, I should get going and register myself as a Stephen King fan now.

P.S. Brace myself for the horror too! GULPS.

That Last Straw.

It seems like I have a tendency to pick out stuffs that are very much psychological. And then I question if I should continue immersing myself into those crafts. Novels, movies and even news reports alike... It's not a problem reading or watching them, but it somehow rouses something else in me. That something else is like the door to that other world. Like, those materials are reminding me so much of that possibility in me. Going "gomer", as how Stephen King described his characters in "Lisey's Story".

I suggested that, maybe I should not stay in one place. That I have to move around more, so that I don't get too "comfortable" with that one place and have my mind trailing off towards the door. One part of me now dies to leave home. One part of me aches on thoughts of how the 9th is approaching. One part of me wails at how I have to be reminded of the many brainless monkeys in Newcastle. One part of me cautions, that I seriously have to be serious in keeping myself in check - My crumbling sanity and fragile emotions in check.

As much as I wanna be positive, the negative stormclouds accumulated all through the years and contained and set aside - since I have a conscience, are looming predatorily over my soul. And the defensive barriers? The very thin thread stitching my being together.

That Last Straw.