that the interactions between us

and the rest of us

define who we are.

Some of us have chosen to embrace this fact

Some of us have chosen to be indifferent

And some of us have chosen denial.

Like bodies in a morgue,

We isolate ourselves in bags

And tag ourselves 'Rebel'.

Supine bodies writhe

And contort and scream

"We are not you!"

"We define who we are!"

"We are our own person!"

The punk rocker clothed in hide

The glint from his lip piercing a distraction

From his cries against dictatorship

The birth child of industrialism

and blind deviance.

The gang-banger from the ghetto

With a Glock in one hand

And a mic in the other

Ancestral hate flowing through his veins

Ancestral hate the target of his rage.

The 'gangster' from the HDB block

Stepping to the beat of a furious silent song

Designer trucker cap hanging loose

Crying power in all the wrong signs

For what good is power that never existed?

Invisible, powerful, contagious

Hate.

Each one shunning, hating

Something.

Ending up never truly loving anything.

The thing about something that's contagious

Is that you'll end up just like the other guy.

Who's non-conformist now?

Catch me, cuff me, and shove me

Into the deepest darkest recesses of my mind

While they stand in the dimly lit hallway

Of my conscience

Judge, Jury and Executioner

Disciples and perpetrators of the law

Protectors of the righteous

They put me up on a caged pedestal

Batons in hand, as if escape was a consideration

As if it was possible.

Its too late, they say

Damn right it's too late.

I'm in here and you're out there

"It was you who dragged me in here!" I shout

"It was you who dragged you in here" they reply

The 'Me' Police, in every sense of those words

Faces, bodies, hands like mine

Hands that grabbed me, got me

Caught me, cuffed me and shoved me

Into the deepest darkest recesses of my mind

I stood in the dimly lit hallway of my conscience

I stay, in my caged pedestal

Crimes, relived

Lies, judged

Violence, contemplated

Deceit, held in contempt

Punishment, executed.

I am my own police

And from them, truly

there is no escape.

Well, The past week saw me teaching a bit of samba reggae to a class of secondary school students from Chai Chee Secondary School. Needless to say, I was apprehensive from the get-go. But somehow I managed to ease into it. I doubt I made much of an impact on the kids, but hey, they managed to get the maculele rhythm (well, somewhat) within 5 hours of lessons. Kinda says something about my teaching skills, eh?

Yes, yes, far from perfect.

And just last Sunday, I believe, I got two of my all-time best scores in bowling with the Sambateria gang after our busking plan got rained down upon. (Oho, pun!)

Thus, I am proud to show you... *drum roll*...THE SCORES!

A 101 for the first game, and a clean 100 for the second! Personal best yo.

Okay, the next post might be a bit NSFW. Not because it contains lewd depictions - if it did you'd probably have the same reaction anyway - but because it'll probably make you feel a little funny inside...somewhat queasy. So much so that you might just head to the toilet and puke out your guts in response after viewing this just because of it's graphic nature and then you head back to your cubicle AND FIND YOUR BOSS WAITING FOR YOU THERE POINTING AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN ASKING "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING READING THIS SHIT WHEN YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE WORKING?!"OMGALLCAPS.

So yeah.

Well, here it is.

A little more presses of the Enter key should do it.

There.

BEHOLD IT'S AWESOME AWESOMENESS: A BLISTER IN THE SHAPE OF THE LETTER 'A'!!!

Guess I decided I'd show it. You're going already? Don't say I didn't warn you about the NSFW!

Oh right, I guess that warning should have come BEFORE the picture.

Meh, procedures schmocedures.

Not sure how I'm supposed to be proud of this though.

But it's in the shape of the letter 'A'! That's gotta be worth something right?

Right?

Goes the kitchen sink

A sound so loud I can't hear myself think

Drip drop, think tank

it's running on empty

In the face of technology

The morality and soul lack sensitivity.

Tip tap, drip drop

Raindrops on the windowsill

From there breeds a wish

for escape from the inadequate

Drip drop, think tank

Thinking about what could be,

A firehouse loft in Boston

With me staring down at the city.

Tip tap, drip drop

Reality cries down on my soul

Its pitter-patter like a million baby birds

Reaching out for control

Drip drop, think tank

Turning to Mother and She

They, who indirectly decide

how what could be, should be.

Life

should just stop screwing with the waterworks

And start getting us some damn umbrellas.

....would you?

ENTER KEY SPAM FTW.

How do you do?"

"Why hello, friend. I'm fine, thank you."

It's been some time, hasn't it?

Why, yes, it has.

Incredible, how time flies

What we thought was now

Is now past.

So how's life? How are you doing?

It's been rough, I would say

Keeping late nights till the weekend

Why the late nights, man? Aren't you tired?

It's not like you're working, right?

Or have you...you know, been hired?

Not yet, actually, and surprisingly, no.

I haven't been tired for more than an hour or so.

My eyes are wide open in the depths of night

And at the heights of day, waking up is a plight.

Well, what do you do then,

while you're wide awake?

I just sit there...

I just sit there.

I enjoy the time and my moment alone

Me, myself, and, if I feel like it

The Rolling Stones

Explore thoughts both shallow and deep

No reason to hold them close

Or cage them in

Cos there's no one else with you

Who would poke fun at them then.

Like what you're doing now

You're giggling, I can see it!

If you think it's so funny

Hell, you might as well just beat it.

"No, man, I'm sorry, I can't help it!"

"Yeah well, you know what?

Just forget it.

I have to leave anyway, my mom's a-calling."

I take one last look at the wardrobe mirror and

Close it.

For the night.

Is it one graced with the presence

of a large amount of money?

Ten, Fifty, Hundred dollar bills in neat stacks

Or gold trapezoids piled up and you can trade back?

Or of a large amount of recognition?

Gleaming lights like miniature suns

Some shining, some flashing

The oohs, the ahs and the hoo-has

An attractive facade for a fork in the road

Of a life worth living?

Or maybe its something more

That you'd like to stand for

No cash or fame, no, you don't like that no more

Freedom, peace, love for all

"Yeah, let's adopt one."

"Yeah, we'll have a ball!"

Yeah, you'd like to think it's something more

Yeah, sure, it's what you'd like to stand for.

Well, friend, a question I pose

Do you really care?

Or are you just a poseur?

See, following the trend's a trend nowadays

They require you to follow through

in the most elaborate of ways.

They tell you, this is your truth, my truth

Our truth.

And thus you follow it.

With utmost belief and conviction

When, in fact, you're straight up lying to yourself

Now, I say, friend

With utmost belief and conviction

A life in truth is the only true life worth living.

Or some other day of the week.

I was busy, living life in rhythm,

In sounds and beats, lights and colours,

The world desaturated in my eyes.

Another wavelength, electromagnetic.

Then she came into view

The bars peaked like no other

Undercover I was till she pulled them off

Without even laying a finger

Tap tap, step by step

She walks.

Hair like palm leaves

The wind as if in servitude to their motion.

She walks.

Her feet leave emotions

Traces of them, in every shape and colour

Tales of tales untold

Deceit, anger, betrayal

Passion.

She walks.

As she stops, so does all life around her

She sees through obsidian

But with me they cloud her vision no longer

Because with her

I am her vision.

Her lips a breath away from mine

And like a breath she disappears

With no memory or record

Of origin or of end.

Like a cruel tease,

Like a dimming light of hope.

She is Miss Who.

How putting feelings and thoughts down to words seems to make the burden disappear almost instantly.

Seems.

That'll do for now, I think.

It was through an online conversation with a good friend of mine.

He initiated said conversation, and we conversed (is there a law against using multiple forms of the same word? Lol) regarding a string of e-mails of which we were both privy to. Long story short, he found a particular reply of mine quite offending.

Now at first, like any sane individualistic self-serving person would be when faced with a similar situation, I was all like, "What? Why? It's not like I'm wrong or anything! It's MY opinion!"

Then it hit me; all those thoughts had self-referring pronouns!

I, me, my, MINE.

Selfish bastard.

Little did I think or take into account of what was on HIS mind.

Honestly, I'd like to blame it on my status as an only child; I've only ever been my parents' one and only for the better part of 16 years.

The other 3? Well, back then, I was the first child. But that's a story for another time.

As an only child, you really only ever think of your needs and your wants. I'll admit it; we're all selfish pompous arses! But, as life would have it, this was not the way I was to live.

I'd like to think past incidents and experiences have made me a more considerate person now, though I've certainly got a ways to go.

As such, I apologise to you, friend, for acting like it was only me who existed on the face of this planet.

AND I could have possibly worded a better and less easily-misconstrued e-mail reply.

Possibly.

On another note, yesterday was the first time I have ever gotten such multiple long tags on my tagboard.

*cue track* DAAAAWWWWWWWWW.

=)

It's somewhat nice to see at least some out of the lot of you who care about ol' Oblivious Ape, even though I might not extend the same care and concern to you. For more information as to why that is, refer to above post. =P

Free shoutbox @ ShoutMix