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Sunday, June 21, 2009

step up. @ 8:20 PM

ETA: Picture removed.

Twitter update: BAH HUMBUG I still don't have a picture of my new hair.

En esta foto...

I've been thinking too much about my Internal assessments lately, bah.
But in this picture, my eyes are too wide I think.
And my nose looks big from the side.

I really wanted to go watch August: Osage County with Martina, but she's going to for it on moving night.
Which reminds me.
Serena's room right now, actually.
I don't have to huddle into a claustrophobic space like the one Su's got for the rest of the year.

I actually had a lot of things to say, but somehow right now I can only fixate on the fact that my last blog entry was a complete deviation from my definition of normal.

I had wanted to review another book, which is Angelica by Arthur Philips but I can't really be bothered at the moment, so go and read it yourself.
Its amazingly good.

You know, I suppose some people might ask a very pertinent question, which would be:
'Why is it every time you review a book, your verdict is that it is mind-blowingly fabulous? Aren't you supposed to give bad reviews too?'

The simple answer to that, my questioning reader, is that I very rarely pick up a book which has not been recommended to me or has not been well-reviewed before.
I tend to research extensively and look up books I want to read next, and then I find them in e-book format, or buy them.
Or I take the books on the word of certain very trusted people's recommendations.
So most of the time, I am very satisfied with what I have chosen to read.

There are of course, exceptions, such as Twilight.
And a little more recently, Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld.
At one point, I picked up Allison Croggon's first novel in the Pellinor series, but couldn't get through the first two chapters.
So I didn't read it.
And hence can't review it, badly or not.

So there.

Friday, June 12, 2009

I'll tell you why the tower leans in Pisa. @ 1:32 PM

breaking news from Priya's twitter:
Priya is currently stalking Taylor Swift and Cam Gigandet on Twitter.

its addictive, though I'm only allowed 140 characters.
micro-blogging, pah.

this weekend is looking to be very good, but you and I both know that the mirror might not be two-ways.
though I'm going to be spending it with Pam at Moreton's and Aunt Jenny's and we're going to end up not doing any work but tangled up in mattresses reading books about horses and Spain and girls who shouldn't be doing what they are doing.

I've been in a really weird mood recently and I don't know how to put it down but here it is anyway: I found that I'm not who I think I am or thought I was or will think I will be because I did something I thought I'd never do.

now they're outside singing happy birthday to some kid I don't know and don't care about.

here I want to be the girl I always am in my head, my homunculus, raven-haired beauty with dazzling eyes but the best I can get is an afro frizz with an over-eyelined stare; and that's not bad because it is who I am, just a different me.
I never tell you whats really in my head because its all a trick of the light;

please stop talking about how depressed you are.
I know you're all tortured on the inside.
but just stop it.
I cannot take how much you pity yourself-

no I'm not depressed or will be again after the last time I'm just free with my words because they cost me nothing but they tax you like your income has no boundaries.
and we both know you have no limits anyway.
I would hate being you;
being me is hard enough.

and you are like everything I never had, you stay with me and you like me and I don't know why but you're my best friend and I want you to know that because you should know that there's a name for what you do.
lets keep it a secret between us but I like you too and you and you and you and though I might talk about you behind your back I only do it because you know I do it.
and you are everything I love about this place.
everything that I wanted from here I received, not in the way I had imagined as I stepped off the plane but Timbuctoo is too far away and you give me everything I'd asked for.

so let's put it this way;
I'll never leave you or betray you and though we will have to part after and we both know that that will be the end, you made a huge difference.
our similarities were never in the question.
I see you in the corner of my eye.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

back through the door, stupid pigeon. @ 8:29 PM

I just signed up for twitter.
so god shall curse my name and strike me with lightning tenfold.

just had an amazing catch-up session with my karate biffle Pathma; (sorry I can't get over how Mikella just cannot stand it when I say biffle; its become a habit).
But its refreshing hearing about all the stupid things Duck, Jill and etc. do and making very mean fun of everything.

A bird just flew into the dining hall and flew straight into the window.
things like this just make my day.
though its making a lot of noise slamming into windows and its beginning to annoy me.

I don't know if I mentioned this, but I've cut my hair.
And I've lost my first kiss.

this is an insignificant post about insignificant things and I'm allowed to do this because its my blog and I feel like being insignificant so deal with it.

Sunday, June 7, 2009

the fire in my loins. @ 10:48 AM

/hiatus thanks.

anyway, my exams are over and now I can resume my usual blogging activities, which include, whining, complaining, bitching, criticising and reviewing books/make-up.
and of course my first return post would be about a book.

Trust me though, Lolita isn't just any book.
Its a masterpiece.

Lolita, by Vladimir Nabokov, revolves around its main character, Humbert Humbert and his paedophilia; and eventually his lust for the 12-year old Dolores Haze, also affectionately known as Lolita.

I cannot begin to describe to you how artfully and completely this book tore my emotions to tatters and shreds.
I found myself nodding scandalised assent to so many things I would have scowled at in disgust if I had come across them in newspapers.
But no, instead of contempt I found I could only find sympathy and understanding for Humbert as he lusted and wasted all his affections on Lolita.
But Lolita herself;
The thing about this book that left me in tears was the effective ruin of a normal childhood for Lolita.
And in the very end, you cannot find a single person to blame, though you wish and want with everything you have to pin the monstrosity of the destruction of both child and man onto one single person.

In this case, I cannot point out to you one particular thing that I like, seeing as everything ties in together to create a battering ram of emotions and morals.
The language is beautiful though, and even if I hated the book for its disturbing subject matter, I could not say a single word against Nabokov's use of the English language.
But I cannot hate the book, how could I hate something that could render me so emotionally drained in 300 pages?

I need to read something sickeningly fantastical to rid myself now of the pyschological burden of this book.


a little bit gr33kish, off the beaten road.
falls through every promise and kisses every toad.
always on the wrong end of the rainbow.


ann nie


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