BLOG REVIVED. HAH.
another marvin blogskin.
pathetically still relying on basecodes.
just wanted an excuse to try out new brushes.
they are very cool.
it's been a loooong time hasn't it.
in honour of paranoid/maniacally depressed/genius robots,
i have some cheerful little quotes.
"All the world's a stage and most of us are desperately unrehearsed."-Sean Casey
"A lot of people I know believe in positive thinking, and so do I.
I believe everything positively stinks."- Lou Col
"Whenever people agree with me I always feel I must be wrong."-Oscar Wilde
and of course,
"Life, loathe it or ignore it, you can't like it."-Marvin the Paranoid Android

my life is not a story.
but sometimes i wish it was.
stories are meant to be read, you want to read them. after all, it is their purpose.
no one would want to read my life. it's too normal.
& the thirst, the ambition to be recognized becomes stronger.
wanting to DO something. wanting to live on after death. that is my ultimate goal.
but by the looks of it, it looks nigh impossible.
we all can have dreams, ideals. how many of these are actually fufilled is another thing altogether.
everyone wants to be known, and some just get lucky.
the other few million or so live completely normal lives, good lives but also boring lives.
the chances are literally one in a million.
but hey, it's worth a shot.

here is a fact about me:
i don't often think much about what i do.
here is another fact about me:
when i do, it haunts my conscience like forever and ever.
joy.
sarah may think she came across as some mumbly weirdo shy person.
but at least you can relate to/sympathise with/ actually like someone who is like that.
besides, she isn't alwaaaays like that.
i wish i didn't come across as some ego bigheaded proud cretin.
or words to that effect.and yes, i called myself a cretin.
i think i heard some people gasp when i said that if you only describe me as cute you dont know me all that well. yippee.not.
and the worst thing is, none of that was lies.
i was completely honest about everything. i used to ask myself, why does everyone think i'm so thick skinned? the answer is, they're more sensitive than me. so smart, eh? not.
and i guess people take it harder than i would, more seriously plus they think about it more. not that i have a problem with that, it's just that i can barely remember to be softer and more sensitive about it.
see, i actually said that to show others that no i am not fake.
you can lie, you can tell the truth.
both ways the same people hate your guts.
it's quite pointless that way.
and another thing, it always ALWAYS comes out the wrong way and does not occur to me.
until later.
at math class when mr koh asked us to introduce ourselves i said i was better at words than numbers.
no i don't think that i'm brilliant with words.
in fact that didnt occur to me.
i meant i was really really bad with numbers.
then later i was like doi fayth, that was really stupid. i think i came across like some self absorbed egomaniac. in my own class. whee that's on my to do list! not.
i could ask me to jump off a cliff now.
i am going to check if purple duct tape exists.
if it does i shall stick a piece on my mouth and shut up because that's what everyone seems happy with. peace, harmony and all that.
p.s if you are wondering, why purple? it's because i figure that if i have to forgo talking via duct tape it may as well be with a colour i like.

i simply love ghost stories. good ones that is. oh if you're wondering where to find good ones i recommend uncle montague's tales of terror and tales of the black ship by chris priestley. a bit on the stereotypical side but a seriously good read. much better than mr midnight anyway. that one is either incredibly predictable OR very unpredictable because it's so unbelievable. it's always the same hokey. sighh. it didn't start off bad, but i wonder how the heem it outsold harry potter.
i'm in a writing sort of mood so i think i will randomly write a short story. a monologue actually.
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ssh.
no one actually knows i'm here.
*giggle*
they'll take ages to find me.
at least i have you for company. you're a great friend.
funny place i'm in, huh?
it's all white and everyone's dressed in white too!
thing is, i think those people in white, they're really nice but when i try to introduce you they'll say that's very nice dear and walk away.
it's like they think you don't exist.
how weird.
and that's not the only weird thing.
see the room?
it's white too.
and it's all soft, like pillows. i can go boing boing boing without getting hurt!
see?
boing!
*giggles*
why don't you try it? whatever i do, you'll do! you talk to me whenever i want, and you will always always ALWAYS be there for me!
you're my best friend.
promise me you'll stay forever, even if forever is in this soft room with the white clothes people!
we'll have so much fun together.
so much fun.

i have to quit worrying so much. tis stupid.mehmehmeh. image conscienceness is just a burden.
here's why:
1)as if you needed another thing to worry about.
2)if you let your image fall into disrepair, you reputation and no. of friends follows as such.
3)when you want to be yourself, sometimes you tell yourself no.

and the thing about image conscienceness is that if you mess up one teeny weeny little time, people are going to judge you. like this, *snap* oh she's so rude. and then it's fixed. forever and ever.even if you wanted to change, you can't cause you've gone and written them off! tsk tsk! course, there are always people whom you give manymany chances but they never change. but let's not fiddle with the minority.
Being aware of your image, i think, comes with age. when you were young, i don't think you would've thought twice about painting your face with finger paints. now, there's always a what if. what if it makes me look weird? what if my friends think i'm crazy?
yaddayaddayadda.
and the list goes on.
i really wish people would be a little less judgemental and wait and see for awhile. i'm not saying we should be best friends with everyone, that would be impossible. just give them one more chance if they mess up, cause everyone messes up. just like it's impossible for everyone to like you, it's impossible to be perfect.
people are never one dimensional; there's always another side of them.

i have a new favourite song! it's the one on the blog. i made the skin just for the song.
i think it's a really really sweet, sad song.
i shall post the lyrics here

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven
Will it be the same
If I saw you in heaven
I must be strong, and carry on
Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven

Would you hold my hand
If I saw you in heaven
Would you help me stand
If I saw you in heaven
I'll find my way, through night and day
Cause I know I just can't stay
Here in heaven

Time can bring you down
Time can bend your knee
Time can break your heart
Have you begging please
Begging please



Beyond the door
There's peace I'm sure.
And I know there'll be no more...
Tears in heaven

Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven
Will it be the same
If I saw you in heaven
I must be strong, and carry on
Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven

Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
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i know joan asked me to do a christmas skin, but oh welll....
i'm sorry if the incredibly high notes in this version of the song are making your eardrums implode. just put up with my song choice, please? or mute your computer.

doo-bee-doo
tum teh tum
i got my braces.
admittedly not the most pleasant thing, and eating is just hard.
i'm currently trying to find a metal detector to set off, just for fun. i hope'll work because it'd be just funny. anyhoo i have been asked repeatedly to revive the blog. and so i shall. i've been working on a story which i actually have not deleted instantly. so it's ok and you won't die of cardiac arrest if you read it or anything. i think'll put the first part right here.

Changeling
prologue
The alchemist looked down at his newest creation. He had worked day and night to achieve such perfection. The endless toil had taken its toll on him; he could feel his breath escaping him in wheezy gasps. He knew only too well that this invention could be his last. Yet, if he succeeded…he would be immortal. His name would live on as the greatest of creators, a legend to all future generations. The honour, the fame, the glory….his eyes refocused as he determinedly got back to work. No, this time he would not fail. Through shaky breaths, he swore to himself that the honour would be worth any price he had to pay. Even if it was his life.
“Ah, such beauty.” He stroked the hair of his creation. It was so beautiful; it hardly deserved to be continuously injected with alchemical solutions. In its vegetative state, these solutions were the only thing keeping it alive. He wanted to find a way, a way to keep it alive. Passing electrical currents through it, like that human novel Frankenstein merely let its eyes open momentarily. Besides, his creation was not some creature crudely assembled out of stolen body parts, it was a true work of art. He decided he could not rely on science alone to rouse it. After all, alchemy was part magic as well.
The next day he searched desperately, feverishly through the depths of his own mind. There had to be some spell, some incantation, something that would sustain it. A thought slipped into his mind, but it was so horrendous he recoiled in shock. It was disgusting, immoral and completely inhuman! Yet, he knew if he were to finish it…it truly was the only way. Surely, he coaxed himself; the repercussions would not be so bad that they could not be controlled. “The only way” he muttered to himself, sad grey-green eyes looking skyward. “A soul for a heartbeat. A soul for a heartbeat.”
In the course of a few weeks, the alchemist had grown older. The little hair on his head looked as if it had been bleached white and his entire face was a mask of wrinkles. But the eyes were burning, burning brightly with an almost rabid determination that could scorch anything in his path. “It’s nearly…complete” he said to himself, in a voice was nothing more than a scratchy gasp. “My creation will live and that is the only thing that matters to me now.” He knew he was weakening by the moment, but it seemed the fire in his eyes would refuse to die until it was complete. The extraction was nearly finished; in return his creation would finally wake. That was when the noise started.
It started as a dull thud on the door but was progressively growing louder. The alchemist knew that, somehow, word of his “experiment” had got out. They were here, and he knew he had precious little time to complete the process. His hands deftly grabbed his notes and threw them into the fire. He did not want others to learn of how he created it, so as to be able to use it for their own purposes. He saw the thing breathe out a cloud of wispy blue smoke and he knew it was done. It was finally alive. The alchemist smiled for the last time in his life as the door splintered open and the cries of outrage became audible. The last thing his flickering consciousness grasped was the beautiful vision of his creation waking, like a dreamer from a deep sleep.
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obviously i didnt have anything to post, so i took the easy way out.
feel free to give constructive criticism, comments etc.
=p