Friends

Sep 2003

sINgApORe loR

http://profiles.friendster.com/jasonluo

Tampines Primary, Pasir Ris Secondary, Temasek Polytechnic, PSB Academy

STUDent

Bedok Lutheran Church, Youth Flying Club, International Dyslexia Association, Simplified Spelling Society, Outward Bound Singapore, Odyssey of the Mind

Cooking, Tennis, Rugby, Kayaking, Reading, Jogging, Gaming, Photography

Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, A Million Little Pieces, This Present Darkness, The Stand, Craving For Love, The Parable Of Peanut, The Memory Book, Chicken Soup For Jazz Soul, East Of Eden, The Color Purple

Gattaca, Forest Gump, Stepmom, AI

Christian Pop, Gospel, A Cappella, Jazz, Top 40

Gilmore Girls, ER, Party Of Five, 7th Heaven, Ally Mcbeal, Hey Arnold, Touch By The Angel, Top Chef, Lonely Planet, A Cook's Tour

Scorpio

The border of high and low brings an insistent, almost
aggressive wind. grit and paper and eucalytus leaves pour
horizontally across the freeway; one is mistaken for a
reckless seagull.

Sometimes described by using blanks instead of words.

See pretty?

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“There, but for the grace of God, goes…”

THERE is a question that I ask,
And ask again:
What hunger was half-hidden by the mask
That he wore then?

There was a word for me to say
That I said not;
And in the past there was another day
That I forgot:

A dreary, cold, unwholesome day,
Racked overhead,—
As if the world were turning the wrong way,
And the sun dead:

A day that comes back well enough
Now he is gone.
What then? Has memory no other stuff
To seize upon?

Wherever he may wander now
In his despair,
Would he be more contented in the slough
If all were there?

And yet he brought a kind of light
Into the room;
And when he left, a tinge of something bright
Survived the gloom.

Why will he not be where he is,
And not with me?
The hours that are my life are mine, not his,—
Or used to be.

What numerous imps invisible
Has he at hand,
Far-flying and forlorn as what they tell
At his command?

What hold of weirdness or of worth
Can he possess,
That he may speak from anywhere on earth
His loneliness?

Shall I be caught and held again
In the old net?—
He brought a sorry sunbeam with him then,
But it beams yet.

-------------------------------

DEAR friends, reproach me not for what I do,
Nor counsel me, nor pity me; nor say
That I am wearing half my life away
For bubble-work that only fools pursue.

And if my bubbles be too small for you,
Blow bigger then your own: the games we play
To fill the frittered minutes of a day,
Good glasses are to read the spirit through.

And whose reads may get him some shrewd skill;
And some unprofitable scorn resign,
To praise the very thing that he deplores;
So, friends (dear friends), remember, if you will,
The shame I win for singing is all mine,
The gold I miss for dreaming is all yours.

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frickin bureaucratic angels