The Road Not Taken - Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Fear

Now I finally know what fear is. It's a very subtle, yet paradoxically intense feeling, capable of ripping your mind apart into wretched pieces of fuming trees. I breathe fear, it feeds on me, and I only crave more.

It's like looking beyond what you can see, trying to desperately, so deliriously... and so helplessly to get a hold on your own mental state. And of course you can only suffer the cursed whipping, like lashes of icy fire licking your eyes dry, then tearing out the cornea, the pupils, then turning the two grotesque objects into glorified images of sacrifice. They're placed on the altar and revered.

It's all very twisted, so... warped, the idea of it all. So inhumane and perverse. Fear, it is a phantom, but it evolves, my dear, effortlessly... it grows on you, and transforms into a beast capable of devouring every single bit of your wrecked psyche, like worms consuming away every flesh of that fallen guard by the decrepit, clammy little hut by the deep blue sea, while gulls soar high above the pacific waves.

But of course we need not fear the unknown, because it is only fear that causes even more fear. It is like a vicious cycle, of wanton fear spreading, an epidemic gone out of control. A measly message I delight in sending before my own ghosts take my soul; don't fear, you're a relection of your own revulsion.

Tensional Imagery

I think it will be anytime soon that I begin - wait, completely break down into some deranged beastly bastard and start ripping the whole world apart. I've just realised that I'm really very very dead for all my subjects, including Maths C and Econs. Oh my God. If only I had a God. But that's beside the point. My blood vessels, like swollen containers of frozen fire; they're waiting, waiting ever so impatiently to burst, for all that crimson fluid of a million red cells to come pouring out. My eyes are drooped, tired and weary, I think they'll just detach themselves from my sockets very soon, and stare with all their infantile innocence at me, then at the teachers and everyone else around me. And ask the world they might, what has become of our master?

My every footstep only adds more weight to my already burdened back, and yet I continue, go on trudging through the sluggish sludge of muck. And all that slime traps my feet, and impede my movement, a hundred undead corpses exerting a unimaginably unreal grip on my ankles. These unholy creatures want you to die with them. Want me to live as zombies with them. And yet, like a Templar warrior, sword in hand I advance toward my goal, the dreaded woes of a million worries.

The putrid stench of decomposing human bodies is more than enough to draw up a queer feeling from within my gastric compartment. And the stench shares the air, along with the descending snow, of blackened bile and fingers.

Perfectly Disgusted

We were in the midst of a GP lesson, the topic being capital punishment. Then, the tutor posed to us a very interesting question; whether we would choose to face life imprisonment or accept capital punishment(What if). I quote my classmate: "Life imprisonment, so that I can study!" I was outrageously disgusted.

What is the point of studying if you're never gonna get out of that clammy old room? What is the point of reading Jones & Childers, or Sloman for that matter if you're gonna be stuck inside jail for as long as you live? I mean, knowledge and widsom are things we should always yearn to acquire continuously, but studying - which translates to mugging in the context of my classmate's warped psyche - it isn't something you want to do for the rest of your whole darn life spent in a prison cell!

I think that shows how shallow some people have become in today cruel and merciless (and largely pretentious) society where only the best survive, and where academic excellence is the synonymn of "best". I feel that this very perverse ideal propagated by all forms of educational media nowadays is absolutely revolting. What an irony too, that the education of young men and women is actually about teaching them the twisted facts of life. Living isn't about studying! For those who still think mugging is the whole world to you, you've been living in space all the while. I really mean it. Please wake up. Or at least try to.

I also chanced upon a notice attached onto one of the walls around the neighbourhood, informing parents about tuition services. I read the lines with extreme interest, them saying "Help your child achieve better grades and provide them a better chance of success in life". Or something like that. What it said exactly is not important. All I know is that many people out there think that 10 As and 20 Distinctions secure a promising future for themselves. They've been horribly misled. But it's not their fault really, it's just that somewhere along the evolution of society, things got very, very mixed up and disordered, to an extent that this mistake never got discovered. And if it did, no one really did anything about it.

Another anecdote(not really sure whether it's true) you might want to know about: Tan Tong Kai, a student in RJC, formerly from Chinese High(read - associated symbols and ideas?) did Humanities for the first 3 months. Then he decided to drop it. His reason? "Oh I can't mug for E.Lit!" or something like that. What a big turn off. I can't even do my favourite subject and you bastard there, you're telling me you're gonna miss doing Literature just because you cannot mug for it? Go and jump. It is true that we should do our best and obtain decent grades for ourselves, but really, Literature, like the very themes it represents, is more than what one can only glance at; it holds deeper meaning than mugging damm it! Literature, may it be poetry, prose or drama, is about life, about both the beauty and ugliness of it, about people and these people who are the society, live... It is about humanity. It is about... the very essence and core of being human.

Not mugging you idiot.

I think I've said all that I wanted to say. I only wish that humanity will awaken from his self-destruction. He has abandoned his mother and brothers. He only has himself left to love.

Just Only -

Well, kinda felt pity for my poor old blog, so came back to write something in it. I just love this: "Frolicking with the nymphs of death." Called me narcissustic or whatever you may prefer. The image of having fun with the icons of death is a rather twisted one, and nymphs, with all their puerile innocence, connote a somewhat hidden form of sensuality or even eroticism. This image is even perverse if you think of it.

Anyway, the title is absolutely irrelevant. I wrote here for the sake of doing so. Maybe I'll embark on a short story. Maybe.

On Posting

Sorry to all who have been visiting my blog lately, I've been writing in my open diary you see. Like I said before, I think I will be using this blog less, probably for nonsense and stuff. Ah well, back to my OD.

Fragile Harmony

Dedicated to Justin & Kat, and every loving couple in the world, my blessings evermore.

Like a crystal stream their fingers flowed,
A warming of the piano keys,
An awakening of a gentle piece -
A melody euphonious,
Of unsung delicate kisses
Stolen from the clouds of heaven’s roses.