Archive for July 2009

“… Gotta make a change
For once in my life
It’s gonna feel real good
Gonna make a difference
Gonna make it right…”

There are times when I wish to drop everything, sit on a park bench at the most serene segment of a pleasant-enough park and see my fingers fly crazily about the keyboard, typing down an abstract tale of something which I will probably send to my Recycle Bin years later.

Wishful thinking, maybe. Though it is not exactly difficult to accomplish. Truthfully speaking.
(I should consider it as one of my retirement plans.)

I want so very much to be inspired to write all over again. See elaborate words, figures and punctuations marks. You know, the works. Maybe write a couple of book reviews for a competition, here and there. It would be an ample break from my course in Accountancy. Hah, to think I should be liking numbers. Crunching numbers, to be exact.

Well, who knows? I might just turn at a bend and end up at a different career path.

Nothing is eternal… Unless it is written in stone.


“I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’
I said you wanna be startin’ somethin’
You got to be startin’ somethin’…”

This was relentlessly chanting in my head when I came out of a meeting on Wednesday.

Guess I will be starting something.

“‘Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about strike
You know it’s thriller, thriller night
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight”

Watching Psycho (1960) reminds me of how horror transformed from dying from fatal stab wounds and then being disposed by “drowning” in the depths of a lake (goodness knows how deep it was purposely made out to sink a whole car) while trapped in the trunk of a car, to having one’s head being caught in a bear trap that threatens to snap one’s head off. Clean.

Just seconds ago, I saw a private detective skittering down a flight of stairs after being stabbed. By skittering, I meant skilfully keeping on one’s two feet while falling from the top flight of stairs.

Again, cinema of the past amazes me. Horrifying… Almost.

(Smiles deviously)

“Don’t blame it on sunshine
Don’t blame it on moonlight
Don’t blame it on good times
Blame it on the boogie”

So here I am again. Wasting away what is left of the Monday blues, idling the final 12 minutes to Monday on blogging. Bad choice at the time when a graded classwork and a common test for Macroeconomics await me this week and the next respectively… But hey. There has got to be more to life than chasing down every temporary high to satisfy me.

Just as much as I hate to bury myself under pages of reports, mind numbing clattering of the keyboard (all my friends say that I type real hard, even ruthlessly on my laptop), 400 looming deadlines, and staring at the laptop screen wondering if it is going to blank out at any moment (technology fails), it happens as it happens.

Gosh. Seems like I really do have one ticking time bomb of a head. No wonder my friends hail me as one stressed out, over-reacting kid.

I have to say I am doing my utmost to walk and not run (though sometimes running is paramount).

Today, I accepted an opportunity of a lifetime. Tomorrow, I have to live up to my acceptance. Though truthfully speaking, I am forgoing the thought of tomorrow. Like Ronan Keating croons, “If tomorrow never comes…”.

In any case, knock on wood.

Hence among this scattered rantings and constant struggle to cramp the world’s happenings into whatever space there is in my head, I shall put an end to (guess what, it is midnight as I speak!) to this spectacle and go…

Say say say/What you want/But don’t play games/With my affection/Take take take/What you need/But don’t leave me/With no direction


“Well they say the sky’s the limit
And to me that’s really true
But my friend you have seen nothing
Just wait ’til I get through . . .”

The grand finale of Harper’s Island ended a minute ago. Yes, the long-awaited finish to the suffering of all who had inhabited the island.

For what the finale is worth, I have one word of it: Predictable.

Sorry to say, but Harper’s Island did it again. Complicatedly twisting a story in every way possible, wringing your mind of all its brain cells, exhausting you. This time, it failed to make all that exhaustion, frustration and anxiety worth its while. The ending was such an… anti-climax.

First of all, it was the same Mr. Goody Two Shoes turning out to be no Prince Charming. Guess who?
Henry Dunn.

So by the 12th episode (aired last night along with the 13th), everyone knew who the accomplice to Wakefield was. None other than Henry. Not to mention he murdered his girlfriend and orchestrated a cat-and-mouse chase with the remaining survivors of the island.


Seriously. By the 13th episode, I was kept at the edge of my seat, hoping someone, anyone (Henry or Wakefield) could shed some light on the murders. Was it done out of protecting Abby? If yes, why? Was it pure indulgence (god, not another one of those slasher plots)? Was the island cursed? Did it have a strong hold on Henry and Wakefield?

If there was any light shed on the truth, by the holy mother of cows, help me.

The light was as dim as the cloak of the night.

Henry gave Abby a weak excuse of how he “wanted the two of them to be together forever”. Hah, I thought he might have been hinting at an incestuous relationship, but then the flashback was threw across our screens to remind us of the actual evidence to that statement. It was the craziest, least plausible excuse the writers came out with.


Then freaked out Abby decides to play reverse psychology on Henry. Boy was he baited like a naive 3-year old. He bought her docility and obedience, practically eating from her hands. In my mind I yelled, “Gullible much?!”

Well, you guessed it. At the end of it all, the good triumphs the evil. Just that the good acted a little too late.

I guess Harper’s Island was another run-off-the-mill, lousy spin-off to successful entertainers like Saw. You know, gore is no longer what it used to be in the past.

Audiences are begging for more innovative reasons for blood to be splashed across the wall.

“… If this town
Is just an apple
Then let me take a bite

If they say –
Why, why, tell ’em that is human nature
Why, why, does he do me that way
If they say –
Why, why, tell ’em that is human nature
Why, why, does he do me that way….”

— Human Nature by Michael Jackson