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tunnelnuke
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Name: Daniel
Country: Singapore
Metro: Singapore
Birthday: 5/25/1984
Gender: Male
Interests: I read. I laugh. I listen. Nuff said. No just kidding that's never enough is it? Listens to Good ol' Rock n' Roll..Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, The Doors (whose lead singer I absolutely adore), Rainbow, Dire Straits, The Who, Hendrix, The Beatles, Queen..music from the Sixties to the Seventies..basically if your dad heard it then I'm still listening to it. Also gets major kicks outta Dream Theater, who has to be the best prog metal band around, and Iron Maiden. Reads Neil Gaiman (his stories are life-changing), Umberto Eco (this Italian is an amazing writer..go check him out) Oscar Wilde and a dozen other writers who have managed to influence the modern literary world. If you read, speak to me. I love "Get Fuzzy".
Expertise: Conjures silly analogies, creates similes and concocts situations as ridiculous as a skunk in a sack of rice. Actually it could be a sack of wheat too but it is only logical I adopt an Asian context. The skunk makes sure it not only reads silly, it smells silly too.
Occupation: Other
Industry: Other
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
MSN: tunnelnuke@yahoo.com
Yahoo:  tunnelnuke@yahoo.com
Jabber: Oh ho I don't go round jabbing people
Member Since:
12/18/2004
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| HelloPerhaps it matters, perhaps it doesn't, but in the midst of all the futility I like to know that I've tried. Tried to extend, not self-pity, but some words of comfort that I truly mean. Perhaps it matters, perhaps it doesn't. I know I fail miserably and it appalls me to no end. I am incapable of comforting myself, but somehow I derive the same from comforting others. And if I can't even do that... Helpless now is what I feel, with nothing more I can say. But please don't ever think I have stopped keeping you in my thoughts. And know that I'm there for you, in the same way sand gets everywhere. | | |
| Way out of hereCleaned my table today. It felt a good two inches shorter than usual, possibly because the level of dirt dropped after I chiseled away at it with Jif and a rag. I can tell what the color of the table was when it first arrived more than ten years ago. No wonder I'm feeling a bit livelier and blogging here. For now.
Added photos of my trip to Vietnam on Facebook. Here're some.
Funky bicycle. It's motorised too!
Lawksamussy! Damn heavy lar the snake.
For the Mekong river tour.
The rest are here, and for the slightly more gruesome and sinister-looking ones, click here. They're alright to view I guess? Just a little disclaimer in case people start throwing up all over their laptops.
Still I'm looking for a way out of here.
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| Stop.1. Because I never blog about anything happy nowadays.
2. Because all I long so desperately to say should never see the light of day.
3. Because the world is sick and tired of reading emo stream-of-consciousness shit. (So I shall do it somewhere else)
4. Until I get out of this rut, which doesn't seem likely.
5. Unless I have new stuff written which I wanna share.
6. Unless I have happy thoughts.
So that's it. Stopped. Ceased. Finished. | | |
| Back and no better than before.If I can't sleep, at least I can't stop writing. It amuses me, in a sense, that Plath wrote tons before she stuffed her head in an oven. I have no oven and none of her brilliance. I would buy an oven, but I doubt it comes with a free bottle of Genius.
This Is Night
This is night -
the time when doors close
and the weeping is no longer heard;
the space that lurks
between the corridors of daylight.
This is night -
the time a child walks halfway across the world
and no one will notice the empty bedsheets,
if he comes back before the morning sun.
This is night -
the space the devils use to bargain for souls.
A marketplace where goods are not seen,
the prices as low as a moment of vice.
This is night -
a time when you are finally yourself but noone sees you.
A time when you muse and ponder
the missed chances of the day before.
The space where whispered warnings
echo in your head.
This is night.
The time when dreams and nightmares,
bruised and battered from the harshness of day,
rise recharged.
This is night. | | |
| By God's grace He shall hear my plea;
When tomorrow comes I shall cease to be. | | |
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