Teardrops on the Fire, Fearless on My Breath
the giant robot elephant trampled
through the crowds and splattered
everyone that was in its way
it carried on trampling towards
its destiny and destination as its
huge metallic feet thumped and
bumped and left destruction behind
its exploding waves of manic fury and rage
a campaign of death and determination
when it finally stopped its revolt
the jackhammer surgeons and electrical engineers
found that all that had happened was
a crushing case of inconsequential chaos
-
And half the world away, people are dying in a revolution.
“Why do we call em civil servants?” and other Obscene Displays of Affection
Why do we call em civil servants? Aren’t servants already civil, by definition? Are there uncivil civil servants? Then, there’s no real need for the “civil” is there? unless it’s for emphasis.
Why “servants”? Servants to who? exactly? To the state? To society? Are civil servants civilian? Or are they un-civilian – are they state apparatuses, rogue agents, or secret personnel of a planned robot revolution? Definitely not the last one. At least I’m sure of that.
What do civil servants actually do? Clearly, they serve. What do they serve? Not food, surely? They serve bureaucracy-on-a stick, as either an entrée or a buffet spread. Perhaps. Maybe. Whatever it is, we know how they serve. They serve civil-ly. They don’t serve un-civil-ly. That’ll be problematic. For everyone. At least. I’m sure of that. Yup.
-
Okay. So. I’ve been way too busy these days to bother with blogging. Not that you lot mind. You guys who care and understand and empathize with all the oddities of our wickedly twisted reality. Life gets busy, we’ve all been there before. The big news of late, if you don’t already know, is that I’m officially registered to be an employee of the state. Hence all that philosophical mambo jumbo in the preceding paragraphs.
“Gee Carrick, what’re you gonna be? Tell us Tell us~” comes the inevitable question of the internetz masses.
Welp.
You’re looking at the beginnings of an “urban planner” baby.
Hurrah.
Don’t ask for job specifics, because I haven’t started work yet. That’ll be in a week. I’m hoping what they’ll do is put me in a lab with a workstation together with the entire SimCity collection + expansion sets, and say “Thou shalt play em games, and write weekly reports on your progress! Good luck~ Don’t fuck up (or we’ll fire your ass ina no-time)! P.S.: Ignore the Invading Aliens.”
In retrospect, I guess all those days spent playing with simulation games were well worth the effort huh.
In any case, I’ll be over at da URA offices for the better part of the next 3 years, so if you’re in the locale, you know who to holler at for impromptu lunch meetings. The first 5 lucky callers will get a lifetime supply of email spam, an open letter regarding the psychotic weather patterns of Singapore, and a ziplock of poignant happy-sad memories. And if it so happens that I’d pack an apple for lunch that day, I may even throw it forcefully in your general direction. Don’t forget to catch, champs!
The Decadent Lifestyles of the Passive-Aggressive Scientists
The yellow-suited radioactive nuclear physicists had just crashed through the wall with their Giant Time-Space Master Blaster(tm) and were trying their best to look inconspicuous beside the pink Palaeolithic Russian hippopotamus. Edward squinted over his box of multicoloured Mardi Gras apparel and went “?”
“Ah,” said one of the unknown men, “look here, see, we can, I mean, I, can, explain-”
“George please,” interrupted a slightly more burly compatriot, “it’s obvious that the last quadratic monograph calculations were wrong. In any case, we should adjourn from the scene of the, aha, incident ASAP. There is no inherent need for explanatory verbatims to passersby. Let’s just reset the thing…here. QED. Now. Time to bid au revoir. Monsieur~”
And before Edward could raise a point of inquiry, the preposterous time travelling scientists were off, the hole in the wall mysteriously replaced by a troupe of disingenuous Danish standup comedians.
For a moment, there was a moment of awkward silence.
Followed by an awkward shuffling of feet.
Then, there was just general awkwardness.
Reserve the Summer Trains; Tonight We Blast Off to the Holy Spaceland of Infinite Eventuality
Apologies for not posting sooner. I’m still reeling from last Friday’s release of results. I’ve also been busy notifying the appropriate people about the news.
Still.
A weekend of constant social interaction, strenuous workouts involving climbing indiscrete hills, and several design projects later, and I’m still left feeling rather high…ever since I’d clicked that NUS results page, and saw this:
In truth, my honours thesis was 4 years in the making. The cumulative journey of waddling through all those lectures and tutorials, with the accompanied experiences of close friends and even closer acquaintances, had ultimately led to an utterly unexpected A+.
I couldn’t have done it without the people involved in my life story, here at NUS.
The profs, the Masters students, the seniors. The Arts camp people (who’re matriculating the newest batch of freshies this week~), the Arts rag people. The people I knew from my Gems and Breadths, the people I knew from my UEs. The people I knew from SEP. And the Sociology people, of course.
That said, I now know what it feels like to come out a winner. How Obama felt when the last ballots were accounted for. How Peter Jackson felt when the call came in for Best Director. And. How the Rag 08 people felt when they finally won the Top Float award.
It’s the feeling of having done your best, going through hell, and coming out the other side freshly minted; the smell of freedom rain pouring over your tired shoulders and your soul released from everything-ness into complete nirvana.
I’ll tell you how it feels: It Feels Pretty Damn Farking Gooood.
Ok lah. Enough of that ego trippin’ shit.
I’ll be taking the rest of the week off for celebrations and whatnot. And then it’s back down to earth, and finding employment in this financial muck of an economy. Ah yes, Reality. You’re an intense flirt, you are.
