Magic Chemistry Show
Chemistry lecture are surprisingly productive
Especially when you're sitting at the front
Texture in Art
The rubbish is curled up like a morning glory,
I hope you eat poison ivy;
Like the star in the sky, the wrapper's really shiny,
Oily, grimy, slimy;
Milashini.
You are not a Tourist
Here, tHere, nowHere
Preaching, running, mind-boggling
Inside Out
Left and Right
Up and Down
Ode
Repetition
On the spot, still running
Fireworks
Collapse
ART-venture
Today's the day i officially went under cyism.
It was like any normal night, with me walking along the moonlit path on the way to the mrt. I had just bid farewell to Dear Chia-roscuro, Lorry and the Queen.
Lugging my heavy bag, and a shoe bag containing clothes and not shoes,
and the protagonist of the story, a plastic bag.
The bag was filled with 3 bottles of paint and 1 spray can.
It was heavy
Probably light for the manly, but i am weak
Enough of that, i felt stronger as i got nearer to the MRT
Why you may say?
I felt the stuff getting lighter and lighter
I thought i became stronger.
But all blur sotongs have a clear mind once in a while
and smART me decided to peer into my plastic bag
hoping to snigger at those tiny light bottles of paint
and yes, that spray can.
I was greeted with a hole.
I liked to say i blacked out.
But cyism refuse to let me do so. Glancing at my watch, it was 10pm. It was dark, it was scary.
Why scary?
Cause i have a drunk dude with metal spikes and black leather goods all over his body, screaming obscenities into my face, asking me to fight him, go to his turf, challenge his religion. Since when do angels wear black, i wanted to ask but i refrained with my superior self-control. I can smell his breath, his alchoholic breath. I spared him from going home with a black eye, 4 broken ribs, 3 severed limbs and a bad memory of a white angel, namely me.
I tracked back, like an invesigator
Using all that i've learnt from Blue Clues,
My magnifying glass, handy-dandy notebook and all
It was a long hunt and dangerous too
The traffic chose to disobey their teachers today, namely the traffic lights.
But i stood firm.
Like a man, i braved all dangers to complete my mission
One by one, i retrieved the fallen goods
And made my way back down the all-so-familiar path.
I mean, it would be familiar if you scoured that area for miniscule bottles of paint for an hour right?
New day, new experience... but, can I have the old one?
Especially when you're sitting at the front
Texture in Art
The rubbish is curled up like a morning glory,
I hope you eat poison ivy;
Like the star in the sky, the wrapper's really shiny,
Oily, grimy, slimy;
Milashini.
You are not a Tourist
Here, tHere, nowHere
Preaching, running, mind-boggling
Inside Out
Left and Right
Up and Down
Ode
Repetition
On the spot, still running
Fireworks
Collapse
ART-venture
Today's the day i officially went under cyism.
It was like any normal night, with me walking along the moonlit path on the way to the mrt. I had just bid farewell to Dear Chia-roscuro, Lorry and the Queen.
Lugging my heavy bag, and a shoe bag containing clothes and not shoes,
and the protagonist of the story, a plastic bag.
The bag was filled with 3 bottles of paint and 1 spray can.
It was heavy
Probably light for the manly, but i am weak
Enough of that, i felt stronger as i got nearer to the MRT
Why you may say?
I felt the stuff getting lighter and lighter
I thought i became stronger.
But all blur sotongs have a clear mind once in a while
and smART me decided to peer into my plastic bag
hoping to snigger at those tiny light bottles of paint
and yes, that spray can.
I was greeted with a hole.
I liked to say i blacked out.
But cyism refuse to let me do so. Glancing at my watch, it was 10pm. It was dark, it was scary.
Why scary?
Cause i have a drunk dude with metal spikes and black leather goods all over his body, screaming obscenities into my face, asking me to fight him, go to his turf, challenge his religion. Since when do angels wear black, i wanted to ask but i refrained with my superior self-control. I can smell his breath, his alchoholic breath. I spared him from going home with a black eye, 4 broken ribs, 3 severed limbs and a bad memory of a white angel, namely me.
I tracked back, like an invesigator
Using all that i've learnt from Blue Clues,
My magnifying glass, handy-dandy notebook and all
It was a long hunt and dangerous too
The traffic chose to disobey their teachers today, namely the traffic lights.
But i stood firm.
Like a man, i braved all dangers to complete my mission
One by one, i retrieved the fallen goods
And made my way back down the all-so-familiar path.
I mean, it would be familiar if you scoured that area for miniscule bottles of paint for an hour right?
New day, new experience... but, can I have the old one?