time

Well, its 6 in the morning. didnt sleep, was playing some dota.

waita waitaminute

dota?

6 in the morning?

yes, this is a blog in the current chronosphere.

Made at 5:55 in the morning, with me currently undertaking the prelims.

woahhh weesiang... you've been hitting the pill? you ok weesiang?

yeah im fine. thanks for asking weesiang. its 6 in the freakin morning. A bolt of inspiration hit me out of the blue whilst looking at pictures of the past on facebook.

well, through observation of several profile pictures and the photos contained in these profiles, i've come to a stunning conclusion.

yes, my  english slipped that badly, im using sentence structures and diction from enid blyton.

well, back to that bolt.

i realised i've entered a chrono warp. Or time warp. Or a anomaly in time.

or in laymen's terms, suspended in a period of time. Trapped.

the chinese word "Kun" comes to mind ( the mu inside the box). Using imagery, the box represent the trappings of time, and the wood represents moi.

im trapped in this period. trapped in a trap, made by the trappings of time.

see, if one were to observe deeper, the anomalies in my diction and the sentence structures displays the inner turmoil that ravages and wrecks me inside out. im struggling to force these words out of the trappings.

being stuck in jc for 2 whole years, i grew. I grew mentally. But i was torn mentally as well.

Mental torture. After a period of time, one gets used to torture, as per other harmful things.

i grew strong. i became hardened. a burdened, hardened boy. expectations of society demanded as such. Everytime he gave what he had, society demanded more. Demands for the demand from the boy. demanded in full.

The stuff of bourgeois comedy.

i need some place to recover desperately. The word desperately doesnt convey the magnitude of desperation im experiencing, nor does it showcase the urgent need i require of this place.

once the heart stops pumping on its own, the patient is considered clinically dead.

im near that tipping point. if i were to rely on an artificial pump, oblivion awaits.

Utter exhaustion overtakes the boy. He has typed out some of the ideas trapped by the abrasions and stringy, tattered flesh. other crucial ideas elude him, proving elusive.

he gives up, and shuts the computer down.