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Name: Ben
Birthday: 10/12/1989
Gender: Male
Interests: I wish I had more things to add to this category. But I really don't. I like dark comedy films, epic movies, wordy books, simple games, occasional sports, TV repeats, controversial news, listening to the rain, girls.
Expertise: Dreaming.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Law/Commerce
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
11/23/2004
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| The Perth Royal Show 2009 was great great fun.
Normally I would post photos here. But I have none.
Note to self: Do not sit downwind of a fireworks display.
Note to self 2: Bring a jumper or two next time. (I actually thought I was going to do this but decided not to for some strange reason. I had everything all thought out too. *kicks self* I am so stupid.)
Note to self 3: Ah.....that's it.
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| Today I am wearing shoes which do not suit me. I look like some kind of basketball player or skate. Is different. I don't mind. The title is a reference to a friend of mine who is the antithesis of me. She's pretty, has fashion sense, has a good understanding of music, has an active love life, doesn't wear silly shoes that make her look like a basketball player, is quite naturally witty and doesn't like anime and games. She is an enigma. Do check her blog out.
Today in the news: A little Chihuahua puppy peed on the table during a morning show. It was amazing. And hilarious. I loved it.
There's a girl here, Claire is her name. She's always in the library lounge, reading a book. Today she's wearing a fedora. At least that's what I think it's called. She has natural reddish brown hair and I just saw her visibly snort-laugh (I don't know the real word for it) at something written in her book. I was in her tutorial last semester. I know she's quite intelligent or hardworking. She's an avid reader, that's for sure. She's somewhat introverted. Ah, now she's going to sleep. I don't know why I'm telling you this. She's just an interesting person I guess. She's also friends with Tom. This Tom guy. I guess I should tell you about him. He's pretty much the most intelligent and outgoing guy in the law school. He participates in competitions, argue with the lecturer in class and leads discussions in his study group. He's friends with most of the elite of the law school. I guess that's how law school is. Once again, I have no idea why I'm telling you this. It's quite mundane.
Argh, wearing contact lenses troubles me. The right contact always seems to fold in on itself. But I think I could get used to wearing contact lenses all the time. They do make my eyes look puffy and they accentuate the stupid bags under my eyes. On the topic of vision aids, i think i have a fetish for pretty girls wearing thick rimmed spectacles (definitely not wire-rimmed, those are just ridiculous). Alright, time to head off to class. Sorry for this pointless entry. :P
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| Before I begin, I want to mention that there's a guy in the library with his headphones on. His music is so loud that I can hear it from over here, 4 meters away from him. In fact, his music is so loud that I can hear it even after stuffing my sound isolation headphones into my ear. How inconsiderate. Alright, moving on.
It's 8.18 am in the morning. I'm thinking. I have a bottle of ice tea with peach and pear juice. I don't think I should be drinking it in this library, but I do it anyway. The soft sounds of David Torn are drifting into my mind, blocking out the world. I want to think. I want you to know my thoughts.
I think should write like Rorschach from Watchmen. That facet of thought was introduced to me while I was spending time on my "clan site" on Kingdom of Loathing. I'm putting the inverted commas because I know how nerdy that sounds, and I am adverse to that. I am concerned about image. Ironically enough, I don't really have an image. I'm just the tall Asian guy. I'm thinking I don't want to divulge this secret. That I want to keep it a secret. I don't want people to picture my thoughts in the context of my appearance. But now you know, or you already knew. My clan, from before, is filled with middle aged or younger men and women. Some of them are lesbians. Many of them are overweight. Some of them are cynical, some of them are sweet. They have a strange sense of humour that takes a lot of getting used to. My sense of humour is dry. Sometimes I worry about my sense of humour, but not often. I am in a constant state of oscillating between worrying and non-chalance. I dislike it. I wish it would be steadier.
I mentioned that I'm in a library. I am concerned that people I know will come and look at what I'm doing. I dislike that too. The people I know, my "acquaintances", they don't know this side of me (although, it undoubtedly leaks through my solemn behaviour), writing while other people are watching is embarassing. Ironic. I'm thinking this stream of thought style of writing is ineffective. I'm thinking that no one will read large blocks of text. I'm thinking perhaps I don't need anyone to read it. I'm recalling the past. Writing helps me think. Writing focuses my thoughts. I'm thinking of Brenda and Dillon. They write like I do. I think they gain clarity. I'm concerned about Dillon; he doesn't seem entirely happy. But I remember, neither am I. I'm a work-in-progress. We all are. I want Dillon to find a girlfriend, for his happiness. I want Brenda to find love, for her happiness. Brenda is interesting, verbose, disciplined, even. I respect them both.
I have been encountering moments of awkwardness. I can't say things like love easily. It troubles me. No matter. There is a man here. Me and Al, a friend from law, we call him Joe Whiteman. He's chubby, looks like a balloon. He has an annoying face. He is somewhat obnoxious. He is always spending time with girls, which I can never understand. No matter. Maybe I am jealous of his popularity. But I am definitely annoyed by him. Perhaps I read faces too well. I wish that I could read faces the way Tim Roth in Lie to Me does. I want to know people's intentions. I spend time playing Magic: The Gathering with my friends and brother sometimes. I don't dislike the game. I know quite a bit about it. The people who play the game with me, they make me feel inadequate. The good players have excellent memories. The bad players seem to be failures in normal society, although I don't want to stereotype them. They are, also, mostly overweight. I enjoy the game, but I want to move on in life. I want to do things like normal people do. I want to finally get that driver's license. I want to lose weight. I wonder, myself, why there are constantly things bothering me. Perhaps it is because I never actively seek to remedy my ways. I'm thinking this paragraph has become somewhat depressing. No matter. We move on.
My dress sense is faulty. Not spending time outside, or with people, enough makes it this way. I have few clothes. I don't buy my own clothes. I feel there are obstacles to buying clothes. I don't want to buy overly large clothes, in case I lose weight. I think my obesity is preventing me from achieving anything. I dislike saying the word. I can't laugh about it. I feel like obesity is just one large barrier. When I have children, I will discipline them to never become overweight or obese. Humans should not be like this. I find myself unlikeable. Obesity is troubling. Many people seem to suffer from it. My thoughts are extremely scattered right now, because this has been an issue for most of my life. I don't want a perfect body. I don't want to be like a well oiled and photoshopped David Beckham. I just want to be thin. To not carry all this burden. It is a burden to me, and you are my councellors.
I recall my friends. They once complained about another mutual friend who spent alot of time complaining about his life. I heard them say: "Man, everyone has problems, we just don't talk about it." I am greatly concerned about all this. But I have to talk about it. I have no need to hide my troubles from the world. At least this world. But I hide it anyway. I feel like I'm combating my genetic desire for natural selection. Some of the people I know; they think on a different level. I cannot communicate efficiently. I feel slow and retarded. I cannot seem to win at many things. I feel inferior. Men live to win things.
I have been troubled about something else. I was told that I have little tact, that I am rude. This much I know. I was told that good human interaction NECESSARILY involves saying mean, hurtful things in a nice way. To me, this is the equivalent of lying. I dislike it. But I was told this is how people interact. I agree that life should not be about knocking other people down, but about building them up. Saying spiteful things destroys a little bit inside of the recipient of the words. Words are part of our construction. The feelings we obtain from other's actions is part of our character. But I refuse to lie. I want to say blunt, truthful things to those I care for. But I don't think I should. I don't know. I don't know if I am capable of understanding much of this world. Perhaps I am overly self-conscious, but the more time I spend with others, the less I feel I know the world. Hence this troubled rant. I lack courage. I am going to breathe deep.
These insecurities exist. I have not dealt with them. I don't think I can deal with them alone.
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| Today, I made a small mistake - one which may have consequences in the future. I want to learn from that mistake. That is how knowledge is built.
When I am looking for torrents to explore, I sort by the number of seeds/peers.
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| Dear *,
I remember the first time I met you. I typed something into a calculator and passed it to you. You laughed when you read it, and right then, you had a special place in my heart. From the first time I laid eyes upon you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. Now that I know you better, you are even more beautiful to me. Thinking of you makes my heart skip beats and wipes my mind blank. I rued the fact that I was so very different to you, that I was never the type of person to befriend your clique; but I always wanted to spend time with you.
You understand me better than anyone else, save the fact that you were oblivious to my obsession with you. I can be honest with you, I can talk about anything with you, but when I do talk to you, I always end up wittering on about trivial and meaningless things. We are like different species of birds; we share experiences, difficulties, joys, but we can't communicate it. You are the best friend I always wanted.
I refuse to dream about you, lest I fail to do justice to you. I smile when I remember you. I am willing to be hurt by you. You make me lower my defences. I am enraged when you are hurt, and I am jealous when I see you with your other male friends. I hate that your previous partners are so incredibly good-looking.
You are an individual, you are marvellous, you never conformed . Your habits and hobbies, while unattractive when seen in other people, are like the thorns on a rose: They make you more exquisite, potent and much harder to grasp. But you are someone I want to hold for days, for years, forever. You make me understand the meaning of "doing it out of love" and "for your own good". I am scared of not living up to your friend's expectations, of your family getting to know me, of not being good enough for you.
I want to make cliches in your honour. I want to look into your eyes, I want to create a real relationship with you, I want to lie in the grass with you and watch the sky. You are the instruments to my band, the melody to my music. You are the spring breeze, the summer sun, the autumn leaves, the winter sky.
I wish for you.
~Yours
Ben
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