Joe Pass Virtuoso 1.

Finally found a copy selling at a realistic price. Gramophone is just much more ethical than HMV, although it wasn't exactly dirt cheap either. Anyway after a listen through, I thus conclude that the album title is a remarkably fitting one. I don't usually use the word remarkably alot but whatever.

On hiatus

Because I ran out of plot.

I saved someone with my umbrella today. At first, I felt some satisfaction from having done my good-deed-of-the-day. But then again, it wasn't as if I could've easily made a choice that would not utterly ravage my morals and beliefs. Not helping the person would have been the more challenging option. Sorry Robert, no less traveled roads for me today.

Moral of the story? Goodwill is overrated.

But do it anyway or you'll just be an asshole.

My Foray into Noir Fiction. Part Three.

I sat down. Glanced around. The outside of the cafe was mostly empty, except for a couple of men in black suits and black hats tinkering with some odd black box a few tables away and an ostrich pecking at a bush. Good, no suspicious characters in the vicinity. Now I just had to wait for him to arrive. He came sooner than I expected.

It was four hours later. I remembered. I had been counting the number of seconds on my watch. 14267. Or was it 14532? The sound of approaching footsteps had torn me away from my little world of amusement. I looked up and there he was.

If I had to use one word to describe Timmy, it would be decent. He always stood up straight and tall, a respectable 1.53m. Never saw a hair out of place. His shirt was ironed as smooth as smooth gets, and so were his pants. His mom's work no doubt. I envied those symmetrical double knotted shoelaces, he'd never have to stoop over for a re-tie. Today, he was looking sad.

"Hey Tim, looking sad today."

"That's because I am" he replied gruffly.

I asked him why.

"Because I'm alive" he said.

I contemplated that nugget of wisdom. It was bitter. Obviously, things had taken a downturn for poor Timmy. Some screwed up stuff. But that was the way things were around here. Heck, this whole world was screwed up. Life is tragic. You win some, you lose some more. But Timmy was a tough guy. Behind the starched fabric was a hard, roughened spirit. He would get through this.

"Pull yourself together, Tim. No reason to spit at life just because it spat on you." Logic had not been a priority when I had said that and I regretted it.

"You don't understand Matt. I should've died out there. I shouldn't even be here."

"Shit man, what happened?"

"I.. I don't know man. I did exactly as they said. Aim for point between the bridge tower and smoke stacks! Eyes no close! There I was, heading straight for the point! Glory for the Emperor! I will not die in vain! HISSATSU! Then boom! Something hit my tail and i couldn't get back on course damn it! I just couldn't! The rudder was gone! I spun to the right and crashed into the sea and everything went black."

He broke down and started bawling, muttering some crap about "bushido honour" and his unbearable shame. Did I mention Timmy had mutiple personality disorder?

I looked down at the twitching, crumpled heap beside my chair. The ostrich was still here, pecking at a coffee cup on the ground. If there was one word that could describe Timmy, it was bat-fuck-insane.

My Foray into Noir Fiction. Part Two.

Crossed the street with promptitude. Heck I didn't even know what I was rushing for, I just thought people always looked cool when in a hurry. Gives them an air of importance, man on a mission, always needed somewhere else. And needed fast. A deafening sound came from the right. Car horn.

Instinctively, I turned my head, just in time to see a car pass behind, missing me by inches. Cursing myself for cliche and lack of self-preservation, I stepped back up onto the curb, back onto land. The mini mall stood at the corner of the street. That's where I was standing. I located the cafe at it's side. Drawing a long, unnecessary sigh, I trudged towards an empty table on the sidewalk. It had been a long walk and things were only going to get worse. Possibly worse than Mr Brain's 4 Pork Faggots.

My foray into Noir Fiction. Part one.

It was mid afternoon. That time of the day again. The hot breeze was blowing across the street, the debris it carried clinging on to my hair. Not like I cared. I had bigger problems to worry about then. Always been like that this time of year anyway. I should know. I've been through eighteen of them. Cloud above hinted a drizzle later on. Maybe a shower past midnight. But it was the least of my worries. I might as well be a weatherman, I thought with a hint of a smile as I continued my walk.

The building ahead grew larger as I neared it. Visual perception or something, they called it. But I had more than the Gestalt Laws of Organisation on my mind today. I quickened my pace. Time was short. To-do list was long. I quickened my pace. Again. Degenerative creativity alarm went off. No time for inventive vocab today, I told it, ripping out the plug for good measure. Time was short.

I'm sorry but I have to say this.

National Day celebrations today. I won't even try to make it sound good by calling it boring. It was straight up pure agony to endure. Performances were okay but I still cringe at the thought of the in-between moments. I will stop here.

Argh

Realised today that my weekend plans are kinda screwed up. I'm going to have to miss stuff I want for stuff I'm obliged to attend. CLASHCLASHCLASH. Coincidences can be so cruel.

I also wrote a short story on some desk today. I will reproduce it here.

Crushing Day-
And so I set out today,
feeling tough as a rock.
Stumbled, chipped, crushed,
I went home as dust,
adhesive dreams to patch me up.