OK I’ve decided to do my blogging from AppleWorks henceforth, then copy and paste the whole thing over to Blogger. Ah, the travails of using Mac OS 9 in a Tigerish world.
So anyway, what was I trying to say yesterday … I forget. Something about murder, something about Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, something about worrying my life to pieces. Ah yes.
Murder — Was compelled by ho-hum trailer of Amityville Horror remake to find out what’s what. Haunting was a hoax, murders were real. Then surfed over to other famous murders, the most horrid of which I wish I’d never seen the pictures of. Sites should let their visitors decide what they want to expose themselves to. (Will never forget, for example, the accidental glimpse of the poor NUS dude with his slit throat, on an autopsy table. Even if it was a fake photo, I didn’t need it in my mind’s eye for a long time to come.) The Black Dahlia. Poor, poor girl, to which a great wrong was committed. The travesty-maker was never ascertained, but is highly probable to be a twisted man burnt to a crisp in a hotel room fire caused by a stray cigarette. The deed was evil. No other word to describe the crime, the actions, the very real horror. Don’t go there if you don’t know what it is that can still hold the world together and guard what is good and true. And do not doubt for a moment that murder most foul continues to be committed minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. From one human being to another. Children of Cain and imagined communities of Abel — children of Seth.
Kuch Kuch Hota Hai — a lighter note, and a lovelier one. As theorised to a friend from work, I think Shakrukh Khan is the King of Bollywood because, beyond his good looks, he gets under your skin in some way. It’s like he could be someone you meet on the street, though an extraordinary someone, certainly! While I feel generally dismayed by teary sequences of any sort (tears welling up = achy pains) (even the director/writer and actors agreed that the drenched ending could’ve been better — don’t worry, happy ending though!), a good story is a good story. Doesn’t matter from where, doesn’t matter the manner of telling — ripping yarns are where it’s at! You can’t put ’em down! Kinda like good music, innit. Just what is it that they tap into, though? What is it that makes them put their hooks into you, and nudge you into a certain shape or (un)soundness of mind? Have a think!
Worries — remembered that I don’t have to bear ’em alone. Whoosh, there they go. Belonged to yesterday, anyway!
Oh! And lastly, the Pocky Quiz! I’m Reverse Pocky, though I carry a Strawberry Pocky bag, woohoo. What Pocky are you, eh?