A rut.

"I just got crucified in my Intro Calc test. 40%- a new low in maths. It would have been 30% if you excluded my EPW, which is a maths assignment. I copied it off Stephen (top maths student) the morning before the test. Mr Gilies wrote "POOR" when I failed to answer a question worth 7/40 marks. I feel most terribly cut. I suppose I should pay attention in class rather than write things like this, but they’re just going through the test. I didn’t exactly have high expectations when I ent in. You see, rather than stressing, I knew I would do dismally because of my incredulous lack of preparation. Considering what I was aiming for, 40% was actually quite good. All the same, worst mark in class, and I’ve lost 3% of the final. On the plus side, I can still get 97% at the end of the year.

***later on***

I hereby declare that maths is not my thing. Never really liked it, and it’s not worth liking. I’d rather dominate a world where I don’t need to find a=x(20-2)x. [By that I mean, there’s Mr Cicchini, who despises Maths and lives a perfectly happy life. In fact, most people do. I still don’t see why I need to get an A in maths to be accepted when people like Cicchini hardly ever use it for anything.]


Additionally, I had an English essay, regarding a short story we supposedly studied this year. I didn’t realise my faux pas  (tactless mistake or blunder) until about 20 minutes to go. The story I was writing about, Instinct (coincidentally, the bedtime story that I authored) was not one we had studied. I may get 0 resultantly. Praying for mercy, I nevertheless was not performing at my peak. I wasn’t prepared, and after 4 and a half hours sleep, I wasn’t thinking all that straight. My Human Bio test was easy though, albeit I couldn’t focus at my prime.


All right. Maths test next week. Looks like I’ve got time to commence studying.


To top all this off, I didn’t make definite progress with Mrs Slawomirski.
‘Who told you to keep playing this?’ she asked. She had no idea. When I explained to her I spent my weekend practicing, she said,

‘I can see that you are desperate… that you want to play very much.’
I pardon her poor command of English. She speaks five languages, and I know she wasn’t reviling me. I played it for her- not one of my better performances, and with uncertainty and anxiety. I ignored her, and my hands stopped shaking. Then she interrupted me and corrected my position, and I lost some nerve. At the end of it all, she explained as carefully as she could.
‘You must learn the whole song before we see who will be cut.’
Cut? She knows the term ‘cut’? And she used it in reference to me? She was more than disappointed in my progress. If it was progress at all."


That was all written yesterday afternoon. Now, one day after, I had a shitty, shitty day. Period 1, Economics, I got picked up for not doing my homework.



I hate that number. Mental note. You deserve this. I hope it worsens.


I really am masochistic."


I felt like leaving school. Not the greatest feeling in the world. I was shattered by the fact Cicchini, one of my favourite teachers, had yelled at me. I used to be one of his favourites, too. The sad thing was, Mum asked me if I wanted to go to school today when I told her how much I would like to stay at home. Being the ass I am, I decided to take the full grunt of the blow. Today was a massive waste of time, and it’s now 8.23, and I am getting off to do my homework. And practice Jupiter. I’ll be busy tomorrow night, so I don’t know how I’m going to get anything done.

Mental note. You deserve this, John. Now get off, and get started. Fool.


The thing about me is, I’m so painfully unique in everything I do that it’s impossible for me to be like anyone else.

Example 1.
Suliman taps me on the back and points his finger over my shoulder. Rather than turning around to look at him and get a finger in the eye, I kick back and balance my chair on two legs to look at him upside down. He complains.

Example 2.
I balance on trains, or if I’m tired, sit cross-legged on the floor. If there’s an available seat, then I’ll see if there’s anyone other than the usual "I’m too shy to take that seat which someone else might want" passengers, before occupying it myself reluctantly.

Example 3.
Nobody smiles these days! I try and smile at as many people as I can because it’s both an inexpensive way to improve your looks, and it’s contagious, so someone might smile back at you. Spread the love people!

Anyway, what I’m getting at is that I cannot compare myself to single person because there is no single person more than remotely related to me. It makes it difficult for me to make metaphorical copies of myself for reasons not mentioned here.

All the same, I hunger. I need someone to give me my own advice, because I never heed it myself. A skill I will develop in time.

“Jupiter, Bringer of Jolity”

"I just wanted the chance to try. She gave it to me, and then she took it back. ‘Good news’, she called it."
I cried and cried and cried this afternoon when I left my music lesson. I learned Mrs Slawomirski judged me to be too incompetant a pianist to learn "Jupiter", by Holst. It would have been a duet with a Year 12 student, Perry Joyce, performed on two pianos because of the vastly complex texture and syncopation. Despite her better instincts, she let me attempt the piece. I was grateful beyond measure. I had a week to practice, practice I did. Every day of that week. In my next piano lesson, she was frustrated with my ineptitude but kept mercifully silent. I practiced even harder the following week, and today was my day to show her how much I had improved. She greeted me at the start of the lesson and told me I wouldn’t have to do it. I think she said she had found a replacement for me, but her words had lost meaning to me and made no sense. She didn’t want me to play it??
"1 hour a day isn’t a problem. I just won’t use the computer until I’ve practiced. Perhaps if I play in the chapel, God will be witness to my progress."
I had practiced six hours, easy, in total. I had begun learning the first part of the 32 page song (though it’s not nearly as long as it sounds). And she pulled the plug on me, without even listening to me play it more than once. Cold, furious determination swept over me. I screamed in frustration, and Jesus looked down sadly at me from his Cross.
"I’ve never cried for music like this before. I’ve cried in stress, I’ve cried in grief, and even for beauty, but never like this. These are not tears of stress or sorrow. These are tears of determined, fermented, ardent passion. I will master this song, with or without her consent," I promised. "I will prove to the world that I am, in my heart, a pianist."
I left the chapel with my eyes sore, but dry, and with determination set firmly on my face.

"I just hope Perry can keep up with me."



I feel like updating. I feel a part of me is not complete until I write something in this web diary. Hence, this update.
Tomorrow we’ll be going to the zoo for human biology to study primates and monkeys. Prosimians, Anthropoidians and Tarsiers, little monkeys about 3 inches tall that are classified as a species on their own. Humans are anthropoids, in case you were wondering, though you probably weren’t. I’d say Human Bio is the simplest subject to be taken seriously in TEE. A few names to learn, a few classifications, and that’s all there is to it. The rest is just busy-work.
All the same, I’ve been having a resplendid time at school. A few days ago, Thursday, methinks, I realised something. Smiles are contagious. I smile, someone else smiles. Someone else smiles, I smile. Mark smiles, I smile. I smile, Mark smiles. I force chocolate into Mark’s mouth with a smile, he smiles. He pays me back for the umpteen blocks of chocolate I’ve forced him to eat with a kilogram of Cadbury, Plain, Crunchy and Triple Deck. $12 worth of chocolate, out of the blue. I hugged him more than once that day, shamelessly.
That was the greatest day of the school year. In period 2, I found myself lacking anything of particular interest to occupy myself with, and so it was I had a shot at a typing test.
My previous record was an (incredible) 130 Words Per Minute. I remember in Year 8, I wondered if it was an irrational dream to try for over 100. I could scarecely believe when I had gone over and beyond the illusion of two words per second and reached a new high. No longer would I be daunted by the log-in, Set Your Current Typing Goal (limit 120). I had accomplished something. That day, I thought I would give it another go. See how fast I could reach. All my previous attempts were nowhere near the 130 I set last year. I gave it a try anyway in the hopes of getting close.
One-forty. 140 Words Per Minute. Possibly my proudest moment. I did not think my life could ever be sweeter.
Recently, Lord Jackemus and I have also had little sparring bouts. He’d start flinging punches at me and I’d do my best to block or stop them. He would walk forwards at me, and I would walk back and trip over something or someone. I’ve got to avoid that in the future. I can’t really keep up with him, as much as I like to pretend I can. He’s just a legend, but seriously, I think I’m decent at blocking attacks. Moreso than delivering them, at any rate. I have slow reflexes compared to Jack or Christian though. He’s also an incredible athlete and can jump 160 in highjump and about 4m in longjump. Kicks my ass any day. He’s like the epitome of adolescent males.
I have also, once again, found myself buried in a small mound of homework. I spent a large amount of time contemplating whether I should stay home and do it today, but recently I’ve taken a new modus operandi in opposition to my old, "If it doesn’t have to be done, leave it" style. Strangely, now I always like to do things the hard way. I always like to push myself, I always like to suffer that little bit more for reasons I haven’t quite understood. Perhaps I’m masochistic, because I take enormous pleasure in knowing I’m suffering, I’m in pain, and there is a chance I will die at any given moment.
I think that’s what makes my life so sweet. Knowing that I’m going to die one day, and I don’t know when that day will be. I have so much to live for. I know what it’s like to live a good and free life because I do not have the burdens of suffering.
Today I volunteered to sing with the "choir" for the Year 11 mass. The choir consisted of three other people, none of which could sing in pitch. Hence, I was selected by Ms Bott to do the responsorial psalm. I did argue for a while but there was no one of any talent to take my place. I didn’t want Curtis to do it like he did last year. Lol poor bastard, that was… just so damn sad. My heart went out to him, despite the fact he’s an ass now. He can’t sing at all, and it was in front of the whole school I think. All the same, when the mass actually came, I found replacements. Unfortunately, Ms Bott wasn’t aware of this and hissed at me to. Having let my guard down, it knocked me off my feet, and I thought it was quite pitiful. I didn’t lean close enough to the microphone either, but the majority of people think I had a lot of guts to get up there. Pete disagrees and of course, explained in detail how shitty I was.

Side note. I finally learned how to make little paper men that all hold hands. I’m two weeks late though, but hey. It’s the knowledge that counts.

I really must learn to be more succinct in my entries. Ah well. I wrote something, and my chest feels a wee bit lighter now. I’d better overcome my workload soon, before it overcomes me. I leave with a quote.

"When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

Now excuse me. I’ve been online, unsurprisingly, an hour too long. Yes, I really must learn to make my entries more succinct.
~Link of the Hylians

RP Xin

This is the template for a character profile I found on Stephanie’s (Lee’s) site. It looked interesting enough, and I thought I’d try. I’m late for school once again, though.

1. Who are you? Xin. Sir Xin, knight. Lord Xin, warrior. Xin-san, friend.

2. What are you? A human boy wishing he was strong enough to be a man. Literally. As in, an adult.
3. Where are you? Wherever I dream, I am. Usually with someone else.
4. What are you like? It depends. Sir Xin, warm, loving, basically your classic hero. Lord Xin, strong, agile, wise, inexorable. Xin-san, well, me.
5. Who are your friends? I’ve befriended so many people. A fair few of which I’ve hurt.
6. Who are you enemies? Anyone who gets in the way of my wrath when I finally snap and try to kill someone.
7. Why are you here? Because each of us are bound to this plane of mortal existence, and alas, too must I wander in search of a way out. I found one in fantasy.
8. What do you want? Peace.

Tastes of Heaven

I whole-heartedly endorse this literature homework, written two years ago for Ivy’s benefit. Solomon, you’re a lot stronger than me when it comes to making Ivy do her own homework. I never could let her suffer like she did.
Inspired by Solomon’s most recent blog entry, "The Sweetest Moment".
PS: Don’t buy anything from Nestle. They are evil, and pay children 40 cents a day to get several tonnes of cocoa which they used to make their products.


"The language used is far from persuasive. On your own, read and rewrite the passage in a way that would convince others that chocolates are a wonderful creation, without changing the paragraph’s basic content." THat means you can lengthen the sentence, shorten, but you can’t like rearrange it too much.

Link says:

Basically change the language, not the content.

Lass says:

Mmhm. Here’s the paragraph:

Chocolates are a Wonderful Creation


Besides making you feel better if you are unhappy, chocolates can be bought as gifts, especially for people whom we do not know well. Many people like eating chocolates so you cannot go wrong. Besides, chocolates can be bought at many places and they are often well packaged. Pmce, I did well for my music exam and wanted to buy 

Link says:


Lass says:

*Once, sorry hee

a thank you gift for my music teacher. I did not know her well and so was not sure what to buy. I decided on a box of chocolates and she liked it and we ate it together when I gave it to her.




Besides making you feel better if you are unhappy, chocolates can be bought as gifts, especially for people whom we do not know well. Many people like eating chocolates so you cannot go wrong. Besides, chocolates can be bought at many places and they are often well packaged. Once, I did well for my music exam and wanted to buy a thank you gift for my music teacher. I did not know her well and so was not sure what to buy. I decided on a box of chocolates and she liked it and we ate it together when I gave it to her.


Chocolates serve a multitude of purposes; their most useful is arguably the endorphins that fight depressants, or in other words, are handy for cheering people up. This doubles as the perfect gift, either for an apology, or simply for someone you don’t know well. The widest majority of the population appreciates confectionary, so it serves as a polite compliment to save the trouble of finding another altogether entirely thoughtful present. Chocolate is a wonderful thing. It’s highly accessible, being sold in most every store you’ll ever visit, so it’s always nearby if you ever feel the need to buy some. The packaging will easily support it in a long distant trip, so it makes as a superb overseas gift, as well as all its other many benefits. Some time ago, I passed my music exam with colours, and wanting to express my gratefulness to my amazing music teacher, I sought a reward for her flawless tutoring. Seeing as I knew little of her personal life, and she probably didn’t need another piano, I decided on a humble box of chocolates. Naturally, she was thrilled, and we shared it happily. Ah chocolate; what would I do without you?

Have a Kit Kat.

To replace the old, horrific entry, I thought I would relieve readers with a short story/poem. I haven’t decided yet, and am going to prowl through my documents until I find something I like.
Heavens Eyes



The boy stood, his cloak flicking out behind him as he ducked and dashed, oak wand in hand as the cosmos about him whizzed through the night’s sky.


He paused raising his hand, tilting his wrist and the stars overhead seemed to quiver in their places. He flicked his wrist expertly and they flitted about again to his will.


He stared up at them, his spirit blazing in his eyes, and twirling his wand once more, flicked it towards the sky. A flash of light burst out from the place he had indicated, and flashed and flashed again as his emotion and passion grew.


It was an impromptu dance, an unrehearsed performance. A masterpiece of art and music as the wind carried his song across the sea. He spun around, pointing his wand forward and the wind blew fiercely and the stars all rushed to where he aimed. He swirled them about each other easily, almost casually, and let two collide in a brilliant explosion of light and energy.


Holding his wand up high, with a delicate flick of his wrist, he wrote a message in the stars, for all to read, but meant only for one other. I secret message with the meaning of the universe in it, and the other person who saw it smiled knowingly.


As the stars glittered and their brightness gleamed, the light diminished and declined to the darkness, but the message still shone out. And the conductor, smiling, held up his baton, and lowered it as the last of the night sky faded into the shadows.



See No Evil

Ladies and gentlemen, this is by far the most disgusting entry I have ever written. Do not read it unless you wish to experience the same nasty eye-gouging symptoms I did.
All right. It’s Sunday morning, yeah? So I decide to go to church with Dad, seeing as I’ll be busy tonight. Mum and I are lying in the master bedroom, waiting for him to get out of the bathroom, but when he does, he stands completely naked in front of me. I think my first reaction was a widening of eyes, which makes absolutely no sense seeing as I did not want to see more of my naked father. The second thing was a scream and clenching my fists over my eyes, wailing
"Oh my God! Christ almighty! Sweet Jesus, help me!"
"Oh shit!" screamed Dad, but I wasn’t looking. "Get out!" he yelled, and I tore myself from the room and sought sanctuary in the bathroom (main). I washed my eyes thoroughly, wailing and screaming and cursing. Eugene bolted out of bed to see what was wrong, I apologised and continued to scrub at my eyeballs, chanting
"See no evil, see no evil!"
I didn’t go to church with Dad because that would mean looking at him again. He came into my room and I curled up on the bed with a book (Just Disgusting- first one I saw, and I started reading to neutralise my mind. Unfortunately, most of the disgusting contents in the book did nothing to solace me) and didn’t open my eyes. I don’t know how I can ever look at him again!
For as long as I live, I will never be able to forget that most excruciating image. Oh Jesus. I must continue to distract myself so I never, ever bring it to conscious thought again. Ever.
Xin out.

Thoreau’s Thoughts

A week ago, I realised something. You only want something when you don’t have it. When you do have it, you no longer appreciate it, but just cling to the fact that you finally do have it, after all that pining. That’s why rich kids don’t think they’re wealthy- they’re not satisfied by just having stuff. It’s not like their lifestyle changed a great deal when they bought that $3000 computer- they’re used to wealth. It’s just a standard upgrade.
Materialism defeats itself. If you spend your entire life collecting antiques, or buying as many things as you can because you think you want them, what then? When you die, you can’t have any of it. Your life would have been spent on something so empty- just objects. Why not do something more full with your existence?
Time is all your have in the world. Find something worth spending it on.