And some people sang:
Drop your things
and burn your clothes
why we're here
no one knows
watch the bombs explode

He sold you a dream
and carved you up like meat
lay down
the law
locked your heart behind bars

While you were sleeping he would whisper in your ear

The monkey will bite
better eat your poultry
till' there's no use
don't try to
ask a doctor
what's going on inside you head
just fall out and get in line
like all good soldiers do
- Saves the Day, Monkey

Snooze! I will wake up at at earliest 9 tomorrow. It's over and I am (gasp!) a weeny bit sad. No really. I especially enjoyed the poetry and film workshops. If only we were given that in school.
Wrote 4 poems in 5 days. Is that a good count? And no, I was only made to write 2 of them, and only 1 had a specific topic. The CAP CUP game: *clap clap taptaptap clap cupup cupdown, clap upsidedowngrabcup cupmouthagainstpalm cuprightsideupontable transfercuptolefthand taptable cupoverrighthand, cupupsidedownontable. *
I remember I still have a very hectic holiday. And three more weeks till Adelaide. (Want Adelaide!!!) Only I'm supposed to have finished all my work by then. (Cue evil and skeptical Demon-King-from-Chinese-Opera laughter)
Apparently an essay I wrote back in Sec. 3, edited and entered in my portfolio was selected for reading in Goh Sin Tub's JC Prose workshop. But I'm in poetry. Huh? I know I SAID I was sick of poetry, but I'm not. How can I be??? The last during-CAP one I wrote is stupid enough for ACAPpela publication, written promptly after its demise, maybe on purpose. Oh, and it's about a doughnut.

The toothpaste-filled doughnut
The toothpaste-filled doughnut wished
It was sweet, although it had no sprinkles.
People bite into pastry to ruin their teeth -
Not clean them.
But he did not understand this!
(No longer just an it) he flinched no more,
Even if his skin was thin
Never swore, even if he didn't win.
Imitated tires, pseudo-rolled down the road:
Often squashed the air out of the empty lungs
And crammed-up abode in an oven.
In the hell-rising heat others rose
Around their centres, him a pancake
Still, and in a suicide attempt
Ripped past the dough, to find a soul
Still half-baked.

"Have a nice life." - Mr. Lee