Elevator Music?

Hi.

I' writing here before i have to do some "real" writing.I love writing, just can't seem to get around to it. Ironically, i have two wrting pieces i would really love to complete before thursday.

I switched some things around,updated my profile.

I will just put up my writing piece here its rather long.

I’m supposed to distract myself for about 4 hours by either writing or doing nothing at all which isn’t really much of the choice.
But I love to write and that is why I have no idea what’s up with me.

Then I find out I am utterly incapable of writing
Just like that.

I know that we must always have the will to finish what we started but guess what? 5 startings, one middle and no ending later I still haven’t finished my any story.

How do I write about what I know when it seems like I don’t know anything at all.

I think the longest I can keep this up is half an hour

So I shall begin to describe what’s around me.

The room is painted sky blue, a horribly stereotypical color. What makes people think sky blue reminds us of the sky and all the limits? I mean, what’s space then? The real sky is a chalky grey colour,I’m not sure if its rain but a single waft of the smell of rain drifts in.

It mingles with my mother’s cooking, its not a distinct smell. It smells the same everyday yet the dishes taste different, frightfully familiar yet strangely different.

I wonder how it would be if I cooked. Taste like plastic or sawdust.Although saw dust may taste great.

I can see my neighbors a few levels with flickering television, 5 of those plasma tv sets receiving information from the same channels.

In the corners lie dust and sometimes a bookshelf. I say sometimes because its often buried so much crap that it doesn’t see the sunlight for days. The chair I’m sitting on feels itchy, the color red isn’t vibrant, it reminds me of dried up blood and drink stains don’t help much.

“ Do you want soup?” my mother calls from the kitchen
I tell her I’m not hungry, I’m lying. Partly. I am in a creative process and should be keeping it all rather clean.

No thoughts of food.

Fake varnished woods are beginning to peel off the corners of the study table. I can see them. I like to play with those little corners. It only makes it worse of course but the feeling of destroying something is quite good. I relish the feeling of thinned woods under my nails.

Sometimes, my table is spotless. Most of the time my books are strewn over it. There is my little black book, all in tatters and no one to fix it. A whole stacked of lined paper they call foolscap. It’s rather aptly named. Fool’s Scape. Fools who need lines to write in. Fools who need to reign in their creativity and I the fool indulges in those grey lines every day as I take note, write essays and generally keep creativity caged between two false grey lines.

I have just picked up the phone. Hi daddy? Yes, mummy’s coming.
Perhaps, it interrupts my train of thoughts but who can write for so long without her phone ringing the kettle whistling or the incessant increasingly annoying mynahs outside the flats.

I should go yell at them a bit but it would be a terrible waste of my time.

The sony ericsson manual is within reach. I can’t read it.Oh,wait I just read the title. Well it doesn’t matter. I have to go switch off the fire for the eggs or else it will go all frigid on me.

I shall have to face full force wrath from my family who does enjoy steamed eggs.
It’s all yellow and frothy and fluffy. I wonder if it’s a good thing. Or maybe I will just have my head off.

Grey and flashing a digitalized red, the old mouse sits on the black mouse pad. It had many homes before. It remembers the first which was a power puff mouspad. It put up with it, I did love power puff girls so much. Then it was the period of promotional goodies and we said goodbye power puff to someone more masculine. Spiderman. He didn’t last long; it was gone when barley ran all over it. The cup didn’t like spidey much you see so it willed the drinker to pretend to accidentally tip the cup over and spoil the pad.

Cups are intelligent and sly. They make you think you’re in control and that you are making use of them. The reality is so different I feel its unnecessary to inform you of it. Just go on using your cup.

The hand phone has found a cozy spot near the edge of the table. The keypad isn’t worn. I haven’t used it much but the screen is scratched and parts of it are chipped. I wonder if I should push back to the middle or leave it dangling as fate decides whether it will drop and fall. Fate is terribly funny, it would be amusing I suppose.

It doesn’t titer; perhaps fate doesn’t want to argue with gravity today.

My Chinese dictionary isn’t far from my sight. I feel a mixture of frustration and anxiety. Chinese is an art, why then would it seem that I have no gift in languages as I have been mangling the Chinese language for as long as I can remember.

I am not worthy.

This has expanded for three pages now. I have achieved ultimate rambling. What rubbish people put on their blogs pales to what this.

Rubbish king among the rubbish.

Pages are opened tantalizingly in front of me. I can’t resist.

“Find the HCF of each group of number”

I’m bored already, the hold puncher and stapler seem to have a fight for they are far from each other. I take note of where they are. I might need them later. They have to reconcile.

Every crook and corner have been filled with stuff, I lift my keyboard to find homework, long overdue. I am too tired to care, perhaps I should explain to my sec 1 teacher why I failed to hand up my book review once.
‘
Someone has knocked the webcam off its throne on the speakers. I’m pretty sure the speakers did it. They do not appreciate being sat on.

I should finished what I started, a ending to a beginning. No more clichés about a beginning in every end. An end finishes, until it finds another starting point.

You’re just being lazy when you say this is the beginning of an end.


Oxymorons.

I think it isn't suppose to make sense,there is no hidden meanings,whatsoever.

Its just there.