Saturday, Aug 23, 2008 8:52AM /
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"Art is never finished... only abandoned."--Leonardo Da Vinci
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Saturday, Aug 23, 2008 6:30AM /
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Okay, one hour after my last post and I'm already described as being
overly-negative about everything. That people younger than me posting
violent videos of their helpless victims being repeatedly kicked in the
head, or that demented souls who are inclined to blow themselves up
into smithereens at crowded places, or that we are consuming
non-renewable energy at an exponential rate and giving back the Earth
nothing but mountains of waste and tons of carbon dioxide pollution
every single day, or that two billion people living in the 21st century
are constantly a pocketful of change away from utter indigence,
shouldn't affect me because they don't affect me in any direct way.
Well,
I can't apologize for always seeing the bigger picture because it's not
my fault. And I think these things should affect me in some way, or
I'll be living in my own world of indulgence and obscene luxury -- and
looking at that from the outside, it just seems unthinkable. Selfish.
Depraved. It's just plain wrong.
And really, it's not my fault.
Blame it on the chemicals in my head sloshing around and telling me
what to think. What, you think I can control my right brain to work
less and let my left brain be the dominant side? In fact, my male brain
has a diminished corpus callosum compared to, say, most of the readers
of this blog (whom I like to think are mostly female). Which means I
can't switch between being moody and analytical as quickly.
And
I can't help it if the left inferior gyrus of my frontal lobe cortex --
better known as Broca's area to the initiated -- is just itching to say
something when confronted with such horrors of the world. Better than
keeping quiet, I should think (I'm not sure which part of my brain is
telling me that).
And them chemicals, them neurotransmitters,
there's never enough of what I need, and there's always more of what I
don't. For instance, where's the dopamine when I'm upset and depressed
about my life? And where's the serotonin when I need to relax and curb
my reflexes before I do something stupid?
And my pituitary
gland, always so over-active at all the wrong times. Too much myelin
around my neurons, and there's no way of knowing whether there's a
shortcut between those two, making me susceptible to increasingly
morbid bouts of depression. I'm like a 16-year-old again! Where
everything is working the wrong way! Makes me feel young.
Okay,
I will deconstruct myself more next time (read: blaming everything but
myself), because right now someone else needs to use the laptop.
Boo-yah!
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Friday, Aug 22, 2008 5:48AM /
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Think woodland and faeries,
Pink flowers and strawberries.
Then think of me and the ladies,
Making lots and lots of babies.
This doesn't make any sense,
But no point sitting on a fence.
Go crazy or stay sane,
Dead end or one-way lane.
No sleep till dawn,
All day just yawn.
Now study for the test,
And gather all the rest.
To show that you're a god,
A reason for being so odd.
Inversely proportional,
And highly delusional.
Semi-intellectual,
A crackpot individual.
-Cheers
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Thursday, Aug 21, 2008 3:57AM /
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As I'm sitting in front of my computer typing this entry in pain, I would like to share with all of you what just happened around two hours ago. why
Pain? Because a certain someone happens to be (1) blind and (2) assuming therefore suffering minor yet painful injuries.
I went to meet a friend of mine, Ghost(not his real name) who lives in the next neighborhood as I do to have our supper. We figured to meet up with our Go-Peds since we live near to each other and it would be convenient to scooter our way to the nearest McDonald's outlet plus, it'll make the night more fun.
Fun? Sure it's fun traveling with a Go-Ped but it's during the journey, that it could get slightly dangerous as what I'm about to point to you.
After supper, Ghost decided we should go and have a look at pocket bikes since we were planning to get one each so we cruised our way to downtown east which is approximately 10mins away.
While on our way there, we had to pass the park. This is when it gets slightly, less fun.
The following is an actual conversation that took place.
Ash:
"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!"Ghost:
"Dude, be careful of those holes and cracks on the pavement, the
wheels might get stuck in it"Ash:
"Wheee!!!! Weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!"Ghost:
"Dude, did ya hear what I just said?"Ash:
"Yeah, yeah I heard you loud and crystal clear. I'll be sure to look
out for those uhhmmm things... Wheeeeeee!!!!!!"Ash, being the pro skate scooter rider that he is eventually sees a hump a few metres away from him and decides to attempt his trademark 180 one-hand-free-ollie.Ash:
"Hey dude, there's a hump in front ***sound effect***...."If you're wondering what that sound effect means, it is me tripping off my scooter EVEN before I manage to execute my death defying trick hence landing on the rocky floor and shouting out explicit words not suited to ages 16 and under. Ghost:
"D0od, you alright man?"Ash(
SMILES):
"Oh yes, yes, yes I'm perfectly fine man. I just fell off my
scooter with the side of my arms bleeding and now my
hands are barely moving, guess I'll do A-OKAY!"Ghost:
"Ohh great, then I guess we can move on now"Ash:
" WHAT ARE YOU STUPID??!! I WAS BEING SARCASTIC MAN!, GET OVER HERE AND HELP ME UP THEN"
Ghost(
WHISPERS):
"I told ya to watch out for them holes"
Lesson learnt to quote the saying, "not miss a trick" means to be extremely alert.
Irony eh?
I only have myself to blame for the injuries I sustained because I was
blind not to see the defects on the pavement and I
assumed that nothing could have gone cos I was too busy
self absorbing my ego.
So yeah, I went home instead to get my wounds treated and bandaged by my beloved sister who just so happens to be a nurse and here I am.
"A man's life is nothing but an
extended trek through various detours to recapture those one or two
moments when his heart first opened."--Albert CamusTango Yankee out.~
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Wednesday, Aug 20, 2008 4:39AM /
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Ever tried bringing someone back to life? Well, it's not easy. And
everything becomes a blur, and yet every single moment unfurls in slow
motion. For instance, you find her lifeless body on the floor and the
first thing you notice is that she's terribly pale and unmoving. Her
eyes are dead white, and you realise later that it's because her pupils
were upturned -- a pathophysiological sign of a person being dead, or
dying. You don't remember her face, not exactly, but you can recall the
unnaturally slack jaw on her small countenance, so you must have been
looking at her. Looking for any evidence, or hint, or sign, or trace,
or indication of life. There were none.
And you panic. You can't
think. But you have to do your job; you have to look calm and composed,
and you surprise yourself for managing that at least. The sight shocks
you, and it jolts you into action. You rush to her aid: you check for
the pulse (none!), for breathing (none!), and you trace the rib line to
find the exact spot they teach you in medical books and lectures to
pound the heart back to life. You hear her mother in the background,
and whatever information filters through to your brain makes the
situation even harder to comprehend.
She's only 21! A history of
heart problems! And you start to think: "What madness is this? I don't
belong here!" You feel like you're out of your depth, and you're
sinking fast, but it's too late for that now. You have a job to do; you
have to bring someone back to life. But her ribs are amazingly sturdy,
and you have to push down harder, and notwithstanding whatever they
teach you in regards to life over limb, you still fear the sound of
ribs cracking under all that pressure. And every compression on her
chest makes her head bang slightly against the floor but the senior
paramedic is telling you to keep up the pressure so you do as you're
told.
Then you notice the other trainee paramedic fumbling with
his equipment, and you stop to help the incompetent whelp, and the fool
is still rummaging through his bag and looking absolutely lost even
though he's been working in an ambulance for, what, four months now,
and this is only your second day and the first time you're actually
trying to resuscitate somebody. Panic begins to set in again, but you
force your way through that cloud and you manage to insert the airway
device in her mouth to keep her tongue from blocking the trachea, and
you feel like screaming at the idiot trainee to do his part but the
senior paramedic is already screaming at you to restart CPR again.
It's
all beginning to get messy, and the shot of adrenalin you prepared on
the way here is unused because the senior paramedic can't get a vein
open, and the defibrillator is completely useless at this point because
she has no heartbeat. And so everyone is rushing back to the ambulance
downstairs to get her to the hospital, and she's completely limp.
The
ride to the hospital feels like forever, and you're still banging on
her chest to get a rhythm at least, and you're banging against the
inside of the ambulance and you hit your knee against something hard
and metal and it starts to bleed. And the ride still feels like
forever. Your arms start to get tired, and the senior paramedic is
trying to get the IV infusion working, so you tell the other trainee
paramedic to take over while you do the oxygen bagging.
As you
touch her head to realign the neck, you feel that it's still warm. It's
still warm! And there's a feeling of weight being lifted, a glimmer of
hope that she can still make it. It's still warm! You pump oxygen into
her lungs with renewed vigor, hoping against hope. "Please don't let
her die on me," you start pleading to whoever is up there watching this
whole thing unfold. Please.
And finally the ambulance stops, and
everybody's rushing out and into the A&E. You're still compressing
the heart again and again on the stretcher, on the way in. The staff
nurse takes over and calls some doctors to the room and your job is
done. You pull away, asking yourself if you did the whole thing right,
running the events in your head in a loop, questioning your actions in
every single detail. The senior paramedic goes to the registration
counter to fill up some forms, and you feel like you really need a
smoke, but you want to see if she makes it out alive. You're left alone
to think, and only then do you remember the throbbing in your left knee.
You
walk back to the ambulance to get a band-aid and a print-out from the
lifepack machine. And as the ticker-tape paper rolls out, the ECG
reading makes it look like there actually was a heart rhythm; the
spikes between the flat lines. But that was when you were doing CPR. The
rest is flat. So you wait. The senior paramedic tells you this will
help in an inquiry; proof that, if she dies, we had tried to help
revive her heart on the way to the hospital.
Then you hear
someone sobbing, and its her mother. And someone who looks like her
sister, she's crying too. Then her father puts his hands to his face,
and his body starts to shake. And this young boy, probably her kid
brother, and a few other relatives who've just arrived, they start
crying too. There's a lump in your throat and your heart starts to feel
heavy, like a guilty man about to face the gallows. And that's when you
know she's dead.
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