tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30701209917216207862012-02-17T02:20:18.216+11:00From a grassy hilltop, I watch over the white herd and sing with my flute. Bask in the performance.Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.comBlogger301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-54479053455900563262010-05-18T13:26:00.003+10:002010-05-18T22:54:06.756+10:00

Once there was a man who simply would not die for good. He would roam around looking for answers and find himself killed, by accident or deliberately. Then he would simply wake up again on a slab in some morgue forgetting everything there is in this world, including himself. But most of all, he always wondered what made him immortal in the first place. He did not know what previous

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-53313887943884328512010-05-17T01:02:00.000+10:002010-05-17T01:02:29.370+10:00

I - The Aging Once came a man  who had experienced the most beautiful thing in the world. It was his intention to place the experience within on the sensory stones - magical devices which held feelings and memories for an eternity, leaving them for others to partake of. But he thought about it: wouldn't it being shared dilute the experience? So he held it to himself, precious thing that it

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-42711525756907248032010-05-10T19:36:00.003+10:002010-05-17T01:03:55.917+10:00

As part of my ambitious resolve to blog more consistently, I introduce you to a weekly series of stories of how Mondays generally hate me and are scheming behind my back to destroy me. What Monday doesn't know is that I hate it more than I hate doing my laundry. And that is the highest possible level of hatred in this world. ---------------------------------- I know you didn't know so let me

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-1061484482667199222010-04-04T12:23:00.001+10:002010-04-05T01:01:50.516+10:00

I'm already in the fourth year of studying medicine. It really felt like it wasn't too long ago I was a naive medical student, with simple goals and unadulterated optimism. Everything was so much simpler back then, or so it seemed to me. It was as if the world had less shades of grey - one could step on one tone of grey and manage not to touch other kinds of tone painted just beside. The

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-57478111193592261162010-01-29T18:16:00.003+11:002010-01-29T18:25:05.733+11:00

I know what you're thinking. No, it's not just a random picture of candies (I surprised myself with my special secret ability to make sense of that ridiculous picture). But I also know what else you're thinking. Yes, it's ugly. But entertain me and look again. Can you see something else? I doubt it. Not when you don't know what you're looking for. This ugly picture here is called a stereogram

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-26210340145524062010-01-25T01:58:00.015+11:002010-01-29T11:09:05.717+11:00

I reached home. Mama was there to greet me first. Her face was filled with a thousand emotions that magically resonated within me as well. It wasn't simply "happy" or "relieved". The concoction of emotions splashed into a unique colour that is rarely ever seen. She stood there as if waiting to be hugged. I embraced her and closed my eyes. I could feel the rest of the world didn't exist as I

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-10880282308476658212010-01-24T22:08:00.004+11:002010-01-29T01:19:16.572+11:00

Where the doors are moaning all day long, Where the stairs are leaning dusk till dawn, Where the windows are breathing in the light, Where the rooms are a collection of our lives, This is a place where I don't feel alone, This is a place that I call my home... (Cinematic Orchestra - That Home) ---------------------------------------------------- I swear if this song was what I hear

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-11409576670580604682009-11-08T22:22:00.007+11:002010-01-29T01:28:39.549+11:00

I met you earlier this year. It was the first time - I stood there looking at you, with a tingling sensation I could only describe as adoration. As I knew you more and you became comfortable with me, I took solace in your presence. You sheltered me from harm and provided me solitude when I needed one. I would stay with you until piles upon piles of sand flowed. Until the sun has shifted its

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-18607321831039922682009-09-24T15:53:00.010+10:002009-10-01T13:15:34.455+10:00

Imagine this and imagine it vividly in your mind as best as you can:You sitting in your chair in front of your computer and books.You stopping whatever you were doing and turning your head towards the large window to your side, while one arm supporting your chin as your gaze drifting softly at the scene beyond the window.You watching the continuous stream of traffic on the road across your vision

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-9456608802539508792009-09-06T15:47:00.013+10:002010-01-29T01:34:46.285+11:00

This is a baby chick. In case you still didn't get it, this is also a baby chick. Attack of the chicks. Please tell me that you get it already. Oh, I knew very well what you are feeling right this moment. Go on, feast your eyes some more at these precious photos of cute, charming little chicks with their awesome cuteness that capture their pure innocence cutely. I remember when I was

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-45463082654363425442009-09-01T23:13:00.010+10:002010-01-29T01:39:46.024+11:00

When countless technologies are condensed into such a small device the size of roughly a short stack of business cards, it becomes extremely difficult not to bring said device everywhere you go. If you own such device, you might say, "I bring and use this incredible device everywhere simply because it makes me a productive person," and you continue to ramble on with reading online news,

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-8488099400585465742009-08-23T17:28:00.012+10:002010-01-29T01:44:04.700+11:00

Media: Ikea pencil (HB? H?), B pencil, mechanical pencil on paper. Date of start: 23.8.2009 Date of finish: 23.8.2009 Description: I always wish I could draw more often (damn you, medical course!). Now and again, I would feel like drawing or sketching but I usually suppressed my desire so that I could focus on the more important stuff at hand. Today, however, I had the strongest urge to draw

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-80901564937828167102009-08-16T16:44:00.015+10:002010-01-29T01:49:17.244+11:00

Take out your kitchen mixer from the cabinet, and set it nicely on the counter. Next get a top-notch orchestra assemble and an esteemed choir (which go very well together indeed), and gently place them in the mixer bowl. This might seem a bit strange to some, but now grab a rock band by the neck and put it in the middle of the ingredients in the bowl. The next step is very important: DO NOT

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-31196523565524904322009-08-02T21:47:00.012+10:002010-01-29T01:55:28.044+11:00

Media: 2B pencil on paper Date of start: 30.10.2008 Date of finish: 31.10.2008 Description: Today, I digged up my close-to-a-year-old HUGE stack of papers, notes, hand-outs, feedbacks, and whatever crap I get from classes. You see, I have this one special corner on my bookcase that I accidentally dedicate for all sorts of paper I get and simply wasn't quite sure where to file into. I lost

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-47228229258656675732009-07-27T12:36:00.010+10:002010-01-29T01:59:01.360+11:00

Media: Black ball pen on paper Date of start: 27.7.2009 Date of finish: 27.7.2009 Description: It was a quick (lazy) sketch of Dhall, whom The Nameless One met only to find even more questions. Took me less than an hour to draw, so I don't think I'm doing the character much justice. Well, he certainly did not look like how I imagined him would be. I suck at sketches. Dhall is extremely

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-62937889632448921612009-07-26T16:42:00.007+10:002009-07-27T11:16:58.983+10:00

Chapter 1-3In the centre of this room stood the largest book I had ever set my eyes upon. It was placed on its metal stand so that the bottom nearly touched the floor, and it was tilted about 30 degrees from the vertical plane. Taller than an average man, the old book was bound in brown leather of unknown origin. Concealed behind the book was a living person, obviously one of the Dustmen. He was

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-40923604393579343202009-06-09T02:19:00.015+10:002010-01-29T02:08:27.811+11:00

Do yourself and your child a favour. Click this poster! I couldn't agree more. If you were to present to me the scientific fact that the earth actually revolves around the sun, I would still find this poster even more agreeable. I love the way they make cola sound like a supplement you get over the counter. And I LOVE how every single sentences literally make me roll on the floor then

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-68375104873084801162009-05-31T03:58:00.011+10:002010-01-29T02:08:01.614+11:00

Then there was a long silence. The water spirit breathed a gentle but lengthy sigh. "You have lied to me this time. You are not the first to drop an axe into my pond, young man. Those men chose to lie when their greedy eyes laid down upon the golden axe in my hand. Yet you lied to me when I hold this haggard axe. Pray, tell me why did you not lie and claim the golden axe belonged to you, like

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-7570148961632722302009-05-29T10:05:00.014+10:002010-01-29T02:12:39.796+11:00

Once there was a woodcutter who lived in a tiny cabin that sat on the edge of a quiet forest, just a few strides away from the outskirts of a village nearby. His life was a lonely one and he rarely had anyone to talk to except for his animal friends - at least that is what he likes to think of them. He provided the swift squirrel and the chirpy pair of birds the occasional seeds. For the

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-23074123570867298372009-05-27T00:40:00.009+10:002009-05-27T02:16:55.306+10:00

Today I heard that someone left this earth,that someone disappeared left no mark here.Today I heard that someone just got up and left himself,lying on the ground.Today is quiet in my town.Today two boys disappeared without noise,and I wish that I was them flying somewhere overhead.And tonight in silence, two lovers hate and find,one is bored and one is angry,but neither one of them is right.Today

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-4915573699297869172009-04-19T12:39:00.006+10:002009-04-20T01:31:01.314+10:00

Chapter 1-2     “Pssst… Some advice, chief: I'd keep it quiet from here on — no need to put any more corpses in the dead book than necessary… especially the femmes. Plus, killing them might draw the caretakers here.”      “I don’t think you mentioned it before… who are these caretakers?” I felt my uneasiness spread.      “They call themselves the ‘Dustmen’. You can’t miss ‘em: They have an

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-7389663363229485022009-04-17T01:27:00.006+10:002010-01-29T02:16:17.916+11:00

Some games just deserve respect. They get mine when they became a work of art. A few days ago I downloaded a demo of Braid, just to try it out since all game reviewers around the world have been rambling about how superb it is. I decided to try it out myself before puncturing more holes in my pocket to get the full version of the game. (I'm big on purchasing original games, in case you're

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-23633142033105851912009-03-20T00:21:00.008+11:002010-01-29T02:19:09.117+11:00

Media: Black ball pen on paper Date of start: 16.3.2009 Date of finish: 17.3.2009 Description: One of the most interesting characters I have ever came across. You'll learn to love him. He is simply the funniest floating, talking skull ever. But then again, he's probably the only floating, talking skull you'll ever meet. Morte is a talking skull. His sole weapon seems to be his mouth,

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-43690281963273737032009-03-16T08:34:00.013+11:002010-01-29T02:25:35.892+11:00

Original text by Chris Avellone and Colin McComb Original novelisation by Rhyss Hess Chapter 1-1 THE MORTUARY  I had a vague but strangely familiar sensation as if I am lying on a cold hard slab and that someone is slowly pushing it towards a detested destination. Then a series of peculiar dreams filled my mind: A black pillar covered with white inscriptions. Rows upon rows of skulls on

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-38549731776638145412009-03-13T15:59:00.009+11:002010-01-29T02:29:03.692+11:00

I don't think I've ever explicitly mentioned it before, but I play games. Like PC games. And PS2 games (used to, at least). And PSP games. And PS3 games. And (recently) XBox 360 games. And I play a lot. Well, not as much as I used to. But still I'm sort of like a geek when it comes to video games. And I know what you're thinking... "You're wasting a lot of time playing games. You don't get

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-26769044295218733562009-01-18T14:46:00.007+11:002010-01-29T02:33:18.086+11:00

Jehane Noujaim. I came to know this incredible woman early last year. I was surfing Youtube and I came across this video with an intriguing description: "Visionary documentary filmmaker, TED Prize Winner, and Pangea Day founder Jehane Noujaim speaks to an audience of "the world's leading thinkers and doers" at the 2006 annual TED Conference. Watch and listen as she unveils her inspiring

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-79817730327886526612009-01-16T16:43:00.015+11:002010-01-29T02:39:47.316+11:00

Music is universal. It can unite people. People across different cultures, races, and regions can instantly connect through music. Just turn on that radio or jukebox and you'll hear people - different people - singing or humming along, clapping and tapping their feet. All in unison. Isn't that just beautiful? Music is instinctual. If you haven't noticed yet, you'll soon realise that you

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-24957311091434124072009-01-08T20:45:00.004+11:002009-01-08T20:54:56.308+11:00

I have a short riddle I stumbled upon while browsing through books in a bookstore. Thought I'd share it with you."Schwarzenegger has a long one. Michael Fox has a short one. Madonna doesn't have one, while the Pope has one but rarely uses it. Bill Clinton, on the other hand, uses it all the time.What is it?"You can give your answers in the comments. Come on, now, don't be shy!*giggles*

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-89921499190846846092009-01-08T17:29:00.013+11:002010-01-29T02:44:05.389+11:00

This is my third blog. You might think that I don't have better things to do than open multiple blogs just for the fun of it and waste megabytes of spaces in the blog servers. That's if you don't know the real history. Let's have some history lesson, shall we? My first blog, the "Fwendster" blog (name of the blog publisher has been changed scantily to save it from public humiliation), was -

Haris Noorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16198621806502504645noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3070120991721620786.post-28384501825322484222009-01-07T01:06:00.019+11:002010-01-29T02:46:48.407+11:00

Once there was a young shepherd who enjoyed telling stories to those who loved to listen. He would sit under the magnificent wide tree on top of his favourite grassy hill while the people gathered around him, enjoying tales after tales. Some of his tales were happy, and some were sad. A few were cold, while others warm. The shepherd would sing all sorts of stories and his listeners were

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