Monday, July 30, 2007

at the first; facebook is addictive

Tomorrow marks the first day of college, school, prison, whatever you want to call it. Lessons on Music Education and some other random things, I'm not sure. I know I don't sound all that enthusiastic, but truth is, I'm actually looking forward to studying again. It's just the incredulous amount of effort that is needed to get all the way to, as Jasmine so aptly phrases it, the Land Of Beige, which puts me off. Two hours of travel each way? Absolutely ridiculous. And I have the worst timetable ever, starting at 0830hr and ending at 1830hr.

People, I think I'm going to be MIA very soon, and for a very long time.

Anyway. We threw a hen party for Tania last night (Jess was the organizer, and Jing bought most of the stuff) and it was a huge success. Wicked fun. MGS girls definitely know how to party.

I was just thinking, that sometimes, it's worth taking the plunge. But only if it's not tainted, or hindered, by our penchant to view events (past, present and future) with a single retrospective lens.

Okay, I know I'm slow, but I finally signed up for a Facebook account after much nagging prompting from everyone. It's so fun! I can throw virtual food at people! Who needs Friendster!

Saturday, July 28, 2007

To capture, and set free, to be captured, and never released, this regime is all I know and live, voila, history repeats!

Friday, July 27, 2007

i tried, but they won't open (or close)

Familiar gray skies, the rain cascading down in fine sheets. Layered curtains which veil all that is before and around. Everything is subsequently undefined and obscured, and therefore, enshrouded in mystery. The conditions and settings are perfect, all I have to do is just to close my eyes and I will find sublimity in the sweetness of oblivion. But each death of a raindrop awakens memories of the skin, the delicious sensation of cold, and from there, the golden kiss of the summer sun.

Today is different. Not that I know why, really, so I can't tell you. Maybe it's the arrival of the Vienna State Opera! They're performing Mozart's le nozze di Figaro in September! -shrieks-

Come! Hold my hand, and dance with me around the potholes of silver.

Here's to Journey's End.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

biting down hard.

Even if, even so, even then. Such pessimistic hope!

My thoughts, they form a coil of languishing serpents, who cry out for some semblance of order. But untangling it will mean the revealing of the content, concealed at its very centre and heart, that which must not be known. Banished, they fall below those previously spoken by the tongue, where they lie fallow, secret, and unheard. I wish it can be otherwise. But - to whom shall I speak to, and what shall I speak of, when I cannot stop prophesizing the futures from each imagined and varied speech, when all those different futures lead to the same hollow one?

Once, I would have spilled it all through my fingers, but I am more careful now. (Or am I? I wonder.) Only calculated leaks are allowed, these silent whispers of ghosts, but they threaten to take on corporeal form upon my realization that - there will surely come a day, where I can no longer hold them back.

Selfishness? Indulgence? Lack of discipline? Loss of self-control? Again, I wonder. No, that's wrong. I know. In this - I have always known. And as Beaumarchais had written in Figaro, "One is wicked, because one sees things clearly." Such wisdom. If only these words aren't idiotically useless.

Even so (even then), they are tattooed onto the back of my eyelids. Memento mori.

Monday, July 23, 2007

two out of many.

Sleepless as usual, but for all the right reasons this time.

The last day at the college was uneventful, and I wouldn't have had it any other way. I did spend quite some time just standing at the quadrangle, taking in the red and gray colours amidst the spots of greenery. Slightly over six months, I've spent at this place and it is now dear to me. I never expected this change of heart, considering all that had taken place when I first moved back from London. I will miss my colleagues and my students in the coming months of NIE.

@rtikulation 2007 went pretty well. Yibin was brilliant, and so were all the juniors. Thanks to all who made it! Here are some pictures which I stole from Sunsun's blog:

I love playing on a Steinway. There are melodies singing in my head in free counterpoint. I am rejuvenated.

It's been a great weekend. :)

Friday, July 20, 2007

My sister and I cooked supper earlier (noodles and scrambled egg), and I believe it's the first time we've done this - together - since Christmas 2005. We're now heavily sated (and sedated) after food and a few paragraphs of Harry Potter.

While I'm not sorry for being indulgent, please pardon the recent spate of verbal diarrhoea. Events are moving towards one named climax out of many passed and many more to come. I am freaking out from being freaked out.

Tomorrow marks the last day of my teaching stint at the college. Well, last official day, since I couldn't finish teaching the syllabus today. I will have to return.

As always, an ending is always paired with a beginning, but I can't tell head from tail. That used to worry me, and I don't know why? I remember the crippling agony I felt a few months ago, from not being able to name or separate, but the reason eludes me now.

To think I thought I knew it all, and to think that I had never once known at all.

Yibin told me today, that physical size and pianistic technique aside, I haven't changed much since I was 17. Something along those lines, and I threw him an old smile from my usual position at the piano. A smile that's tempered with fleeting visages of an epoch, whose value we could have never understood back then. Present moments are only deemed precious in retrospect.

And the price to pay for belated elucidation, is the knowledge of irrevocable loss. Ah, I don't think I've ever once been teachable after all.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

i... i... just felt like posting this up

This is one of my all-time favourite clips from youtube. Corelli, singing "Non piangere Liu" from Puccini's Turandot.

Because

I should sleep

Monday, July 16, 2007

invisible filters.

The S brothers (who are excellent musicians) are fond of passing rather derogatory comments on the way I belt out musical phrases (at the top of my lungs, I'm afraid), especially when I'm in one of my excitable moods. (Aida, Dominic, Aida!)

Apparently, I don't keep in tune (what!), I take liberties with the rhythm (..perhaps) and I manage to modify the melody completely in the most artless manner possible - to the point that it does not bear the slightest resemblance to the original. I'm sure they exaggerate. Actually, I'm not sure. Dominic tells me this all the time too. Ah well. You know how it is - whatever rings in your head is louder than what you actually hear.

It's the same (and very strange) discrepancy between my inner hearing and the sound I produce on the piano. I know what sound I want, but I either can't get it, or I'm convinced I have done it, when I actually haven't. It's more often the former though, and I end up spending hours on the piano, chasing after this elusive magical sound which only exists in my mind. I swear to you, it sounds perfect between my ears, but somehow, something intrinsic is lost in transition from my brain to fingers, in translation from imagined glorious sound to its pale (and poor) manifestation.

What is this cursed barrier that lies in between, which I cannot break through? It doesn't just pertain to music-making, but I have this annoying tendency to say something in diametrical opposition to what I really want to say. [This seems to be the recurrent theme of 2007] I do try, you know, but I still fail most spectacularly. I open my mouth, and stutter: "I... am hungry." Or. A quick sputter after the almost imperceptible pause: "I... need to look for Superman's undies." Something ridiculous and irrelevant like that.

Anyway. JS and I have already discussed long and hard on this subject matter - the conclusion that we have reached is that this has to be prolonged out of sheer necessity, and for the sanity (and sanctity) of our minds. We must thrive on inner turmoil and heartrending conflict.

I have digressed, but that's alright, my thoughts are all over the place, and rightly so, although I haven't a clue why it feels right. It's the choosing of emotion over reason once again, but I'll leave that for another day.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

trek the track.

Arias and recitatives by the mermaids. Bubble-speech, dolby digital, fish-eye lens, golden trophies, a piano, the topsy-turvy reflection of faces.

There are vague connections between all these which I cling onto for reprieve, and then in desperation, and finally in mock hilarity.

I am entangled in the middle of this spider web which I have helped to spin, and I cannot escape.

Friday, July 13, 2007

mutation; woebegone.

/start whinge

One and a half years ago, I used to have fingers. Now, I just have ten limpid sausages.

/end whinge

Alright! I've cracked my knuckles. Time to practise piano.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

just once.

To my very few readers - please pardon the recent spate of cryptic entries which are directed to nobody and everybody at the same time. It must be a compulsive disorder - once I start, I can't stop, and now I'm at the point where I observe myself from the third person's perspective, fully aware of the melodramatic idiocy that I'm indulging/wallowing in, but completely helpless anyway. Though helpless isn't the right word, really. It implies that I have no choice, but I do, and I make my choices, just like any one of you. Whether it is made in Bad Faith is a different story altogether - and it no longer matters.

I used to find it so easy to type, to give a name to what I feel without fear of censorship amongst others. But it's so different now. I can't even express what it is that I want to say, that which is at the tip of my tongue and yet not.

Always, always, I will turn it around, topsy-turvy is my middle name. Always, always, I question my intentions and inevitably sabotage myself before I can even begin - for I will find them wanting. So I remain silent, not in the usual definition 'absence of words' - because for all that I have typed, I remain deliberately waffly and vague. That being said, meta-speaking about it is already dangerous in itself - how long before the cracking of codes, how long before the falling of scales?

Today, I re-learned an important lesson. Comfort can be found within the arms of good friends! Refuge is sought between the spaces and the lines, the black and the white! How could I have forgotten? Never mind that unwelcome truth can be teased out from the missing shards, because I have much to be thankful for - I still may not be able to hear the dawning of light, but I am now deaf to Atlas's cries.

Monday, July 09, 2007

when it comes to things that are pregnant and laden with secret meaning

Am I supposed to have a checklist where I tick yes no or maybe?

Curse objectivity, I don't need a reason or explanation, and to me, that in itself already says it all.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

for better or worse.

It is, perhaps, paradoxical that we recreate the past through self-deception (the art of forgetting) and unrelenting negation (the hopeless struggle of preserving memory through time, or the losing fight against oblivion).

Ignorance is bliss? No, (supposed) innocence is bliss.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

beneath.

After all this time, it's still about silent communication. But 'communication' implies 'two-way', so I must be wrong.

and another.

Every name-day, I inevitably sift through the past year, those layers of sedimented memories and collated photographs which are all too distant and foreign. An arguably valid reason for me to indulge in senseless nostalgia! Too tempting, and far too convenient an excuse. Of course I'm going to leap right in, it won't be me to not do otherwise, really.

So I discovered lost feelings and forgotten memories, yet each was a vague echo of what it was before. Imprints, ghosts, shadows. But I should have never underestimated the power of music to move, to evoke, to resuscitate. They all took on coloured flesh on the back of my eyelids, and danced around in fierce circles to the rhythm of profaned time. How they burned, and how beautiful they were. For a while, just for that short while, I remembered what it was like to live so very fervently, and so very hard.

Okay, I've finished with my 2006 life regression! It's of miniscule proportions to be sure, but one must be economical and prudent these days, or so they say. Not that I know who 'they' are, but being Singaporean is all about the herd mentality. You just bleat mindless refrains and play Simple-Simon-Says. It's like a marathon for the brain, absolutely mind-boggling and exhausting. Digression aside, I had loads of fun this year, thanks everyone, you know who you are. Much love. And many thanks for all the well-wishes!

Oh, and my students were so sweet - they bought me a bouquet of pink roses. Ooh. I can hardly wait for Teacher's Day to roll round.

blueprint

I will like to spend my days, as though they are my own, which I mostly end up doing in halves, for duty beckons, and I am answering its clarion call. Soon enough! I am also a veteran procrastinator.

fresh monodies

Old wounds hurt most, I learned this today, becaus...
She speaks, repeating the old litanies, of worn ac...
time skips
and it all comes together!
beethoven's symphony no.7 2nd mvt
again,
towards that something
In the alley of shadows and death
Masking Tape
another end of the world

previous rants

August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008
August 2008
September 2008
October 2008
November 2008
December 2008
January 2009
February 2009
March 2009
April 2009
May 2009
June 2009
July 2009
August 2009
September 2009
October 2009
November 2009
December 2009
November 2010
January 2011
February 2011
August 2011
October 2011
May 2013

treatises on life

arty jen
betty boop
carmentica
charming-linn
chasing snowy cars
cheeky lynn
cheryliciously glam
clean and cute
cyclist-mad bass
darling dominic
feisty jing
fellow ditz-sista/porkSTAR
hail mary!
hell's kitchen
hero on the beach
h-Euge heart
hunky lenny
lipgloss queen
little cheryl
live n learn, baby
lolita lou
loony loon
mr popular
musically dan
m y s t j
phringe
princess tania
roger smurf
runaway pigeon
sabotage king jeremiah
sibling angst1
sibling angst2
spector dan
spunky tian
steffy bunny
sun-sunzzz
teeny wee-nee
weeeee, leonard!
yangtze yang'en

frivolous pursuits

for shallow ppl
for very geeky ppl
for the truly bored
spun prose
binary thoughts
past imprints
some stamps
montage of images
other memories

mulling over

And there were phlegmatic souls.