Friday, August 31, 2007

breathing out.

I read Huxley's Brave New World whilst perched on a balcony ledge in college, overlooking four beige floors of uniform corridors with sporadic lego people walking up and down. They were all wearing the standard uniform of blue jeans. Only dimly aware of the rhythm of the exploding raindrops, for the crisp cadence of Huxley's words rang too loudly in my head. Such gloomy turn of phrases, they were, and yet, there was this sense of tranquility embodied within which I've not felt for a while. It's the sensation of cold amidst the muted sunshine, I'm telling you. I can't stop smiling.

Here's to more miserable, or Londonesque, weather!

Wednesday, August 29, 2007

i am my mother's daughter.

I long to make music from my soul, but I fear that there is nothing left to give, nothing left inside that I can ever call my own. Not so much emptiness, but an absence whose presence cannot be denied.

My fingers skittle uselessly over the ivory keys. I wonder if I have truly forgotten.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

furious, oh so furious.

It is with such horror that I see the noose of generation curses tightening around my neck, and I am once again Petrushka, pulled by strings of steel to waltz the deadly dance, to machinations that are not of my own doing. But I am appointed, or anointed, by virtue of birthright, and with that comes the fettered crown of responsibility that I am loath to take up upon my brow.

But we all do what we must, and when the time comes for the dirty deed to be done, I will wrench it off with such distaste and repugnance, tearing my skin asunder and spilling my own blood if need be, for I will step forth to break the unbreakable chain. No longer will I be a passive subject, no longer will I be a willing supplicant to reinforced historical settings that wreck chaos in doomed circles. I vow with everything that I have and owe, that this will not come to pass, that history will not repeat itself.

Away with teleological continuity, I will create a new beginning with my own hands. I hereby cast it into your teeth with virulent contempt. Watch me.

Monday, August 27, 2007

before i overcome inertia.

Like flies drawn to carrion, I have this swarm of irritating issues to deal with which will not leave me alone, augmented by my penchant for procrastination amongst others. They are urgent, I'll give you that, but not important by my own standards. And then there are also other hosts of problems which command my immediate attention, but it's not as if anything can be solved by word-fencing or smile-fixing. But it piles up so high that its very real pressure and weight upon my chest leaves me gasping for breath. Just like sleep paralysis, has that ever happened to you before, I wonder. Or the feeling of withheld exasperation that declines into mute melancholy as the night wears on. The bitter taste of hard-won acceptance that taints all that is spoken from the tongue.

Are we really all that different, or the same, beneath it all? I know not everyone's a slave to chocolate, and that there are weird people out there who actually like eating certain mutated forms of vegetables, a fine example being lady's fingers. But I will like to believe and keep faith that no matter what has been said or done, that there is inherent goodness in everyone, and is that so very wrong? I asked my mum and sis today, do you agree that people will always put themselves before others, and the answer was an emphatic yes, and I am troubled that they will think so, and now I question myself if I am naive, or just so very blind.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

to trivalise, is to bastardize.

I was talking to Yas over dinner yesterday about tons of things, and then later to Jing, and by the time the sun trudged up this morning and hung over me like a pallid disc in the sky, so many things have changed whilst I was asleep and yet not.

There is a stillness within that brooks no interference but begs for intervention. Maybe it's really immunity that I seek, but not before sabotage - by myself, or otherwise - takes place.

It is sad that: words said now do not hold for anything later, and words unspoken nullify that which was said before. I think we just make things easier by conjuring excuses for others and ourselves, that the truth is changeable, that promises are not truth, but truthful only as a consequence of the commitment that is the basis of the promise made at that point in time, don't we know that nothing is immutable except Change and Mortality, and as a result, nothing is negotiable in the long run, and everything is fallible.

Thing is, I accept all that I have written above. So I'm one of those who follows and lives by that despised creed. A free-spirit, indeed, who allows for mistakes and mishaps and changes and chances. Why should I then, expect anyone else to be different?

I'll much rather be happy than right.

Friday, August 24, 2007

one bite at a time.

Jing has always bemoaned my passiveness, and to a certain extent, Jess as well. And this morning, I listened, and finally decided to exert myself. I made a decision. It's not such a big issue, really, but it felt as if I was getting somewhere. That I was, and am, changing for the better. No more pansying around, avoiding responsibility for myself and others. Just - doing it.

It feels good to take charge every so often, and it makes me realize that with each and every little act, I can regain control of my life. Those bits which I'm able to tweak and direct, anyway.

I don't think I'm all that strong, but perhaps, I have also underestimated myself. I am capable of ruthlessness. My talent for inflicting hurt does manifests itself in insidious ways. And in a very odd way, I've overestimated myself as well - so many times, I thought I'll never give in, but I did. Self-perception cannot be set in ebony stone.

My friends shouldn't have to hold my hand while I mend broken mirrors, whose fracture came about from my own incorrigible making. The glamour which had been cast over my eyes has my secret signature woven into it, and thus, it is only right that I acknowledge its presence, and then, dispell it from my heart and mind. It's not going to be instantaneous, and that, is the punishment and price I have to pay.

I spent a while browsing through my archives by seasons, not as a means of wallowing in nostalgia, but to remind myself of the promised repetition of cryptic sigils, that the truth is changeable. That words uttered so hard and fervently can mock by lingering without any trace of its past intensity. That secret thoughts will be forgotten, and unsung voices never heard.

The past is just the last breath that I took, and the tomorrow I long for may never come. But that's alright, good friends, music and alcohol have magical and restorative properties - they will make the unbearable tolerable.

Today is, once more, a requiem for the living. Shall we dance?

some more; paraphrased phrases from books which shout at you; gravity of spirit

As of now, there are too many things clamouring for my undivided attention, and I'm forced to put an end to my little masochistic pleasures. Should I be glad? I don't know.

You can keep running away for as long as you can, as if there is no end in sight. I know just how well I excel in that! A true procrastinator's mantra.

But it never quite works.

"You may leave, if you wish," said the Fool grandly. "Unfortunately, I still live here."

The crowning conclusion, I suppose. Well, there's always the option of adopting the lifestyle of a nomad. Or remaining. Or deserting.

Choices, choices, choices. They sink their fangs into my shoulders - with such delicious weight. But this, I embrace, for all the right reasons and more.

Thursday, August 23, 2007

apathetic distillation.

In the larger scheme of things, that which looks so grand and overwhelming, what is, or what matters, takes on a whole new light, especially when obscured by the weary present.

The hardest bit is knowing that everything will eventually be fine.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

the fallacy derides, the truth decries.

I wish everyone, even myself, will choose their words with more caution and thought. Carelessly strewn, caustically strung, there is no measuring its detrimental impact on anyone, much less the innocent young. It's the red tape of lofty ideals at work here, which butchers, blinds and binds. The oppressive tyranny of provincial bigots - stupefies. And then comes dejection, and such a woeful sense of helplessness.

You can't get angry with someone who's so thick and insular and clueless, because there's really no arguing with unmitigated stupidity.

Maybe exhaustion is good, you can't think straight, and you can't speak coherently either. The wonders and miracles of sleep deprivation! But it was still very sad sending Yang off at the airport this morning. All these arrivals and departures and sending offs and welcome-homes, so many stories that planes and airports have yet to tell.

But we know that there are really only three.

Positive thoughts! Come to me! Alohamora!

Tuesday, August 21, 2007

ulalame.

I wonder how well you can really get to know a person in just two hours. I wonder how my inconsistent answers to preset questions will add or detract from the picture. I've known myself for 24 years and counting, and I'm still in the process of carving new layered facets within and impulsive disembowelment.

A rough gauge is better than none, I suppose. To find yourself wanting is also very enlightening.

Today, I remember. Today, I forget. Today, I acknowledge. Today, I overlook.

And today, I indulge. By misleading myself, distractions abound. (Would that I be willing!) So here's some Edgar Allan Poe today from Tamerlane:

What tho the moon - the white moon -
Shed all the splendor of her noon,
Her smile is chilly - and her beam,
In that time of dreariness, will seem
(So like you gather in your breath)
A portrait taken after death.
And boyhood is a summer sun
Whose waning is the dreariest one.
For all we live to known is known,
And all we seek to keep hath flown.
Let life, then, as the day-flower, fall
With the noon-day beauty - which is all.

Monday, August 20, 2007

the process of enlightenment.

I have a big blister on my 2nd finger, which makes for typing quite an ardrous undertaking.

My mother thinks she is Mary Poppins. She thinks she can squeeze ten million things into one suitcase. I find that very amusing, and what's even more amazing is that - she did fit an elephant into a suitcase. You know how I'm able to fit nuclear weapons into my bags - in this, and more, I'm my mother's child after all.

Sometimes, I wonder if honesty is really the best policy. Maybe not, but it's all been said and done.

Responsibilities! They beckon. I can deny their clarion call no longer. At least, that's something to cling onto, but it's a very poor consolation in light of what losses have been sustained.

But if you never had something in the first place, you haven't really lost anything - only a beautiful mirage, which will never be worth living or fighting for.

I feel as if a magic spell has been broken. I feel as if I've been emancipated from grim shackles of delusion. But I've no way of knowing if I've just moved into the deceptive calm eye of the storm, and that, I'm only halfway through.

At least - I know I'm getting somewhere. Temporal relief is still something to rely on for now. Beggars can't be choosers. Not that I want to be a beggar, but really, aren't we all dependent on somebody's charity every now and then. My lips curl up in a sardonic twist, and then, they straighten out, ironed-out creases, without leaving any traces that they had ever once been pulled back in a snarl. There is nothing more to be expressed - because there is, or will be, nothing left once I'm through with it. Because - I will have it so.

Bypass! Bygones! Begone!

Friday, August 17, 2007

mending broken mirrors.

It's been a very strange day.

For one thing, I actually made it to my 0830hr class on time (well, 15 min late due to bad weather, but who's counting). But don't raise your hopes up too high, Lynne is nowhere near redemption nor salvation when it comes to class punctuality, but she will do her damnest to try. This, despite having stayed up all night listening to Elgar's 1st (I love you Dominic). I know, I'm quite impressed myself too.

Haven't done this in a long while, just listening to music and my silence, and oh boy, does it feel good. There is this strange clarity of mind all wrapped up in a false security blanket of haziness, with golden arrows of the morning dawn piercing through your head and I always feel rather rejuvenated. As if all the shadows have finally been chased away.

Also, there's just something about Elgar's 1st. I can't explain it to you, just that it's so rousing. I know, it's the exuberance and immunity of youth, I think that is what it exemplifies. It always makes me want to play passionate patriot and punch the air with my clenched fist in teary jubilation and shout silly slogans and vehemently fight for what I believe in, but I haven't quite figured out just what, or who, all these turbulent feelings are for.

That led on to an anguished relearning of old epiphanies. I've only spoken about this to one or two people, but basically, the theory is that whether we are fully cognizant or otherwise, we pass our hurts along. So, whatever hurt that had been inflicted on us, we inflict it onto others. The bullied grow up to be bullies. We become the perpetuators, and we do this for many, many sad reasons.

And today, I realize just what foolish and contrary creatures we are. That we have to convict ourselves, in order to understand, or forgive. For there is truly no substitute for first-hand experience, the irony being that we'll only do this when we're hurt beyond reprieve by a loved one. It's always about role-reversals. It's always about social inversion.

But life is also all about the mobius strip and pagan circles - it's only a matter of time before you're on the receiving end once more. And I am shaken anew at all the things that have happened, because I now see it as the necessary payment - with compound interest - for the past. The process of emotional osteoporosis can only pick up with alarming speed, and the debt can only grow larger and larger with time. Most of us will never have the strength to break free from this slavery, which disguises itself as a beguiling enchantment we have to obey - we are too masochistic for our own good. But there is the cursed hope, that we are all endowed with the freedom of choice to employ restraint, and the gift of maturity to seek - and give - forgiveness. Even so, there is that nagging feeling that these can only be cultivated and nurtured through the experience of heartwrenching pain. Baptism through fire and adversity, no?

Anyway. I know I sound very gloomy, but it's hard not to do so when you have to write and dictate the terms of your will. (Long story) You start thinking about all your worldly possessions, who to give what, letting go of all that you deem precious when death claims you, all the regrets you have stacked right up to the moon, things like that. It makes me want to live life so hard, so fervently, without any qualms, that when the day comes for me to depart, I can leave knowing that I've said all my iloveyous and imsorrys to my most treasured and beloved ones.

So today, I lived life thinking about the imminent end, and as such, I lived without enforcing any of my usual barriers around the heart and mind. It's a refreshing change to not deny, hide, or ignore what I really feel beneath cryptic and pompous phrases, and hence, this very straightforward blogpost today.

I've said too much as usual, but what are words, but yet another illusion of constructive symbolism to express the inexpressible? They only exist for the moment, as they rightly should. Nothing in this world is immutable, except its benevolent promises of change and irrevocable mortality.

Good night, everyone.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

rolling my eyes so fast it's all a blur; running; learning by unlearning.

Watching these intellectually stimulating videos, with chirpy communist music, is absolutely riveting. I can feel my brain cells increasing by the million per second. I can't think of anything else that I'll rather do. Except maybe to stuff Brussels Sprouts down my throat. Yes, they are evil incarnate, but this way, I can spend the rest of the week isolated in some dodgy hospital ward (Brussel-tities is highly contagious, symptoms include bushy green hair growth and thick webbing between the fingers) with rusted metal bars (that crumble at your touch) and jaded bedsheets (which have witnessed life and death through spilled blood) and stained pillows (of laughter and salty tears) for company, and happily programme these videos to be on eternal loop for my exclusive personal entertainment. On a big HD screen, of course. And sub-woofers. Popcorn, sweet and warm and chock-full of greasy butter. To experience.

Just the mere thought of it is giving me multiple orgasms. I've always liked fantasizing.

Okay. I need to stop indulging my penchant for procrastination (amongst many other wonderful vices, really). But the carousel of fairy-twinkly-lights of time refuses to stop for me. And then it's down the chimney snake of eights with a burning jolt of fire and ice, and, only when you least expect it, but that's also when you're unconsciously seeking that which shouldn't be.

And for now, the reason must remain a secret from myself to me, and therefore - imagined.

Sigh, for all my 24 years of accumulated wisdom (a sore point of contention with Dominic and Yang'en, I'm sure), I remain as childish as ever. You see, I'm painfully aware that: nobody can learn through unlearning - especially not when you don't even want to learn.

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

the unbearable lightness of being.

There is a startling new sense of kinship, with the petrified statues on the main entrance of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia. It can be any one of the ten million statues, really. You know how it is - they are easily distinguishable from one another by their various shapes and sizes and expressions and facial contortions. But they are just too many of them, that any notion of marbled individuality is defenestrated upon its moment of recognition. Relentless buffeting of something new and foreign has that effect on everyone - everything subsequently blends into a throng of decaying white.

What was I saying? Yes. Forever doomed, they are, to perch on the lofty arch of the solemn gates and condemned to mutely observe the living below. Would that they be able to fly away from imprisonment, or take in that sweet breath of forbidden air, to divulge a hundred years' worth of untold stories, those bespeaking of life and loss, in a single sigh of consciousness.

I wonder how it is like to have time-locked lips. I wonder how it is like to be denied of thirst. I imagine it to feel cacophonic silence, and I wonder if it is cousin to my own.

By the time I finish wondering, the insane four-legged creature in my house, also known as my dog, will probably start to develop the speech-pattern of an elephant and the magical prowess of a turnip. And the next thing you know, he'll be laying square eggs and hatching baby lobsters. Bless.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

'and, so it is.'

It's all about deja vu today (three times of course, three is the magic number, that esteemed holy trinity), and I'm very sure it's not memories, but dreams, which I had forgotten until I faced it in a physical setting. I know most people don't really believe in deja vu, but I do - it's a bit hard to not do so when you're experiencing it right there and then. Nothing very spectacular, but unnerving enough for me to spend my waking hours today pondering about coincidences, dreams, fate or fated meetings, the absurdity of freedom, Nietzsche's eternal return, complexities of the human heart - silly things like that where no amount of contemplation can ever hope to change anything substantially, but I do so anyway.

(I did major in musical analysis, you know - deconstruction is second-nature to me.)

I'm not often wrong, but I'm not always right. This realization makes me upset and happy and confused and so much more, but enough of these universal catchphrases - there's only so much ridiculous and deluded pigeon-holing from myself, that I can handle for today.

Monday, August 13, 2007

again!

Again! I renew the promise - that I'm as blank as an empty postcard. No, I am a blank postcard. Will someone then slot me into one of the red phallic mailboxes along the Strand? Throw in the postage fee for me too, a quid should be the very least you can afford! Don't be stingy now, thanks very much.

Here's to crossing unchartered waters!

Friday, August 10, 2007

881; la mer; before saying; devastated.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

all of my own making.

Sometimes, you kind of wonder if there's anything sacred left, that you have not desecrated with your own hands. All the ties that hold and bind, are unfortunately, just that. They are as permanent as you make them out to be, which is to say, they have all been pre-condemned with an expiry date. It's just a matter of the circumstances which lead to the unveiling of the death sentence, and its subsequent execution.

These days, everything is temporal.

What is this prized notion of eternity that haunts me, that which is so elusive and ultimately, false? To be human, is to place hope in whatever you believe, or want, despite the insurmountable odds which are stacked against you. I wish I can repudiate it, purge it out, gouge it out of my flesh, eradicate it, but I can't. I am too weak to stop fighting, I am not strong enough to renounce hope.

For better or worse, I cling on to that very slim chance, taking the risk with woeful abandon, even though I know that I cannot afford the price if I were to lose. But that's just the way it has always been, and will always be.

I just hope (again, that damned word) that when the day comes for me to be tested, I will either pass beautifully, or somehow be able to tap on hidden reservoirs of strength within myself, to resolutely cross the uncharted waters.

Tenacity or sheer stubbornness, time will tell - and all in good time.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

drunken sailors blind sailing

I just spent the better part of the night answering questions on Stravinsky which I kind of know how to answer, and yet not quite. Argh, I thought I'd put that all behind me after handing up all my Mmus essays, but some things have a knack of coming back to haunt you at the most inopportune time. Murphy's Law, you see.

As Yang'en always likes to tell me:

"Things are always simple, but never easy."

Saying/Typing that was also quite simple in itself. But it sure wasn't easy.

Friday, August 03, 2007

the mysterious hand who deals the dice of indeterminacy

About a year ago, I wrote:

"Sometimes, you think that everyone's leaving you, passing you by, but perhaps - you're the one who's leaving everyone behind.

But it doesn't matter whether it's a free choice which you have made or otherwise - separation, or the parting of ways, is inevitable. It's a very real and nasty ending, where even a bitter and painful renewal is not guaranteed.

Maybe that's why I like records and vinyls and photos so much - I'm foolishly in love with the past, and anything that will preserve those discrete moments, I'll hoard them till the end of days. Growing fat with the treasured memories of my time in London, which I adamantly refuse to let go - until the day where time and old age decide to steal them away from me.

Breathing it all in, I can already see the rippling of the bittersweet sepia-prints."

Here I am, in the future that I had gloomily foretold in that past entry. Not all that different from what was prophesized, but (unexpectedly) different enough, that I'm learning to come to terms with the trinity of truths, the torment of finality, the hope of renewal, and more.

So much more.

And I smile for the girl who I was, a tenuous smile that's tinged with heavy irony.

You see, time and old age are one step ahead of me. The performance of "Ten Million Bars of Musical Rests" has already started! But there are, and will be, other compositions in the works. Such is the nature of life - or so I think, and will have it to be.

Thursday, August 02, 2007

A pair of chopsticks, with dancing flames for crowns. Doused with a practised flick of my wrist, that deft motion, belated shock - this is the living body's capacity for regurgitative memory, this untapped power of the unconscious.

I looked at the two turgid wooden frames: the larger of them cradled yesterday's fallen, as if asleep, the other immortalized mortality in print, and I felt as if both of them projected a misrepresentation of life, and therefore the truth - the soul cannot be recaptured. Death remains triumphant.

Only one-sided interpretations and faded impressions are left behind, wisps of ghosts and shadows of time.

And of course, the ones who loved, and were loved in return.

I have much more to say, but I can't. I shouldn't anyway, so not allowed.

Until the next notch on the wheel, the turning of the screw, where it all begins before it can end. I don't suppose it'll ever get any easier.

Wednesday, August 01, 2007

elegy; pavane.

I wish there was something which I could have said, or done, although I know that there probably wasn't very much. Even so, I recount our past conversations with such violent fury that I'm not quite sure how much of it was real or make-believe.

Was it me, did I not press further upon the matter, or could I have said something off-hand that had a detrimental or devastating impact? Because I know only too well, in that state, just how the most innocent and casual of remarks can evoke cold alienation, heartbreaking sorrow, bringing about the feeling of having the insides of your wrists slit all the way up to the tender bellies of your upper arms with an imaginary scalpel - with such exquisite care. All the more worse when there was no intention to hurt, those words spoken with such nonchalance, but they did anyway.

Unwitting catalyst, I never thought I was, but unfortunately - this, I have always been.

There are so many questions I want to ask you, and so many of them will never be answered. I can string them up and tie them in butterfly knots and hang them on flagpoles, but essentially, they boil down to why, and perhaps another why, and again, let's have another why.

Just yesterday, we talked and laughed and commiserated over things-in-common (misery loves company). You were sitting across me, your lashes lowered with your fingers drumming the table in a steady dotted rhythm. We laughed in perfect harmony (IV-V-I) over something silly, and I knew at that instant, that the two of us were great friends in the making. The potential was there. I don't think I was wrong, but I'll never have the chance to prove myself right.

The trickery of memory is at work once again, alongside with the damned retrospective reading I cannot help but apply to the events of yesterday. I cannot tell, I cannot tell just which actions were telling, or otherwise. Everything is exaggerated, illuminated, insinuated by my mind and I keep hitting the replay button - things I would have said, things I would have done, things I should have said, things I should have done. "The trickster tricks, and the trickster tricked."

Suddenly, all the what ifs have come real, you know? There is so much fear, so much grief, but also, so much love burgeoning from beneath. Excruciating, I can scarcely hold it all in. But we all make do. Somehow.

It doesn't really make sense, but to me, you will always be a what if. And as such, I will never forget you.

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.