Sunday, September 30, 2007

the dirty o and g words

If so, then..!

she procrastinated @ 04:19 |

Saturday, September 29, 2007

shield my eyes from sorrow

Eyes which are, for better or worse, discerning and open, and such devastating images are burned onto the back of my eyeballs, intricately etched on skin, on the flimsy layer that covers the back of my hand. As with music, which is created by the movement between the notes of a score, I read between the cloying lines of amicable gaiety, and transcribe the silent subtle nuances that linger in the air - that which has suddenly turned rancid. Such suffocating and deplorable weight.

The night no longer speeds past in vehicles of bright conversations and brilliant laughter, it is the heavy tread of seconds which still pass by all too fast.

Just a single gesture, one enacted without words, can cheapen everything that I had held sacred, because I will always remember, and I will never forget. And if I may indulge myself to cast blame and deconstruct former truths - just whose fault, do you think, that is?

I was wrong.

she procrastinated @ 04:10 |

Friday, September 28, 2007

autonomy debunked.

It's been an exceedingly strange week - one that's filled with so much poignancy and regret for my friends around me, as well as for myself.

I think about broken flowers, denied dreams, the mutation of longing into memory, heartbreaking disappointment, and underpinning them all is the paralysis enforced by circumstances, and then the anguish at one's inability to steer life in directions that you want it to go.

Tonight, the distance of years and loss of shared experiences tug at the heart-strings, where each thought begins with the words I wish, which is, of course, foolishness in the extreme. How has wishing ever once solved anything?

There is much that I feel, too wide a spectrum for my liking, and I shall bind them all to the word wistful, as if by doing so, I can quantify and reduce everything to that single word, and that shall be all that I feel.

It seems to be working so far, witness the magical act of naming and the mind's power to manipulate! I think I'll try for indifference next time - not that it takes much effort or imagination to play dead.

she procrastinated @ 02:38 |

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

sleepy

Today, I caught a few glimpses of alternate futures, how things could be like if I fought or capitulated to the events around me. So much power that lies dormant, or unwilling, which makes me question once more, if things are really alright being this way.

she procrastinated @ 03:14 |

Monday, September 24, 2007

Come, shield my eyes, and deck me from head-to-toe in withered brown.

she procrastinated @ 02:34 |

Sunday, September 23, 2007

hollow words, i hope not

I find it extremely difficult to motivate myself to do my homework, especially when I know that it is completely useless (apart from the pressing need to pass), and a fucking waste of my time. I don't mind reading academic papers, I'll be more than happy to, but only if they are on topics which I have an interest in, or agree with.

Yang'en and Dominic always take me to task for being childishly stubborn, always wanting things done my way and nobody else's, but I don't think I'm really as tyrannical as they make me out to be - I don't think I'm asking for much. All I want to do is to learn and progress in a manner that I deem fit and best for myself.

The lesson here to be learnt is not about learning how to fit in, or bowing down to the system, hierarchies of power and what not. It is a question of surviving the next few months with my sanity intact, exerting the necessary discipline to maintain the painful facade of vapid interest in the things that I have to do (repeat: impossibly dull, violent objections, vehement disagreements with ridiculous concepts, time-wasting, brain-cell reducing), for the sake of financial security, to chase an elusive dream whose name I am beginning to forget.

But remember it, I shall, and as such, I concede this round. But I promise to emerge victorious at the end of it all. In the grand scheme of lofty long-term goals - what is a paltry year worth? Ah, my teeth are clenched so hard that I can hardly speak.

she procrastinated @ 04:20 |

Friday, September 21, 2007

little skeletons that dance in the closet.

Seldom have I felt this, seldom have I felt this jagged schism within which I can put no words to.

The divorce between thoughts and emotions which I had expected or wished for, never did happen, and I am shattered anew at old revelations which have unfolded behind stage curtains of words and imagined pauses. But this unrest stems from a very real tranquility, one which I acknowledge, even if at odds with whatever facade (or facet) I may portray. And much to my chagrin, it seems that the passage of time is brutally indiscriminatory, of who and what it drags and swallows up in its wake, where everything that used to count for something, is now naught, nothing and rendered void.

Even as I say that, it isn't entirely true, but it may as well be, especially when it's no longer a matter of what-it-may but what-it-was. A very subtle but important difference, and I don't even know when I've made the leap in thought, suffice to say that - I already have.

I am sad, but sad in a very abstract sort of way, due to my inability to isolate a single overpowering factor or reason - as if by doing so, my current state of the bleakest of all melancholy will be justified. But I can't, so I don't, because I know that I'm just touched by the trappings of the familiar, the tendrils of its passing shadow.

The presence of the absence of light has never been more threatening, and to compound that with the Houdini acts of inanimate objects which I had held, or still hold, so dear? Not so long ago, I had furiously written by unwriting, but now, it is through writing, that I find myself unwritten.

she procrastinated @ 04:01 |

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

the priestess.

I'm far from clairvoyant, but I'm not often wrong.

And as I've said before, I'll much rather be happy than right.

she procrastinated @ 03:31 |

Monday, September 17, 2007

capriciously testing the limits.

Yang'en and I have had many long pompous discussions between ourselves about the seemingly dualistic nature of music - be it in Nero, a run-down pub off Porchester Square, or in Hyde Park, where we sprawled on the greenest of green grass whilst squinting at a cloudless summer blue sky. It's really such a wondrous, wondrous gift, but it has also somewhat tainted our souls beyond any redemption.

(Very melo, I know, but I point you to the excuse or reason that we did read music for four intensive years)

Often, the things that I feel or think about are forbidden, and are subsequently painted over swiftly in furious brushstrokes of the inconsequential, which I elevate to a level of vehement importance. I then try, or choose, to forget that anything had ever existed beneath. But should I want to let it take in a sordid breath of air, I find that I cannot, unless I use music as the master key. E.g. Corelli's trio sonatas, Verdi's operas, or Chopin's Etudes.

And I question myself, as to how much of whatever I feel thereafter, is really remembered truth - enhanced, diluted or otherwise. I can never be sure, just how much of it is musically stimulated, and therefore, false and imagined.

Even so, there's a whole inexhaustible string of untouchable pieces that I've blacklisted, for listening to them will surely make my heart give, in a sort of a seasick lurch, a poignant hiccup that one covers with the hand, to muffle the giveaway sign that there's something underneath that cannot be seen or revealed, or even, acknowledged. For my sanity of mind, I hardly listen to them, and ironically enough, they are my favourite of all favourite pieces.

I've just put on Tchaikovsky's 5th Symphony, it's not a fantastic recording, but it will do. And yes, it is one of my top top top blacklisted favourites.

You see - once you've realized that you are the architect of your own imprisonment, there's just no turning back.

she procrastinated @ 03:34 |

Sunday, September 16, 2007

familiar strangers.

To do the things without any of the depth before, it feels contrived and there is a heaviness within. I will rather not.

If heaviness were to sing a pavane, its refrain will solemnly echo in the empty chamber of rainbow drapes, tenderly brushing against locked windows, with each gentle breeze of a memory.

But all is still, there is nary a sigh or whisper or the headlong rush of air, wings no longer flutter, the night no longer brilliant, and all that is left are the stolen glances, or the deliberate transparent gazes, that which speak a thousand words (or so I misconstrue), but nothing is ever said or spoken, and I too, remain silent.

she procrastinated @ 02:21 |

Friday, September 14, 2007

before i walk out of the door to secret destinations

You know you've been taking too many mcs when the nurse remembers your name, and the doctor greets you with: "Weren't you here a few days ago? So what can I do for you today?"

Ah, Doctor, if only I really wanted to be cured.

Since last night, my choice of poison has not stopped tasting like those in London. The distance of eight time zones, between there and now, is not quite that far after all. But only allowed in short spurts, the fragile balance is to be kept, before I open the door to nevermore.

she procrastinated @ 19:26 |

Thursday, September 13, 2007

After I pull an all-nighter, I always promise myself that I won't do it again, no more procrastinating, but I'm in the midst of one right now. I'm even procrastinating sleep. Argh!

she procrastinated @ 06:29 |

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

gentle ripples.

It's been a day full of uncanny events and spooky encounters, the treading of well-worn circles and the paving of new ones. I even managed to spend some time with the Mother - amicably. That's a start.

We'll see what happens from now on. One can only foretell so much. And again, why prepare for the tomorrow that may well never come? But I can't help anticipating, or wanting to find out more, in the hope of averting future calamities.

The night is quiet, apart from the sound of damp car tyres against newly wet roads, which remind me of hairpin dynamic markings in music for some reason. I think I have done too much Sibelius today, and yet, I haven't - I've only managed to transcribe 1 page out of 8 for my homework due tomorrow.

I want to walk along the incandescent rainbow arch, that which links today to tomorrow, that which comes after the falling rain. But none exists, I have to build my own, and I'm very happy to report that I'm already halfway through.

she procrastinated @ 03:13 |

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

the things you remember.

So I was in the cab, on the way back from Jess's, speeding down some road with fuzzy orange lighting towards home. And just for a brief instant, we passed by this blue cab which had stopped by the side of the road, with flashing breakdown lights. Adjacent to the vehicle, was this huge grassfield which had all its colour leeched by the night. The cab-driver stood there, looking oh-so-guilty, as he furtively looked left and right, ejecting a golden stream of fluid (or so I imagine) into the darkness.

I burst into fits of laughter.

You see, I suddenly remembered the times when I was young, the times when my dad still had a mop of black hair, the sound of his ringing laughter, the times where I could actually carry my little sister and brother on my lap, how they always smelled of Johnson's baby powder and raging innocence, and how we used to go out and my siblings always had this knack of wanting to wee whenever we travelled along this particular road. The name escapes me, but it's always just before that spot, where my dad will pull over, carry them over to the tree/grasspatch and let them relieve themselves.

It's been many years, we don't go out together anymore, but I know if we were to pass by that tree now, my dad, sans quite a lot of hair and lots more wrinkles, will triumphantly crow in the same way as he always does, take a look, see if the grass had grown any taller, look look look, and I remembered all this in a heartbeat and literally burst out laughing, laughing so hard that my face was all scrunched up and my chest was so tight.

After a while, I wasn't sure why I was laughing anymore, but it's better than keeping silent, and wishing for that time to be here again - where my siblings were adorably impressionable, and my dad didn't look so weary and drained, and simply, old.

I wonder if that tree/grass patch really grew taller. Yet another pilgrimage to add to my list, I suppose.

she procrastinated @ 01:39 |

Monday, September 10, 2007

irritated.

I hate questions like, "So what are your plans now? What are you going to do? Are you going to do this? Are you going to do that? Why can't you do it now? Why don't you this, why don't you that?" Etc etc etc.

I will not stand for emotional blackmail, and I refuse to yield even when pinned to the wall with skewers and throwing knives. Well, it's not so much the questions I hate, I suppose, but it's the coming up with the goddamned answers, and knowing that you deserve to hear them, knowing that you know that too and thus, I've no bargaining chips left with you and I have to grunt out some semblance of response. Because I owe it to you.

Dodgeball is too much effort. I will make life easier for myself from now on! But first, there is schoolwork to tackle. Ah yes, schoolwork. I don't think my lecturers are fond of me, but that too, will change eventually. As do all things.


p.s. I've been MIA, sorry about that, and might be MIA for even longer. But I still love all of you.

she procrastinated @ 04:48 |

Friday, September 07, 2007

before i lie awake in bed.

I've been listening to the Proms online and how deliriously happy it has made me! Of course, nothing beats the real thing, watching it live at Royal Albert Hall (let's ignore the poor acoustics, shall we?) but listening to it via the internet is better than nothing.

[If only I can watch operas online, sigh.]

It's Beethoven's Violin Concerto now, and it is so stirring that it makes my heart sing. What will I do without music..! I hope I never have to find out.

By the way, you know how the local papers have been giving rave reviews about the T'ang Quartet in Edinburgh? Mary reviewed it here at Dominic's website, and I'm afraid she wasn't too impressed. The last time I heard them was at least 5 years ago - I think I'll attend their next concert and decide for myself. And I guess no one will be interested in going with me, right? Come on people, let's do something fun for a change.

she procrastinated @ 02:58 |

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

as we have always done before.

I paid a fortune for a mistake that I had made earlier on in the year, and promptly went into mourning by buying 2 DVDs, 1 CD and 4 books. The damage counter then went up to a quarter of my monthly salary. I know, it was silly of me for having done so, but I delight in the spurious and illogical. So there.


We really excel in making excuses, don't we! There's always a reason to justify our actions, or the outcome of our actions. It makes the world shiny white and bright. It makes us saintly virtuous and right.

And we live on - erasing chalk from board, adding numbers to the score, opening closed doors (or closing open doors).

she procrastinated @ 06:40 |

Monday, September 03, 2007

it's all about music, and more.

It's been a blast to the past, really. All brought about by music, incidentally. BBC Proms, Verdi, Paul van Dyk, and Schubert. I'm listening to Winterreise now, and it makes me feel as if I want to, or should, cry, but I don't.


Today, I had to play a whole list of pieces for my Mother's pleasure, songs which no self-respecting musician will ever admit to even knowing. I wondered for the umpteen time - if my piano could speak, what will he say about being born an instrument, and used (and abused) as such? To suffer the likes of Richard Clayderman must be a traumatic experience for anyone, much less my piano, but my mum really liked them. The esoteric wonders of the world.

As long as somebody smiles at the end of the day, it's fine. Although there's really no accounting for taste, I suppose. I should remember that not everyone digs Verdi, and I haven't the slightest clue why not. :)

she procrastinated @ 01:27 |

Saturday, September 01, 2007

teacher's day; the revival of recognition.

Well-wishes from my babies, very much appreciated! One of the perks of being a teacher, I suppose.

Class was hilarious today. [You'll think that NIE will have a Teacher's Day celebration and cancel all classes, but nooooo, sigh] One of the lecturers came in, and started going on and on about deep deep issues regarding organicism in music. Yang'en and I were very amused by his mini-rant, but also mortified that we actually understood all of the cheem terms that he rattled off. Verbal gesticulations, you might call it that, and very big ones too.

It's good to see all my colleagues again, albeit in a very different setting but that's the whole point. It was bhangra music throughout at the Rupee Room, and we were extremely entertained by the crowd and ourselves. Bhangra dance moves are actually quite fun, did you know that?


It's strange how we make new memories at old places, and the attachment to the older ones either fade away, or are renewed with such fervour, that you try not to think about it anyway. But think about it, I did, and I will like to weigh both the gain and losses, but I've lost my balancing scale. With it comes dull panic, disillusionment, and finally, a sense of disquiet which then seeps away, leaving me with the curled tendrils of acknowledgement inside. I hope they'll blossom out to be lollipops in neon rainbow shades.

she procrastinated @ 04:56 |

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
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June 2008
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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

"One is wicked, because one see things clearly." - Beaumarchais's Le nozze di Figaro.

And there were phlegmatic souls.