Wednesday, November 30, 2005

grant me sleep and more.

It's late at night and I should be asleep, but Stravinsky and my penchant for procrastination are keeping me up.

I'm forcing drops of clear liquid onto my bloody eyeballs, before my eyelids instinctively rejects them by blinking furiously, the same way i brush away any lurking tendrils that might drag me down into unconscious sleep and beyond.

Even though it keeps me awake as a last resort, I hate putting eyedrops and I only do so sparingly: it induces the memory and sensation of the prickling heat which gathers behind my eyes, and a lingering salty tinge at the corner of my lips.

It's 5 in the morning - only 5 hours left to start preparing for my tutorial, before I leave home in the wintry morn for college. I don't know why, but even with a virtually full bottle, I'm strangely afraid that I'll run out of magic tears.

Monday, November 28, 2005

plea to you.

Putting aside my propensity for getting into unlucky fixes, it seems as if I'm cursed to have a black tongue all my life and clouded scales for eyes, where my apathetic naivety conceals what should had been the clear absolute truth. Everything that I say comes out the wrong way, and I fear I may never do anything right again.

Please tell me: what can I do, to make things better again?

Thursday, November 24, 2005

question of the week.

How did I manage to spend slightly over 2500quid in the past 2 months?

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

life's curveballs.

I've always thought of myself as an independent girl, doing everything on my own, not depending on others - who would look out for you if you don't look out for yourself? So it is to my abject shock and revulsion that I find myself utterly and wholly dependent on the internet and my phone. For those not in the know, my UK phone is dead (refer to previous post) and my internet connection just gave up on me. And no, I've not been downloading too much porn and hoarding ten million tenacious viruses in my laptop, but the router just.. died.

It's so horrible not being able to function without these 'narcotics', as it were: I can't wake up on time with the absence of my Sony Ericsson alarm on my phone, I can't do any online surfing/MSN and my fingers keep twitching of their own volition, I get all nervy and jumpy and I've just about chalked up at least 200SGD in bills using my roaming Singtel line just to call/talk/msg, to provide myself with some relief that I am still wired up, I'm not isolated, and I've an available means of reaching out to the world.

You might not believe this, but now that my fingers are on the computer keyboard, my shoulders loosen up and I involuntarily smile to myself, which only goes to show how tense and agitated I was without the internet. I am such an addict!

My internet recovery is currently set at an indeterminate date. Once again, it depends on the Great British Penchant for Inefficiency and I'm honestly not placing much hope on it. But you know, maybe this is divine intervention, telling me start giving a shit about things in life, stop all this apathetic behaviour, to start doing my work because my presentation's in less than a fortnight.. It's really up to me to interpret matters, to deal with life's curveballs when it hits me in the rear, and not ignore it.

And so I shall.

Or at least, I'll ignore it as long as I can until I have to confront it. Procrastination rules at the end of the day, eh?

Monday, November 21, 2005

no phone? bring on the alcohol!

Earlier on, I typed an immensely long rant about the loss of my phone, and I was reaching the epic conclusion: 'The world is full of dishonest dickheads' before my computer decided to go kaputttttt on me with the 'Blue Screen Of Death' (the phrase aptly coined by Yang'en). If you abuse your laptop the way I do, you might have seen the gleeful words on the screen "Dumping physical memory..." and a bunch of unintelligible numerical jargon which makes NO SENSE whatsoever to me, except that it signifies the betrayal of my laptop once again, and that my blog post which I had spent the last 30mins typing was lost. Excellent.

As you can see, I lost my mobile phone. Again. And it was only one month old. It took place last Friday night within 2 mins, just by walking from Jo's to Bayswater tube station. I have no idea what happened, Jo and I didn't even hear my phone drop at all. Both Jo and Lalang tried ringing it, but the fucker who picked up my phone had happily switched it off. Well now. Considering it held all my contact numbers since my 1st year in London, as well as a good number of camera pictures which I've not uploaded to my computer from Trance Generation with Jo, Jing, Jess, Lenny and James, I was mighty upset with the fucker myself for being so careless once again.

What happened to honesty and integrity? I myself have just picked up a phone a fortnight ago and I returned it to its owner. Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to be nice. Or rather, I'm just bloody sway as usual.

Coupled with that, the terrible Harry Potter movie (it doesn't do the book justice, which is only like, 10000000000x better), and a throbbing headache from the wind chill, let's just say it wasn't one of the best times of my life. It was only through the belated re-discovery of alcohol later that night, which made things much better. Much, much better. The next 48 sleep-deprived hours were spent opening bottle after bottle of wine and cava, playing 5-10, jumping up and down to DJ F.F and laughing hysterically over nothing.

Photos by DJ F.F

Btw, I somehow always end up with the Four Kings. I don't know why. It just happens - every 2 out of 3 games. I really have the most incredible of luck. At least there's J to drink it for me, heh.

So folks, the moral of the story is: if you consume enough alcohol, it can cure anything! But... it's only for the time being! Other than reasons such as: 'I've lost my phone', 'It's Friday', 'We haven't been out for ages', 'I've got a headache', and 'We need to recover from that bad movie', you are strongly encouraged NOT to drink. We are all aware of (and occasionally suffer) the nasty side effects including a bloated tummy, verbal diarrhoea, two left feet and visual distortion. And a bloody hangover the next day.

You are, however, allowed to celebrate your dog's birthday according to Lynne's Guide to Occasions for Drinking, which happens to occur sometime next week. All are welcome to join in the merry-making to celebrate the esteemed birth of my discreet cough beloved dog Bubu! He's not around in London, all the more reason to celebrate! Errr, I meant that's why all the more we have to throw an honorary party for Bubu. If all goes well i.e. not overladen with procrastinated work, I'll have details up later this week!

But before that, can all of you please MSN or email me your contact numbers? Thanks very much!

p.s. I promise: guests bearing gifts of alcohol would receive a complimentary-special-limited-edition postcard of Bubu. Very rare and valuable.

Friday, November 18, 2005

if i die.

I don't know what you think about death. I don't know what you make of death. But only a mindless imbecile has not thought about it, especially that of his own. And only deeply religious people and liars claim that they're not afraid of dying.

I'm no longer as scared as before about the notion of dying, but I'm just like everyone else in the sense that I'm afraid to have not lived fully, to have not experienced what the world has to offer, I don't want to lie on my deathbed fretting about the things I could have done, things I should have done. And that's only if I'm allowed the malicious gift of hindsight. I could die any minute: car accident from jay-walking, choked to death on a fishball, a burst spleen from over-eating, whatever.

The aim therefore, is to banish any possible or lingering regrets that might be arise from unaccomplished matters. So I have a rough checklist of "Things I want to do before my life comes to a sorry end", which ranges from the dreadfully mundane to impossible floaty air-castles. Part of it includes the following:

I've loads more actually, but I'm a tad embarrassed about writing them down here. It more or less amounts to a fair bit of my ambition too. If you don't succeed and you're not half-dead from your own disappointment, widespread humiliation in the form of public knowledge that you have failed, will surely do the trick. Uhhh, and yes, if you haven't noticed, I'm sinfully proud and quite a perfectionist. But that second bit comes along with the whole 'musician' bit. It's just a characteristic trait that most musicians have. If I'm not wrong, quite a number of them suffer from OCD too. But I'm veering off-track once more.

By now, most of us would have come in some form of contact with Death, the shadowy grim reaper with large white wings. I'm very fortunate that my first personal experience occurred pretty late in my life. That was my dog, Lucky, in JC2. That, and other close encounters involving my family members later in life, made me realize that Death is not something that is remote, inanimate, or static - it is the people who are left behind who are living the ripples of the death throes. Until time recasts your memories and cripples your pain, Death is a way of Life. It took me this long to learn something so explicitly simple, I can be such a stubborn air-head at times.

I try not to forget that Death and Misfortune are always lurking lavisciously behind my shoulder, and not to take anything that I have for granted. But the drudgery of daily life and blind routine have a way of juxtaposing themselves on top of one another in mad layers, and everything else in your mind sinks to the bottom, taking on a faint chiaroscuro tinge against a white background. However, Music always reminds me of my fragility, and I'm oppressively conscious of the delicate veins that pulse gently beneath my transculent skin. Most of the composers whose music I listen to are lying six feet under the ground, but their music lives on till today, and they are rebirthed in us, and recreated in our modern context. I too, want to leave a legacy behind after my death: be it in the form of music, documents or in friends' memories, I want to be remembered. Ah, the Ego knows no bounds.

Although all these makes me keenly aware of my own mortality, it only serves to reaffirm vividly that I am living now at this time and place, and this apparent dialectic struggle between the two, are really complementary to each other. It's up to all of us, to make the most of what we have, while we're still living on the borrowed time of Youth, aye?

I've been very chatty tonight, it's probably due to the sugar-high from Sainsbury's Quadruple Chocolate Chip Cookies. (Scoffed the whole box in one sitting, it's winter - I have an excuse!) Before I embark on my rousing peroration, if I do die, please have these songs played at my funeral:

I wanted to add more songs but I figured the funeral would have ended long before the Mozart quartets. But you guys would stay till that long at least? It'd be my last-ditch attempt to convert people to the Classical Music camp. In any case, everyone is to come to my funeral armed with a bar of chocolate for me to eat in the afterlife. But please, no caramel. Or I'd haunt you. Same goes if you don't attend or turn up without a chocolate bar.

Thursday, November 17, 2005

beethoven makes the world go round!

Programme: Beethoven - Leonore's Overture #2, Violin Concerto, Symphony #7
Violinist: Frank Zimmerman
Conductor: Bernard Haitink
Orchestra: London Symphony Orchestra
Venue: Barbican

It's not often that I gush over a concert, but yesterday's performance by the LSO at the Barbican was excellent. How often do you get the audience bursting into spontaneous and thunderous applause at the end of the rousing 1st movement of the Violin Concerto? (For the classical music concert virgin, clapping in between movements of a piece is usually a no-no.)

First of all, we had a solid programme of pure Beethoven, which is always enjoyable. Led by Bernard Haitink, it was much better than I had expected - very clean lines from the orchestra, well-controlled without sounding claustrophobic, and there were a number of good solos from the trumpeter and flautist. [I went for the Tchaikovsky violin concerto last week and it was dreadful. We were sniggering during the violinist's cadenza.] Having heard the Violin Concerto a number of times, this performance was by far the very best. Zimmerman's Stradivarius had such a beautiful singing tone, the notes were in tune and beautifully executed, and each of it was played with intention. Makes me want to ditch the piano for the violin.

I want to go on and on about the amazing performance by the soloist and orchestra but I'm but a lowly Music student who's unceremoniously relegated to the bottom of my class, what do I know? I hereby refer you to my very very very clever classmate, Dominic, who topped the level with 92% for his dissertation (A King's College record). He's so clever that he makes my teeth ache. Why do my teeth ache? Because there's where the secret stash of my emergency brain cells are hidden (you can't put all your eggs in one basket), and I need that extra source when I'm talking to him. I'm not used to thinking with my teeth. It's very hard work.

You do know I'm talking rubbish by the way. Of course teeth have no brain cells in them. Everybody knows that they're stored in our toenails. Here's his review: link

In any case, the LSO is having a Beethoven cycle right now. It's Symphony #2 and #3 this Monday, and the Triple Concerto in the weekend. Do make a trip down to the Barbican if you can, you can get cheap student tickets for 6 quid. I recommend the Triple Concerto - piano + violin + cello + orch! And it's Beethoven, wicked!

p.s. Yang'en>> don't be lazy and go for at least one concert this semester!

Monday, November 14, 2005

i really should be doing my 3 schenker graphs for tmr.

Often, I wondered what it'd be like to blog with music. No, that is inaccurate. I already know: it's akin to a personal composition. Which I must say, it's something I really revel in. I'm no Bach or Debussy, but I love composing music anyway.

And it's even better when this joy of mine, my first love, is shared with other people. The genre of music doesn't matter - classical, trance, house etc (except heavy metal - that I'd never understand). When you have something this good, you can't keep it for yourself: you have to share it with your friends.

Renewed creativity and passion, is finally stirring my soul from its long convalescence!

Friday, November 11, 2005

a quickie because i feel like it.

Mary's and Lou's bday party!

Lenny and I at Edgware Tube, Jo Lalang and I somewhere in London

Us + Jess = Wild Children!

Thursday, November 10, 2005

it's all been done.

I still don't understand why, but that doesn't matter anymore, does it?

Nevertheless, it's going to haunt me till the end of my days.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

headache.

Watching the reproduction of Nijinsky's choreography of Stravinsky's ballet Le Sacre du Printemps, has just about killed/ruined/annihilated any ability of mine to listen to the music on its own merit.

When I listen to bits of it, especially The Augurs of Spring, I can see garishly-attired Russian barbarians leaping about on stage against an absolutely cheesy mountain landscape for a stage drop, and the mad old crone scuttering back on forth like a twitchy squirrel hunting twigs for nuts. I can envision every single movement of the dancers, superimposed onto the blocks across the road, and accurately tell you which dance movements are to come next.

Now, when I hear some particular woodwind themes, instead of thinking: "That's the folk-like theme which represents the girls", I'd think: "Oh, there's where the girls dance with that odd two-dimensional fashion, with their arms crooked at 45 degrees and their face tilted upwards at the same slant."

And I've only watched it in its entirety once!

After having seen such grotesque yet alluring images like these, who can forget them?

Btw, imagine these dancers in these very same costumes on Parisian stage in 1913. 1913. Is it any wonder why it incited a riot?

How am I to analyze the music on its own, without any influence from the damned choreography? [It makes a hell lot of difference.] It's a ballet, true, it's not meant to be heard as a 'concert' repertoire, as it were, but still!

Oh, the pain of having a near-perfect photographic memory!

Friday, November 04, 2005

and it all fuses together.

Sometimes, my fingers move of their own volition, skiing across the keyboard, tapping random buttons, and slowly steering themselves towards my nemesis, and I think oh no, oh no, what am I doing, and yet I'm fully aware, making informed decisions, and I plunge deep into that forbidden world, unsealing those wounds which make me feel perversely alive, reaffirming much to my anguish that I exist, as I beat my fists against the wall repeatedly in mock denial, for nothing is to be done, and nothing can be done.

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.