Tuesday, April 29, 2008

the gordian knot

sometimes, it's the 1st movement of Tchaikovsky's 5th

and other times, the finale of Tchaikovsky's 5th does just fine.

It is too hot even for words to tailgate, and much too hot for foolish play.

Monday, April 28, 2008

shaded shapes of longing

Some things, you just know.

So in this sense, things haven't really changed.

I know I haven't.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

on the deciding 8th of may

the road will be a tad bit clearer. And happier, that is my hope.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

pieta, thrice called

Let me see. I believe I have misplaced a few scripts, and some personal items. And a stack of new worksheets meant for my class. Then, there are the ugly fetters of colour and sound, but that no longer bears mentioning.

But I get through the day miraculously, because today is the first day since the start of practicum that I have a bit of time to myself, and spoken to/texted/met my dearest friends.

And for once, I even have a bit of time to listen to Aida. Though that isn't necessarily a good thing.

Under these circumstances, I suppose I'm as happy as one can be.

Monday, April 14, 2008

so.

Last night, before going to bed, I was watching the M.H./Joffrey Ballet's reconstruction of Stravinsky's le Sacre du printemps in preparation for my lesson observation by VIPs on Wed, relishing with great delight the awkward postures of the dancers, the 'knock-kneed Lolitas', and of course, the wondrous discordant primal music which still leaves me fascinated after so many years.

Hence, I dreamt of war (The Rivalry of the Tribes, it must have had been) with people dressed in the same smocks of rectangles and circles, pounding the ground with savage fury, to the time and tune of danse sacrale. Everyone was grouped in circles of ten, and all gathered at Newton Circus for a showdown against the enemy (which consisted of 'normal people' dressed in jeans). Yes, very bizarre.

Then, there's the other encounter, where just before I slept, the sounds of the night were drifting in, the wailing voices of those carrying out Buddhist funeral rites, and the last thing I thought of was Handel's Concerto Grosso Op.6/12.

Then, I dreamt of taking this bus with my sister and brother, tumbling down Marymount Road, going around huge mushrooms with lights on them, where the idiotic bus driver took a wrong turn, and we ended up somewhere really out of this world. My sister was hungry, so was I, and all this bus driver could do was to stare at me with limpid dark eyes with black sockets, as he drove on - half on the road, the other half hanging over a precipice. Suddenly, bestowed with god-like energy that can only come from rage, I got off the bus and carried it on my shoulder through office buildings and escalators, and stomped back to Marymount Road. Then, I flung 18 dollars at his lap, (yes, my bus had a taxi meter) and screamed at him to go get some sleep, don't you know it's so dangerous on the road, you nearly killed my siblings, and you ought to be glad I'm still paying you for the time you wasted languishing and flopping around while you bleated lamenting apologies with your eyes, flounced off, and began the arduous task of crossing the road which had whizzing vehicles which seemed to barely touch the ground. At this point in time, my two little siblings suddenly grew brains of a peacock, and they looked to the left before crossing, even though the oncoming traffic was from the right. And they nearly got knocked down by tankers, each fronted by a mysterious veiled woman chanting Buddhist sutras, and to say I was furious and scared out of my wits is an understatement. And all this took place in the backdrop of Handel's Op.6/12, which kept repeating, repeating, stuck in that eternal loop and I swear I was going out of my head. Then I woke up, so seething from the dream, and the earworm of Handel still hasn't gone away..!

Lately, I keep dreaming about work. Which is bad. Because I don't really want to hear it when I wake up, but I have to. It's for work. (I'm setting exam papers now, so I have to listen to different extracts over and over again to set questions, doublecheck answers, is that instrument really a flute or recorder [I have shit ears when it comes to orchestration], that kinda thing.)

Uh, so, yes. Basically, I need to stop listening or watching or reading about these things before I sleep. So yes, for at least half an hour, I will not do anything. I will vegate. No music. But i can immerse myself in happy things. Which also includes music. Hmmm.

Okay, end of verbal diarrhoea.

I can't wait for the end of the week to come. (Assuming I get through this week, that is) It will herald the (very early) beginnings of a long-awaited (admittedly, false in the long run) freedom to come! I can actually begin to meet my friends (whom I have not met for several weeks) and have some semblance of a life! Joy!

Friday, April 11, 2008

One more month to the end of practicum! The end is in sight!

Which means, a stretch of 5 years of full-blown teaching will be commencing in June. Fingers crossed as to which school I'll be posted to.

Sunday, April 06, 2008

RANT

I have been out of action since Thursday night after meeting up with Jing. Sneezing, wheezing, sniffling, coughing, and the likes. Thankfully, Friday was Sports Day so even if I took an MC (which I did), I won't be missing any classes. Missing classes are bad.

The doctor's diagnosis is that not only do I have flu, I am also suffering from chronic fatigue. He advised me to change jobs.

I told my mum and she laughed right in my face. "You! Chronic fatigue! You haven't even seen the real world, girl."

Why is it that being in the teaching line automatically relegates you to that despised strata, complete and replete with the dismissive and oft-derogatory attitude, "Oh you ain't seen anything." If you guys think teaching is so easy, as R likes to say, come on board, then. Easy money, right?

I would like to expound further and rip away that illusion that most of you have of teachers, that we lead an easy life with 'holidays' and 'going home at 2pm', and 'it's just kids', but I don't have the time. I have observations every single day from tomorrow onwards and of course, it's the best time to fall sick, concussed for the past two days, I haven't done any preparation at all. There are the hated U-Be-Dead lessons plans, endless reading material, worksheets to prepare, and hands-on activities to be carried out in class for the sake of carrying them out.

I always knew my vocation was detrimental to both my physical health and mental state of mind. Not that I can do anything, really. But that's alright - teaching music is really quite fun, but everything else? If anything, I take very small comfort in the fact that only 5.5 years (as opposed to the once-6 years) stand between me and my supposed freedom.

Wednesday, April 02, 2008

things are so crazy now

with work, that is. But as Yang'en said, it's my lack of discipline, as exemplified by this blog entry in school when I have gazillion more lessons to prepare and what not. But I have been working hard - really.

Anyway. I just wanted to say that I'm very happy listening to all this music for lesson preparation. Yah. (Read between the lines, please)

And as I investigate more about Copland's Rodeo, I pause, not for the first time, thinking about issues that I don't have time to think about right now (ethnicity, culture, American identity, etc). [But they are so exciting!]

Ah, the lure of musty and pompous academia. I miss the smell of yellowed paper.

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.