Monday, September 24, 2007
HAHA. (: Atheists are the reason crime is rampant! Stomp stomp stomp.
Whoa, I really need to bathe, and my eyes feel like they've been dunked in formaldehyde. Or pickle juice.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
I should be doing some revision now, and I promise I'll get to that really quickly! I don't know what the hell I was rambling about in my last post! I was re-reading it, and I was kind of like whaaaat?! and it felt awkward for a moment because I know there are SOME people who read this blog at least, although there is nothing that can attest to readership numbers... So anyway, I'm unapologetic that some people might have gone through the whole post, although most might have come here to play with the Pollock application. Even then, (without being too presumptuous here) I find it hard to believe that the blog posts would not have aroused even an iota of interest (: So, I beseech readers (if any): peruse with pot of salt in thy mind's hand, to be administer'd when thou encountereth potentially eyebrow raising posts.Farewell(eth), though ungrammatical.
Not a retraction, by the way.
- the ten dollar afternoon/
by
Thursday, September 20, 2007
If writing were a footrace, I would probably be a sprinter, hardly a marathoner (BY THE WAY, since people who take part in pentathlons are called pentathletes, why aren't people who participate in marathons called marathletes?) (: You know, unless it's something that I'm really interested in, I find it difficult to summon material past the 700-word mark. This precludes series of short writings that I sometimes do, where each component is separate entity, if you can call it that.I like to think of every piece as a sentient being - aware of every change in punctuation, awkward when there are errors in syntax, akin to a child afflicted by Trisomy 21 (i.e. Down Syndrome). Sometimes if I am forced to ramble on for too long, whatever I'm writing will take on a life of its own. Strictly speaking, I have little control over its meanderings... Feels a little odd when I'm tasked to write an essay. The word-minimum/limit makes things feel altogether quite unsettling. Sometimes it's too long, and it's overkill and other times it's a truncated piece of shit. The ones I hate most, the ones that are crushed up and left to languish amidst yoghurt cups and Milo packets, the ones that I'd rather burn than hand in; are the ones that are souls in limbo, commuters in transit.
Consider the chrysalis: not lively, but hardly lifeless - the perfect example of an article stranded in mid formation. The Caterpillar its architect, and the Butterfly its progeny (moths are a bit drab). I suppose one could argue that the Chrysalis has every right to be appreciated as is, but it is difficult to assert that the Chrysalis has any extrinsic worth. There is no doubt that the Chrysalis is essential in the life cycle of the Butterfly/Caterpillar (which are one and the same, albeit at different stages of development) but one can hardly call it finished. It gives no clue of life within, itself appearing insensate and inanimate. A Chrysalis is not a whole, it is incomplete, placidly In Transition. Some of my essays end up as chrysalises - extremely ungainly, ambling toward no apparent destination, and ultimately self-destructive.
If you asked me whether I find writing hard, the answer would be that I find writing incredibly difficult. It's not difficult in terms of getting the words to flow, but it's extremely tricky directing that deluge in an appropriate manner, where it might serve as irrigation (not irritation), hydration, or simply an aesthetic channel through which some sail through.
Do I enjoy it? Good question.
I appreciate pain and pleasure
in equal measure.
- This is the filling of many.
by
Saturday, September 15, 2007
I have a feeling I won't be able to sleep much tonight. Probably due to a combination of factors. Could be the acid reflux. Or rapidly ballooning midsection due to lack of exercise. Or chronic dissatisfaction.Felt a little bit lethargic today, and I didn't really have proper meals at all. I feel like this lipid capsule.
We're never going to win this if belief is what we're fighting for. At least, I can't win this, because belief is precisely what I'm fighting for. And fighting with, as well.
I have John Mayer's The Village Sessions and Herbie Hancock's Possibilities. It's all great music, I just don't seem to have the time or motivation to listen to it all. My library is filled with songs I haven't even listened to yet. And I've got a Jimi Hendrix pack AND SRV collection AND Tommy Emmanuel coming along.
- ever break rank at all?
by
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Too private.Anyway, I've been thinking about doing a switcheroo to lj... The time just doesn't feel ripe yet. Besides, that would kind of be selling out on blogger. How am I supposed to transfer this Jackson Pollock flash app to lj?!
My Colgate is manufactured in Guangzhou and advertises a quote "dentist-like-ingredient" unquote. Should I feel scared? Aren't all ingredients in toothpaste supposed to be dentist-like anyway?! Or dentist-endorsed at least.
Have to conclude that I am brushing teeth with dubious substance! Have reason to believe that maggots may somehow manifest in gums or that I may grow super lead teeth/develop antifreeze abilities. Wahlao, how come got no insurance policy that covers for bodily/emotional harm caused by inferior *hina-made products. Wait, maybe that's not very viable. Can't be distributing payouts for every other lead-coated-antifreeze-laced-small-magnet on the market. Tsk tsk, like that how to make money.
Before I came on to blog, I seemed to have lots of things I wanted to put down. If my life was an expanse of dog hair, there'd be at LEAST a couple of nits to pick from. However, now that I'm confronted with this blank space, I'm unable to summon a single coherent thought. ): Woe.
- the right attitude to tremors.
by
Saturday, September 08, 2007
I didn't know Sylvia Plath did villanelles. Hohoho awzm :DMad Girl's Love Song
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary darkness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I fancied you'd return the way you said.
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
- Sylvia Plath
And then the famous Dylan Thomas one which is also pretty cool:
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
-Dylan Thomas
I'm in awe because they're so notoriously difficult to write. I like Plath's - even though Dylan's is widely acclaimed as THE classic villanelle - because I think if you can insert a line about how 'arbitrary darkness gallops in' then I kowtow to you. Also, the poem has an altogether more casual feel to it. Hmm, how should I put it? I guess it's more down-to-earth. I don't think the two can really be compared though, or at least, I'm not even interested in exploring that arena. Actually I think writing a poem can be quite a humbling experience sometimes, especially after you've written it, and you kind of get a shock reading through it again because you suddenly notice how some parts (or all of it, for that matter) are complete crap. Well, at least it is for me (: I'm full from zushiiii.
HOW TO MAKE SENSE ONE?!
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Came on because I wanted to share news that I've just made garlic and basil mash! Pronounced yummy by Auntie, aged 39, and sister, aged 14. Haha (: Feel kind of pleased with my domestic prowess (having also washed a number of dishes and some cutlery).Anyway, am feeling a bit malaise-y and I think I'm running a fever. Hope I don't have the Dreaded Dengue! Choi. Don't want to die!
Had slowpitch game on the weekend. Shall not talk about my harrowing experience travelling all the way to Kallang amidst unpleasant downpour and traffic jams and inefficient public transport, then arriving, having it rain again, and having both games CANCELLED and having to travel all the way back home again, wasting a grand total of 4 and a half hours thereabouts (or more! >:( ) travelling. Monday was movie day though. Bourne Ultimatum with Daddy in the afternoon (must say that it's better than BonD and quite exciting) then Ratatouille with Amandas Sheryl and Jingwei (Who so magnanimously bought corn for me. Thanks! Yes, came out in excrement I think.) and that was really quite engaging and funny. Only problem was that we had the 2nd row from the front, and my neck got a bit uncomfortable to the middle. Then the next day was 881 with Sisterhood of AMK Ave 3 Gang sans Razor. The show was good, quite touching but a little draggy at the end, especially with the circling around Little Papaya and watching her hair fall off.
Yesterday respite! But felt the beginnings of fever already, so slept quite a bit.
Anyway, yet another recipe I can add to my list of culinary successes. (: