Today's Muse: The Flashing Eyebrows - Whose bright idea was this?
Just a quick foray into reality:
I have several projects going on, along with the tutoring job and the "volunteer" editing job down at St. Marg's. One of which is a book project with Nicole I'm hoping to pump out by June next year. I've been grabbing every moment I can like some greedy grotesque baby working on the draft script.
Right now the aforementioned editing work is all gobbly-gook. It's a lot of fun, actually, being stuck in a room full of computers and piles and piles of paper trying to help put together a book due ages ago. What with the screaming and the spasms on the floor and the fucked-up formatting and the obscene talk and the occasional torn off limb. I hope all of you have a chance to experience something like it. Hey, I've only been doing it for a week. Poor Natra has been in there every day for a month.
I've also got a couple of personal projects going on - the robotic panda, An Exercise in Vanity plus An Exercise in Obsession. I've also got Popular Culture: A Reader, which I really want to finish reading.
Then there's the matter of where I' m headed for further studies.
It's very satisfying, to be so very busy. "A great hunger of Man, besides Love, is the hunger for Work." I don't know about love, but the appetite for work is certainly something I know intimately. I always need to be doing something. I can't meditate; 24/7 I'm playing with some idea or scenerio in my head, even when I'm working on something else.
Off to write.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
Friday, December 30, 2005
Today's Muse: I seemed to have gnawed off my - OH HOLY SHIT.
I keep a baseball bat next to my bed, within easy reach, along with my screwdriver set and my glasses. The bat is a light, purple plastic affair, well-weathered and broken in. It is held in place, when not in use, by a metal-wrought frame next to the head of my bed.
It's there just in case.
Not in case someone attempts to kill me while I'm in bed, no no. Just in case that night is, the night.
The night when I go away.
When I was a wee chit of a Missy, I used to wait up at night in my bed with the covers pulled up to my chin. Waiting to be taken away to some far-off land, some new fantastical world. Like the children in The Chronicles of Narnia, or the kids in Digimon Adventures, or even the hapless chap in The War of the Flowers. I wanted so much to be whisked off in a blaze of light to terrifying and outlandish realms, armed with only the head on my shoulders.
I wanted an adventure.
Every night I would wait. I would wait, and play out all possible scenerios in my tiny fanatical brain: What to do if I was confronted by a beast with dripping fangs? (Duck, and run, avoid trees) What to do if faced with a royal execution? (This one I'm not sure. Pee, maybe.)
So I started to prepare. I would place things I felt I might need within grabbing reach. At one point, this grew to include a coil of nylon rope, a bloody heavy torch (which doubled as a weapon) and a box of matches. With this, I waited.
And I waited.
I grew older. I knew it was futile. But somewhere inside this tiny, fanatical brain of mine a small, tinny voice kept at it: "You never know! It might happen! Best to be prepared, you don't want to be caught unawares!"
So, I keep a baseball bat next to my bed, along with a screwdriver set and my glasses.
And I crawl, each night, into bed to wait.
Always good to be prepared.
I keep a baseball bat next to my bed, within easy reach, along with my screwdriver set and my glasses. The bat is a light, purple plastic affair, well-weathered and broken in. It is held in place, when not in use, by a metal-wrought frame next to the head of my bed.
It's there just in case.
Not in case someone attempts to kill me while I'm in bed, no no. Just in case that night is, the night.
The night when I go away.
When I was a wee chit of a Missy, I used to wait up at night in my bed with the covers pulled up to my chin. Waiting to be taken away to some far-off land, some new fantastical world. Like the children in The Chronicles of Narnia, or the kids in Digimon Adventures, or even the hapless chap in The War of the Flowers. I wanted so much to be whisked off in a blaze of light to terrifying and outlandish realms, armed with only the head on my shoulders.
I wanted an adventure.
Every night I would wait. I would wait, and play out all possible scenerios in my tiny fanatical brain: What to do if I was confronted by a beast with dripping fangs? (Duck, and run, avoid trees) What to do if faced with a royal execution? (This one I'm not sure. Pee, maybe.)
So I started to prepare. I would place things I felt I might need within grabbing reach. At one point, this grew to include a coil of nylon rope, a bloody heavy torch (which doubled as a weapon) and a box of matches. With this, I waited.
And I waited.
I grew older. I knew it was futile. But somewhere inside this tiny, fanatical brain of mine a small, tinny voice kept at it: "You never know! It might happen! Best to be prepared, you don't want to be caught unawares!"
So, I keep a baseball bat next to my bed, along with a screwdriver set and my glasses.
And I crawl, each night, into bed to wait.
Always good to be prepared.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Sunday, December 25, 2005
Today's Muse: Tin Soldier
I dream of dragons and wyverns and chimeras and golems. I dream of being whisked to unfamiliar worlds, with only wit to guide me. I dream of soaring above cities teeming with bodies; faces upturned and open-mouthed as I throw a wink and dash off into the clouds.
I dream of climbing out my window and scaling the building facade up to the roof. I dream of leaping from tree to lamp-post to tree down the shopping district. I dream of finally jumping over the wire fence into the old school compound next door, exploring the bits I can't see from my window.
I dream of growing gills and diving deep, deep, deep. I dream of fusing myself into the concrete walls and staying there, curled into a tight ball. I dream of the damp wood, with the sweet smell of rot, of sleeping in a hollow until kingdom come.
I dream of controlling the world, or at least a portion of it. The ideal emperor is one that does his job so effectively, the people do not have to think about him. I dream of capturing people, keeping them at my whim. I dream of instilling fear. I dream of power.
I dream, at night, with all light gone and my glasses at the side, about someone who will just sit next to me on the fecking nicest floor in the world, and maybe, just maybe, hold my hand lightly. And we will talk, about comic books and circuses and carrots. Celebrating the mundane. No need to probe deep, to talk about feelings and ambition and worries and... dreams.
Just a friend I can have a decent conversation about comic books with. Where I don't have to be funny all the time. Or be serious either. Where I don't have to think about being polite or aggressive or friendly or worry about niceties. Where he or she or it doesn't have to be nice or sarcastic or go along with tried-and-tested jokes. Because everyone's beautiful in the dark.
Where I can be still and listen, without having to care very much, and where I can speak with no fear and no need to behave like the Victoria people know.
I dream too much.
There's a name for this, I was told. Escapist. They've got shrinks for 'em too, they said. Dreaming entirely too much.
I had a nice Christmas, thanks. Steamboat at home. Loads of tiny eruptions on the family front, but food made up for that. Family gave me cosmetics and book vouchers. No idea what to do with both.
All in all, pleasant enough, ignoring the yelling. You?
I dream of dragons and wyverns and chimeras and golems. I dream of being whisked to unfamiliar worlds, with only wit to guide me. I dream of soaring above cities teeming with bodies; faces upturned and open-mouthed as I throw a wink and dash off into the clouds.
I dream of climbing out my window and scaling the building facade up to the roof. I dream of leaping from tree to lamp-post to tree down the shopping district. I dream of finally jumping over the wire fence into the old school compound next door, exploring the bits I can't see from my window.
I dream of growing gills and diving deep, deep, deep. I dream of fusing myself into the concrete walls and staying there, curled into a tight ball. I dream of the damp wood, with the sweet smell of rot, of sleeping in a hollow until kingdom come.
I dream of controlling the world, or at least a portion of it. The ideal emperor is one that does his job so effectively, the people do not have to think about him. I dream of capturing people, keeping them at my whim. I dream of instilling fear. I dream of power.
I dream, at night, with all light gone and my glasses at the side, about someone who will just sit next to me on the fecking nicest floor in the world, and maybe, just maybe, hold my hand lightly. And we will talk, about comic books and circuses and carrots. Celebrating the mundane. No need to probe deep, to talk about feelings and ambition and worries and... dreams.
Just a friend I can have a decent conversation about comic books with. Where I don't have to be funny all the time. Or be serious either. Where I don't have to think about being polite or aggressive or friendly or worry about niceties. Where he or she or it doesn't have to be nice or sarcastic or go along with tried-and-tested jokes. Because everyone's beautiful in the dark.
Where I can be still and listen, without having to care very much, and where I can speak with no fear and no need to behave like the Victoria people know.
I dream too much.
There's a name for this, I was told. Escapist. They've got shrinks for 'em too, they said. Dreaming entirely too much.
I had a nice Christmas, thanks. Steamboat at home. Loads of tiny eruptions on the family front, but food made up for that. Family gave me cosmetics and book vouchers. No idea what to do with both.
All in all, pleasant enough, ignoring the yelling. You?
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Today's Muse: Roofs
It started innocently enough. I was browsing a couple of blogs of people I knew in passing, observing how these people saw themselves - how they constructed themselves on the internet.
Okay. Nothing of the sort. I was bored out of my skull waiting for some shitty ep to load.
So I clicked on a link. A quick skim left me - Drained? Enraged? Insanely jealous in the it's-not-bloody-fair?
It seemed to me, at the time, that it wasn't bloody fair she got those opportunities - getting in to the programme, being picked up for a production and so on. We were alike in so many ways - both proficient speakers, both dramatically trained, but she was the one with the offers. Didn't even have to lift a finger.
Stupid me. I stewed for quite a bit, focusing on how it was so unfair - then shrugged off the green-eyed beast.
It happens to all of us from time to time, doesn't it? Stupid.
I went and read a bit, and all was right with the world.
It started innocently enough. I was browsing a couple of blogs of people I knew in passing, observing how these people saw themselves - how they constructed themselves on the internet.
Okay. Nothing of the sort. I was bored out of my skull waiting for some shitty ep to load.
So I clicked on a link. A quick skim left me - Drained? Enraged? Insanely jealous in the it's-not-bloody-fair?
It seemed to me, at the time, that it wasn't bloody fair she got those opportunities - getting in to the programme, being picked up for a production and so on. We were alike in so many ways - both proficient speakers, both dramatically trained, but she was the one with the offers. Didn't even have to lift a finger.
Stupid me. I stewed for quite a bit, focusing on how it was so unfair - then shrugged off the green-eyed beast.
It happens to all of us from time to time, doesn't it? Stupid.
I went and read a bit, and all was right with the world.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Today's Muse: This ache in my toe
Oh, stop sulking. You know why this happened. And you do agree that it was partly your fault. Hell, it was your fault. Sure, Mother did assume. But She did it within reason. You know you have a history, despite your trying to disassociate yourself from it. And to her credit, She was very reasonable. Your Sister, as infuriating as her behaviour was and is, was no reason for you to blow your top.
All this proves is that you're not quite grown up yet.
Your problem, Missy, is that you care too much. You can't help every one. Oh sure, you can try, but you're not strong enough. You have got to let them beat their own damn path, to Hell, if I may say so. Leave them be.
Not everyone has to think like you do.
Yes, your intentions were misinterpreted. But think: was there any truth to what Mother pointed out? You are too over-bearing. Far too proud. You have become inflexible.
It is not anyones obligation to nitpick every gesture of yours and infer your intentions. Why, just a while ago you were railing against there not being enough plain speak. And yet, you do the opposite.
So what now? To work, then. You've fallen into old, bad habits. Be loose. Flux. You've got better things to do, like that overdue letter to Nicole concerning the book, or sending 'round the presents, or preparing for the interview...
You care for your Sister. But right now that love is overshadowed with deep Dislike. Yes, you can worry, but she must beat her own path. Let her solve her problems. She must want to change her behaviour, her attitude. Nothing you do, or say, will help. Leave her be.
And you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Baiting her like that. Refusing to step down. Resorting to shouting. You silly stubborn prick.
It is over, so stop obsessing. Leave her alone, since you cannot bring yourself to slow down. Worry about your own arse.
Plus, shooting off your mouth just cost me my trip next year, fathead.
Oh, stop sulking. You know why this happened. And you do agree that it was partly your fault. Hell, it was your fault. Sure, Mother did assume. But She did it within reason. You know you have a history, despite your trying to disassociate yourself from it. And to her credit, She was very reasonable. Your Sister, as infuriating as her behaviour was and is, was no reason for you to blow your top.
All this proves is that you're not quite grown up yet.
Your problem, Missy, is that you care too much. You can't help every one. Oh sure, you can try, but you're not strong enough. You have got to let them beat their own damn path, to Hell, if I may say so. Leave them be.
Not everyone has to think like you do.
Yes, your intentions were misinterpreted. But think: was there any truth to what Mother pointed out? You are too over-bearing. Far too proud. You have become inflexible.
It is not anyones obligation to nitpick every gesture of yours and infer your intentions. Why, just a while ago you were railing against there not being enough plain speak. And yet, you do the opposite.
So what now? To work, then. You've fallen into old, bad habits. Be loose. Flux. You've got better things to do, like that overdue letter to Nicole concerning the book, or sending 'round the presents, or preparing for the interview...
You care for your Sister. But right now that love is overshadowed with deep Dislike. Yes, you can worry, but she must beat her own path. Let her solve her problems. She must want to change her behaviour, her attitude. Nothing you do, or say, will help. Leave her be.
And you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Baiting her like that. Refusing to step down. Resorting to shouting. You silly stubborn prick.
It is over, so stop obsessing. Leave her alone, since you cannot bring yourself to slow down. Worry about your own arse.
Plus, shooting off your mouth just cost me my trip next year, fathead.
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Today's Muse: Green Plastic
Point #1:
So where do I go from here? Can't I just stay in this little hollow I've carved out? Damnit, I'm moving, I'm moving. I'll go and make something out of my life. Shut up. I'm going.
But where to?
Point #2:
Bloody hell, Christmas is almost here.
I never really liked Christmas. When I was growing up something always seemed to be missing. Every year we'd walk the crowded street of the shopping district, oohing and aahing at the light decorations, taking photos that would eventually be dumped. Presents were never suprises. Trees were a bother. Chrismas dinner was usually rice with some special dishes, like braised pork or fish head curry. The rest of the night would be spent watching the Christmas movie special.
Where were the decorations? The turkey-and-pie feast? The glittering tree, the stockings,the wrapped gifts (each one with its own bow), the warm fire, the family Kodak moments sitting together laughing and doing that bonding thing. Television had decieved me.
So I stopped waiting for Christmas to be like the shmicks on TV. Christmas is now, to me, another holiday to put up with, like Valentines Day.
I still do enjoy it. But if it disappeared off the face of the planet I wouldn't really notice. Halloween in Singapore, now that, I'd like to disappear. Why try to adopt a celebration so foreign to our ingrained culture, while allowing our own customs die?
Chinese New Year, now that's something to look forward to. The Family gabbering in a mixture of dialects while the younger ones compare ang pow( red packets containing cash) takings underfoot. The wet-market visits, where the excitement is so palpable. The kitchen comes alive with gossip, and help all those who enter - forced to sit down and help peel beansprouts or something to that effect. The new clothes, the spring-cleaning, the noise, noise, noise-
Maybe that's what happens at Christmas, for those of us who truly celebrate. I wouldn't know. I hope that it is, because the atmosphere at Chinese New Year is something I hope everyone gets to experiance. Damn, that's sappy. But it's true.
Huh. I remember Kim writing a letter to Santa and tacking it to our front door because we don't have chimmys in the tropics. I also remember a teacher solemnly telling us "Santa" was an anagram of "Satan".
Point #1:
So where do I go from here? Can't I just stay in this little hollow I've carved out? Damnit, I'm moving, I'm moving. I'll go and make something out of my life. Shut up. I'm going.
But where to?
Point #2:
Bloody hell, Christmas is almost here.
I never really liked Christmas. When I was growing up something always seemed to be missing. Every year we'd walk the crowded street of the shopping district, oohing and aahing at the light decorations, taking photos that would eventually be dumped. Presents were never suprises. Trees were a bother. Chrismas dinner was usually rice with some special dishes, like braised pork or fish head curry. The rest of the night would be spent watching the Christmas movie special.
Where were the decorations? The turkey-and-pie feast? The glittering tree, the stockings,the wrapped gifts (each one with its own bow), the warm fire, the family Kodak moments sitting together laughing and doing that bonding thing. Television had decieved me.
So I stopped waiting for Christmas to be like the shmicks on TV. Christmas is now, to me, another holiday to put up with, like Valentines Day.
I still do enjoy it. But if it disappeared off the face of the planet I wouldn't really notice. Halloween in Singapore, now that, I'd like to disappear. Why try to adopt a celebration so foreign to our ingrained culture, while allowing our own customs die?
Chinese New Year, now that's something to look forward to. The Family gabbering in a mixture of dialects while the younger ones compare ang pow( red packets containing cash) takings underfoot. The wet-market visits, where the excitement is so palpable. The kitchen comes alive with gossip, and help all those who enter - forced to sit down and help peel beansprouts or something to that effect. The new clothes, the spring-cleaning, the noise, noise, noise-
Maybe that's what happens at Christmas, for those of us who truly celebrate. I wouldn't know. I hope that it is, because the atmosphere at Chinese New Year is something I hope everyone gets to experiance. Damn, that's sappy. But it's true.
Huh. I remember Kim writing a letter to Santa and tacking it to our front door because we don't have chimmys in the tropics. I also remember a teacher solemnly telling us "Santa" was an anagram of "Satan".