Today's Muse: Eisenstein - missing from the books

So, an evening spent at a music showcase, with much of it being 'experimental', self-serving, high-pitched squealing, in the company of... gahwhydoIeventry. Sat through two hours of that just to hear five minutes of the headliner, which admittedly was okay. (last time I keep an open mind.)(my writing, she stinks.)

So, painful walk home because I landed wrong during practice. Back to a house fast asleep, fumble in the dark, and oh I think my belly's about to 'splode.

So, I walk in and am greeted by an upset cat, demanding his night snack, fresh(er) water, and nothing less than my undivided attention.


It's nice being wanted.

I'm not quite sure what to feel.

I watch you try, desperately, to be one of the boys. I watch you try to be funny, be rude, be bold. I see you frightened and nervous and trying so hard to hide it and I want to do something, something to help.

But do you want help?

Sometimes I want to smack you so hard for being so stupid about things. You're so insecure about yourself it makes me want to scream. Whenever someone pays you a compliment, you don't know what to do - you try to brush it off as though you think, who'd be dumb enough to like me?

You don't listen. You behave as though you're expecting people to insult you, so you do it first. But making rude, brash comments doesn't endear you to people; you don't appear witty or smart. Just boorish.

It pains me, seeing you force your laughs.

I'm very fond of you, but you can be very hard to like, sometimes.

Today's Muse: Boil

I was up most of last night reading Brecht's journals, and when I woke up later it felt like my brain had attempted to crawl out my nose. "Nooo! Why do you do this to meeee!"

I like Brecht. I just need to justify slipping the time spent reading up on him under "ac. writ. research".

I was going to write something lovely and long about MEEE, but the Matrix is on tv.


Oh God I think my cat just broke something.


EDIT: I cut my hair, by the way.

EDIT2, a bit later: I never got that. Posts that go "I got my hair cut" and just that. No pictures, no interesting anecdotes about how the hairdresser nearly took your ear off or how you walked out smelling curiously of mutton. It fills me with the same fustration as reading "15% longer!" on a box of sanitary pads, beacause your next immediate thought is exactly how long is 15% longer supposed to be and how is that a selling point and if 15% is that long then how does one wear this extra-long pad without it sticking out of your pants, somehow?

So, anyhoo, I cut my hair and now it is quite short.

Today's Muse: Distraction.

Hungry cast. Group issues look sorted. Blocking begins tomorrow.

Exceeeellent.


It'd be perfect if I wasn't so distracted. I don't think I've ever wanted to kill someone so badly before. Gnash.

Today's Muse: Bill's "Dark Lady"

I came across an amusing article while preparing for Tuesday's quiz (Psychoanalysis - Go me for finishing them Penguin Freud anthologies back when I shoulda been studying A.Math!).

Apparently, infatuation is "an attraction to a person who combines the worst traits of our parents/primary childhood caretakers, the negative traits we ourselves possess but refuse to acknowledge, traits we find attractive but are repressed due to our upbringing, and 'infatuating traits that society denies our gender' (Whatever that means.)"

Can you tell me why I found this funny enough to snort milk across the screen? Eh? Eh? Ppfft I dunno either.



Ooh, I feeel just lurverly, and it's not because of the cough syrup. Tomorrow is the first reading/meeting o' departments for this SHOW I've been lucky enough to attach meself to. There goes my holiday, but I never liked the slimy thing. Yay dark theatres and blinding lights and funky-smelling props!

Also, my essay is definitely on track. I've finally settled on a title, and the essay is slowly taking shape. I plan to hole myself up in M working on it between lessons. The IBM may be wonky, but at least it's light.

Next three weeks are going to be bluppt. Gamelan exam, Dance, Stage Combat, the SHOW, the other SHOW...

Tally ho!

Today's Muse: "Oh Mother help me I'm looking for..."

We've been divided into groups, to put up a short play of our choosing. Understandable friction. No fear. Passion for script settled on overrides everything.

Local theatre does tend to be very symbolic. So, despite reservations voiced after our initial reading, I still believe this will work. The dialogue is meandering; the short scenes, like MTV clips, often hinge on a single, arresting image or idea. Which reflects the setting of the play; all the characters are trapped in limbo, and seek only food to fill non-existent bellies.

I admit, I am more excited about the look of the play than actually performing. We have full control over direction, design and so on, and we've plunged into it with the glee of Tubby leaping into a tub o' ghee. Much of this, I think, will hinge on visual cues - the dead god's startled, jerky movements; the skeleton puppet-person (if all goes well); the planned lighting...

I'm very vague, no? For some reason I'm hesitant to put up the actual title of the play. I'm afraid of, of what? Of judgement? Of losing my enthusiasm?

Very drowsy. Damnable cough syrup. Better way. Must be a better way.


I don't know if you can tell, but I'm really quite happy.

Flying

Amy, silly pet, snuggled somewhere in my heart and probably gnawing at one of the important arteries.

Today I bore witness to a shameful display of ego and unprofessionalism.

Leaves a foul taste in the mouth and a twitchy feeling in the fist, you know?



In other news, I'm still not sure what to say, but, hey, neither does the other. And that makes me happy, in a vague, blurry sort of way.

In an empty, comforting sort of way.

Today's Muse: This ache just behind my eyeball

Okay, flu bug. Either fry my brain with a fever or fuck orrrf. None of this namby-pamby runny nose shit, where I have to sit in lectures sneezing and feeling like a right nob. Gimme the headache! The dizzy! Make it impossible for me to string together a coherent sentence! Make it so I can't possibly attend school!

None of this halfway crap. A runny nose and a cough that sounds like my throat's dislodged, but otherwise the rest o' me works just fine? C'mon, bug! Render me helpless or sumfink!

Well, balls to you too.

I don't know what to say.

I don't like this.

EDIT:

"What words ensnare?-captivate-enchant-rape-suggest-amuse-interest-stun...

(To her) Lovely day!"

Steven Berkoff

Lunch

Today's Muse: Ham. Cured Ham.

A few years back Ma proposed making temple visits a regular affair, like them church-going folks. It was discussed, plans were made for the following Sundays. It never really took off, though.


So, today we went.

We parked on the slope, walked past all the boarded-up shophouses to the gate. A little man with rotting fingernails came up with his palms pressed to each other and asked for two dollars, just two dollars so he could go see the doctor. The money was given. Amituo Fo, Amituo Fo.

Whenever we go to the temple, my parents take every opportunity to point out whatever and offer a brief history or cultural lesson. "There, that's a carving of Buddha when he was just born. See, his fingers? One pointing to Heaven, one to Earth." "Do you know who these people are? The Aluohan, The Arhats."

And Kim and I nod and say, yes, we know. We know. We've devoured the books, the scriptures, the children's introductory comics. We know the Arhats, the thirteenth Master. And we're unfailingly polite here, for some reason. But once we get back in the car it's free for all.

As we walked along the granite carvings depicting stories (Sun Wukong, Monkey King, battling Princess Iron Fan) various animals, mythical and real, always in pairs for some reason, I think about sharing this world. With someone else, you know? Bringing an outsider in and pointing and saying "There, the Buddha when he was just born. He walked twelve steps, and every step in the dirt he made, sprung a lotus."

But I feel like an outsider, myself. In the hall with the statues and offerings of flowers and fruits, I'm either too young or too old. There are less people now, kneeling with their prayer beads or just sitting and talking with each other. They're mostly elderly people. When I walk into the kitchen there are children, young, young children, in Pokemon t-shirts and flip-flops.

I can't read the books in the library. I can't carry a conversation - I can't speak Chinese, or dialect.

I love this world, but I can't paticipate, other than light a joss stick and bow three times.


That may soon change, though.

Earlier this year the entire family went to the large, sprawling temple up. There, a Buddhist Youth group were handing out flyers, friendship bands. Something I was familiar with, what with attending a Christian school most of my stay in Singapore. But it made me slightly uncomfortable; I didn't see youth camps and meetings with Buddhism.

Is this where Buddhism is going? Away from the open-air kitchens and bald lightbulbs and the red halls and tables groaning with fruit and candles and the gold-painted statues and the chanting and the tapes and the

I don't know how I feel about it.

Apathy, maybe.

Buddhism, religion.

I don't pray, really.