Today's Muse: Bowel Disruptor - Jr Pack

My new Transmetropolitan TPB has real paper pages in it. No gloss, nuffink.

That's pretty awesome.

Today's Muse: Nibble Nibble - The High Point Of Work-a-Day

The more interesting things get, the less I have to say.

Here, that is. If I run into you on the street, I'd talk your ear off. There are just some stories best told in person.

But I want to tell you. I want to share everything that's been going on - the rude jokes I've heard, the people I've met, the accidents I keep getting into. I want to hear you laugh at some of these stories, because I know you'll love them. I want to see you roll your eyes when you hear about how I manage to get hit in the eye with fucking confetti. I want to show you the script I've got here for school; talk to you about the ideas we've got for transitions, and if we're in the dance studio how we're completely screwed. I want to show you the books I found in the bargain bin.

I'm seeing a pattern with the last couple of posts; are you?



I'm working on The Little Company's The Gingerbread Man, for free. I like to think of it as experience gathering. Ma calls it exploitation.

It's ridiculously fun, whether it's watching the cast work, or repairing props, or listening to the tech team chatter over cans while waiting for the house to fill. The past week had me falling into bed still dressed in stage blacks, but now the show has more or less fallen into some sort of rhythm. Some of the people involved - both cast and crew - are already moving on to other projects while GBM is still playing, with people dashing off after the performances to attend readings or auditions or what-not.

It's been a hoot. They're a vivacious, open lot. Even though I'm not getting paid or extra credit for this, I'm definately getting more out of this than I did from the Mediacorp thing. It helps that I actually know why I'm here, what I can do, and what I can't do I can learn. It's... fwoosh bish-bosh-whee!

There is no wing space at the DBS Arts Centre. Throw in the set with the high platform, the poky mousehole and whatnot - ppfft. You practically have to press yourself against the walls, and hope you don't trip any cables or buttons.

They throw a lot of stuff offstage. Eee-hee.

And the kids! They're pretty much part of the show. Oh, some of the answers they yell back. Today's audience was especially sweet - shushing Cuckoo during his song because the other characters were napping.

And there's no subsitute for that moment in the wings, in the dark, the house holding its collective breath, just before lights go up and tick-tick-tick starts the show...


Hungry rehearsals go slowly. The more we delve into the play the more complex things seem to get. Are we in over our heads? Sometimes it feels like that. Are we going about preparing for this show in the right way?

Are the stakes high enough?

Sometimes it feels like a solid "No."


This house ought to have more cake. That would make everything loads better.

Today's Muse: Can you slap a copyright on an internet meme?

My God. It's nice being busy.

It does seem like I've more to do now that school's out. Just today: Hungry rehearsals in school in the morning, looking for a gift for Laura (the loveliest I've known) whilst navigating the shopping district in the rain, then a bus ride up to Tampines for dinner at Fazri's, an insane bus-train-bus trip back to town for GBM rehearsals (where Joyce nearly got crushed by the MRT doors), then some weird shit at Clark Quay into the wee hours.

Now home to read and write essay-like things. And look at Hungry designs. Just look.

It's fantastic having so much going on. So much to do, to say, to see.

There's something to be said for running screaming after a bus with like-minded people. For painting silly titchy flowers on a purple teapot while they sing and dance in the next room. For pulling off one's sweater in the middle of the store in the name of finding a present. For sneaking around looking for empty studios to practice in. For walking out of a library with eight books and that silly, materalistic vibe one gets with an armful of books. For Freudian slips. For pretending to beat the shit out of each other and getting graded for it. For putting your name down first on a brand-new sign-up sheet for performance practice. For cinema antics. For Doctor Who discussions. For making lists that couldn't possibly convey how wonderful and stressful and gnaw-worthy the past couple of months have been.

D'aww, I'm all sappy noooow.

My eye! There is pus! Like brain is seeping out through socket!

It'd be kinda cool if it didn't hurt so much.

Today's Muse: Process Recess

Well, that went by quickly.

It's almost ridiculous, everything that's seen and done since school began. And it's been only, what, sixteen weeks? Sixteen weeks.

Sixteen weeks.

New names. New ideals. New frustrations.

New me?

I missed you today.

I was up at 3am working, and all of a sudden I realised it was November. I'm delightfully occupied, I know where I'm going, and I've found people to be fond of. And I don't miss you.

And I miss that.

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.

To watch:

Michel Gondry's The Science of Sleep

Terry Gilliam's Tideland

Zhang Yuan's Little Red Flowers

My head hurts something terrible.


I reeeally don't know what's going on, but I'm no fun to play with, oh no.

Today's Muse: Wit, Or Lack Of It

My desktop luvvie died. For good. Last night, while I tried to finish up the outline for Wednesday's presentation. So, today during the bloody 4-hour break we have between Movement/Dance and Performing Analysis, I fried my ovaries with Laura's Mac. Of course I had it on my lap. It was Laura's.

I've set up me Da's old IBM ThinkPad; you know, the sort that still has the slow-scroll-load thingie that kills the eyes? It chugs along at a decent speed, and I've downloaded the bare essentials. Good enough for essaying. [I just realised my essay for Ac. Writ. wasn't backed up. Ppfft.]

Speaking of essaying: Two weeks into the new resolution and already I'm lagging. I'll get something up; been reading Steven Berkoff, and God the things he sends me brain into.

So, for now, random links:

Girls do fucking like geeks, you matyrs! - Alex A. reflects, complete with momentary burst of rage.

Doomsday: 21st December, 2012? - According to certain interpretations of the Mayan calender.

Banksy L.A. Exhibition - Stencils, Booze, Elephants (Why am I not there?)

And Lord Hair introduces his son and heir, Prince Hair - Because I NEVER get tired of the intergalatic dictator.


PS: Damnit, when is The Science of Sleep gonna open here?

Today's Muse: Blessed hum and whir and trudge

After a scary couple of days the laptop appears to be working again. Nearly peed meself in terror at the prospect of all the documents and videos gone.

Bloody cat, knocking it into its end.



Yesterday, during Scene Prep we tried something very different from what we usually do in class. Just discussed what we thought goes into a good and riveting scene.

Irksome: argument for the sake of it. Nnngh.

Was divided into smaller groups. Had to come up with a scene, keeping in mind what happened before it and what was to happen after (motivation).

Whenever tasked with something like this, I tend to start gibbering. But that's good; spewing nonsensical phrases which the group might take and bounce off from there. Stuff like: Monkeys. Before the white flag. No gravity. Talking to superheroes in your head. Subway mob. Kittypillars. Ka-boosh.

Then, as a group, we just start improvising. We jump straight into the scene, and see what happens. And it's both great fun and incredibly liberating - usually we come up with loads of ideas and peel back to get the final product (Which, isn't really final until after we've performed it).

Once, when the group was stuck, I wandered around and pulled a school desk over, and jumped on it like a monkey. Almost at once another member threw himself in front of the desk, and mined death throes. And the others joined in, and we were off.

Improv. Sitting down and talking about it - no. I'm very fond of saying, "Lets just try it and see what happens.", as one lovely pointed out.

With Scene Prep, we started out with a girl simply talking to two imagined people, weirding a bystander out. And with each improv, the story evolved - the imagined people became the personifications of the girl's more extreme personality traits; the bystander became a writer looking for an interesting case; the girl had just come from a humiliating experience...

But even as we performed it, it was still evolving. The writer became an awkward fellow. I played him, and it seemed, at that point, so very natural to keep my hands in my pockets and fiddle with my collar. I didn't have to think about stumbling over my words; it came easily. The oversized shirt I used as a jacket suddenly became a way to hide myself - but as the conversation with the girl progressed, it was allowed to fall open.

I'm not quite sure what it was. As I think about it now, I'm not quite sure if I was simply showing the character or being him. Or just being myself.

Matt, the teach, asked us why we cross-gendered. We hadn't really thought about it, to tell the truth. The one guy in the group, played the frightened, child-like personification at first. As part of the improv process he switched roles and played the writer for a bit, before concluding that, hey, his reactions to the girl seemed more along the lines of the child. So, he went back. I'm being terribly vague.

I guess, we cross-gendered because it felt like it would work well like that.

Matt said it worked for him, and I think the class concurred. That was nice, feeling like you've really done good in that class, after the first couple of presentations you did being so... not good.



Today, Marium and I raided the SGST FLEE! Market. I found lovelies galore, going for so very little. Glee.

The highlight of that little escapade, I think, was finding the suede clutch going for just three dollars. Blood red, and superb lining.

I'm easy pleased, I am.