this year christmas is the most secular, hedonistic, (not really la) un-unchristmasy christmas i ever had.
boy was it fun. :)
eve: alcohol filled party at cysheo's new place, i didnt drink but tired out from work so i overslept at cyril and sheo's new place at novena, woke up very confused at 7am on xmas day and remembered asking myself why my wall has turned maroon.
xmas day: lunch/tea-ish at dam's, mass with chris (was supposed to be sentosa, but rain, so no go = no bikini :( was then supposed to "nua" at her place, but i had better plans), brought her (since she was feeling down) to meet the gay ensemble after, whole gin gang ended up at double o, where she received the full entertainment package from richard, somewhere within the night, she ended up planing to go with me to see cyril sing in hongkong. best thing is, her sis stays in hk, so free lodging! yeah! to free lodging.
boxing day: work in wee early morning (boo) "delegated" the boys to finish the narnia setup (crap show) then home for late breakfast/lunch, returned my much overdued dvds, then off to cysheo's housewarming thingy. no chickadees, (though i did think that cy's friend in the mary-poppins getup and the black teacher glasses who surprised me by whipping out a ciggie and who drinks beer is "intriguing". btw, as an aside to those people whose eyebrows are being raised by this "intriguing" comment, "intriguing" does not equate into interest) but loads of good indian food.
today: unfortunately, something within all this feasting is killing my stomach. princess was
laughing at me through sms, so i called her an evil witch and refused to give her her xmas present until she learns the meaning of guilt or sympathy.
she's really the queen of sms tantrums.
somewhere within, the merged lunches, breakfasts and dinners, i sort-of remembered being really blue this time last year (this time as in christmas day itself) but couldnt remember why.
it took christmas lunch/tea/overeating at dam's before i remembered why. christmas day last year at dam's was that unfortunate day when i learnt that b got a new guy in her life.
am still musing over it. but surprisingly, heart feeling ok, save for the heartburn from the food. so maybe i am healing. oh well, we'll see.
all in all, oddest fun christmas i've had in quite a while.
***
listening to: complaints from my guys that i'm overworking them. true, but at least i feel guilty about it.
reading: emails from india and vietnam. all participants require repeated information repeated repeatedly before brain registers information.
e.g. (1) - me:"that model name, XYZ is not available here. ABC is the same name model, with the same specs as XYZ. i can supply ABC to you, but not XYZ."
- him: "so XYZ is called ABC in singapore?"
- me: "that is correct."
- him: " so you can only supply me ABC?"
- me: "Yes."
- him: "so can you supply me ABC and change the box and the stickers to XYZ?"
- me: "uh... then, it would be XYZ won't it? ingenious, i can't."
- him: "ok then supply me XYZ instead."
- me: "uh...no i can't, i already told you that."
- him: "why not?"
repeat line (1) again through to above sentences, four times.
___
Monday, December 26, 2005
Friday, December 23, 2005
entombing adel.
wrote a little something to remember a friend by. it took a long while (with, oddly enough, a little help from an arundel tomb by larkin) before i got this out, i guess i'll never be satisfied with watever i churn out to remember adel by. oh well.
so friend, if u can read this, i hope u like it.
***
(revised 26/12/05, made it tighter)
(revised 27/12/05, becoz i am anal about these things)
Entombing Adel
Passing
wall after wall, trying to remember which
held you.
Whether your photograph was lodged
in black and white
or was it Fuji-coloured
to have you stand out
from these other common deaths, and
if, in all absurdity, did they
have you smiling?
I imagined someone who loved you
working out the details,
choosing walls from a catalogue,
considering which amongst the dead
would make the best neighbours.
Then, reaching into his pocket,
taking out his wallet,
trying to keep from crying while
the priest counts the money.
In such matters, nobody bargains.
Your concretised niche,
marble surface-work and trimmings
carried a tiny porcelain vase
super-glued to stone,
and just enough to hold
one miniature bouquet at a time.
Today, I counted two plastic flowers,
edged with paper petals,
cob-webbed.
There is a couple here,
holding each other as they whispered
today’s news for their own dead.
Could they hear at all
within the silence of all this white?
Do they even want to.
An old man sits, facing another wall,
trying to imagine how his picture would look
next to hers.
We both sensed her approval within that smile.
Outside, a fierce sun.
The sound of children disrupting everything.
At the lobby where you used to wait
for Mass to begin,
two women were waiting for the priest
to come, bless their babbles and
tell them about God.
A car left in the direction I was headed to next;
I followed without turning back.
***
listening to: godspeed (sweet dreams) - dixie chicks
reading: yesterday's papers and the nkf debacle.
__
so friend, if u can read this, i hope u like it.
***
(revised 26/12/05, made it tighter)
(revised 27/12/05, becoz i am anal about these things)
Entombing Adel
Passing
wall after wall, trying to remember which
held you.
Whether your photograph was lodged
in black and white
or was it Fuji-coloured
to have you stand out
from these other common deaths, and
if, in all absurdity, did they
have you smiling?
I imagined someone who loved you
working out the details,
choosing walls from a catalogue,
considering which amongst the dead
would make the best neighbours.
Then, reaching into his pocket,
taking out his wallet,
trying to keep from crying while
the priest counts the money.
In such matters, nobody bargains.
Your concretised niche,
marble surface-work and trimmings
carried a tiny porcelain vase
super-glued to stone,
and just enough to hold
one miniature bouquet at a time.
Today, I counted two plastic flowers,
edged with paper petals,
cob-webbed.
There is a couple here,
holding each other as they whispered
today’s news for their own dead.
Could they hear at all
within the silence of all this white?
Do they even want to.
An old man sits, facing another wall,
trying to imagine how his picture would look
next to hers.
We both sensed her approval within that smile.
Outside, a fierce sun.
The sound of children disrupting everything.
At the lobby where you used to wait
for Mass to begin,
two women were waiting for the priest
to come, bless their babbles and
tell them about God.
A car left in the direction I was headed to next;
I followed without turning back.
***
listening to: godspeed (sweet dreams) - dixie chicks
reading: yesterday's papers and the nkf debacle.
__
Sunday, December 18, 2005
beatus.happy.
bah. i stand guilty of writing depressing shit these past few posts. so for a change, me talk happy. yoyoyo happy! u know what mean, happy?
...
...
...
all the things i am thankful for on saturday:
- i finished work at 5.28pm! yippee!
- i set up a polycom viewstation perfect in one attempt without forgetting all the right settings and the isdn linked perfect! (i never got perfect link on the first try!)
- i got free pizza!
- i figured out (in a f-ing jiffy) how to crawl into a ceiling without breaking the boards, falling down, and being impaled, and dying terribly!
- i have to work today!
:)
- it could have been worse.
***
listening to: suffering by satchel
reading: a time to keep - george mackay brown
__
...
...
...
all the things i am thankful for on saturday:
- i finished work at 5.28pm! yippee!
- i set up a polycom viewstation perfect in one attempt without forgetting all the right settings and the isdn linked perfect! (i never got perfect link on the first try!)
- i got free pizza!
- i figured out (in a f-ing jiffy) how to crawl into a ceiling without breaking the boards, falling down, and being impaled, and dying terribly!
- i have to work today!
:)
- it could have been worse.
***
listening to: suffering by satchel
reading: a time to keep - george mackay brown
__
Thursday, December 15, 2005
the ban and the mention of death.
been extremely busy these days.
oddly enough, still managed to worm some time out to take a much needed break from work last fri till mon. oh, and the sat before that (which i spent blissfully wasting water in meritus mandarin).
mandarin was fun. am big fan of bubble-bathing. :)
by my colleagues’ measurement, i should be fresh and eager to approach work after such a long (in the co. anything beyond a day is long.) break. but i am not.
well, ok, i am not so weary anymore, and my infamous quick temper has cooled a wee bit, yelled only at one poor guy this week. but other than that, no change in what i feel about work and life in general. in fact, i have more questions.
funny time to do: ask your closest colleague the following question: “what is the point of being alive?” and suddenly see him/her become concerned that you are turning suicidal.
disclaimer: i am not suicidal.
other irrelevant news:
* one of the blogs that i regularly tune in to has a sparse but awful poem posted up. considering she is one of the saving grace of the “but” anthology, this is a bad showing of her talent. but off-days are to be expected of everyone. no?
* the terminator has terminated williams.
* my description of this year’s tacky xmas lightup has intrigued oxfordian girl, (an old friend of mine) so have kindly acceded to snapping pics of fugly orchard road to send to her, for the primary purpose of ruining her taste. so any of u who has any pics of this year xmas lights could u send them to my email? i want the one-wing birds and the drummer ones.
* robert lowell’s imitations not my thing.
* went zoukout! solo! free! (perks of being a pioneer electronics partner) met assorted friends by accident despite 18,000 strong crowd! got commented as stuck-up by random bikini-clad chick while queuing so folks, being shy is so not a good quality. :( . tried to stay till the end, but the rain spoiled my mood, am not a fan of wet sand. so according to gaston, i was one of those pose-ers who got found out by the rain. (of course i am pose-er! it was already 5ish in the morning, i am 28 and very bad at dancing) got home by 6.18am, end result? comatose next day.
* electrico has 2 good songs. yes, 2.
so that’s that.
***
met a troubled friend for tea, where she asked me whether “the ban” imposed onto moi by b was effective. for her benefit and reading pleasure, and of course, because i am such a masochist and dweller of things that are bad for my health, i shall examine le ban below:
how to: persons involved are to have no physical, electronic, postal, etc etc, whatsoever contact for a period of forever. as in a “very very very x 10000 long time (counted in terms of years)” forever.
pro. no. 1: time does numb everything.
con no. 1: numb does not equal zero pain.
pro. no.2: you can get used to the numbed pain.
con no.2: you can get addicted to this numbed pain.
effectiveness: make the best out of a bad thing, and try to move on (give or take a couple yrs eh.)
notes:
1. do not, i repeat, do not listen to don mclean after being “banned”. d.m. should carry a “warning: suicide-worthy songs within” sign on each cd.
2. you will find yourself treasuring every little thing the other party has given you. i am still carrying the wallet b gave me, despite it being held up by staples in several parts.
3. alone time suddenly become very attractive periods of time.
4. obsession inevitably sets in for one or both parties.
happy banning.
ok, that’s that.
***
went to my primary school classmate, ashley’s wedding yesterday, first kena summon-ed by the dinner, then kena summon-ed by becky for the gift. feeling broke. :(
it got weird-surreal when the guys at the table, along with a talkative mr. koh (our fav pri. school teacher, yes, he's an old but hardy fellow) started discussing a friend of mine’s death by suicide. singapore is such a small rock that everyone is linked to each other in some odd way. in this case, they know adel’s dad.
i wanted to make some excuse and head to the toilet while they discussed the reasons for her death, but being butt-heavy, i just sat there feeling uncomfortable, acting nonchalant. i think any discussion of her reasons for jumping is so unnecessary. the girl is long dead. why discuss this at a wedding?
haven’t popped by to visit her niche for some time. think i shall pay her a little visit this weekend. which = church going.. hmmm...
***
finally,
reminder to all friends, i don’t have that much time for visiting, so do me a big favour and stay alive.
***
listening to: jealous guy – john lennon.
reading: simic’s wedding in hell
__
oddly enough, still managed to worm some time out to take a much needed break from work last fri till mon. oh, and the sat before that (which i spent blissfully wasting water in meritus mandarin).
mandarin was fun. am big fan of bubble-bathing. :)
by my colleagues’ measurement, i should be fresh and eager to approach work after such a long (in the co. anything beyond a day is long.) break. but i am not.
well, ok, i am not so weary anymore, and my infamous quick temper has cooled a wee bit, yelled only at one poor guy this week. but other than that, no change in what i feel about work and life in general. in fact, i have more questions.
funny time to do: ask your closest colleague the following question: “what is the point of being alive?” and suddenly see him/her become concerned that you are turning suicidal.
disclaimer: i am not suicidal.
other irrelevant news:
* one of the blogs that i regularly tune in to has a sparse but awful poem posted up. considering she is one of the saving grace of the “but” anthology, this is a bad showing of her talent. but off-days are to be expected of everyone. no?
* the terminator has terminated williams.
* my description of this year’s tacky xmas lightup has intrigued oxfordian girl, (an old friend of mine) so have kindly acceded to snapping pics of fugly orchard road to send to her, for the primary purpose of ruining her taste. so any of u who has any pics of this year xmas lights could u send them to my email? i want the one-wing birds and the drummer ones.
* robert lowell’s imitations not my thing.
* went zoukout! solo! free! (perks of being a pioneer electronics partner) met assorted friends by accident despite 18,000 strong crowd! got commented as stuck-up by random bikini-clad chick while queuing so folks, being shy is so not a good quality. :( . tried to stay till the end, but the rain spoiled my mood, am not a fan of wet sand. so according to gaston, i was one of those pose-ers who got found out by the rain. (of course i am pose-er! it was already 5ish in the morning, i am 28 and very bad at dancing) got home by 6.18am, end result? comatose next day.
* electrico has 2 good songs. yes, 2.
so that’s that.
***
met a troubled friend for tea, where she asked me whether “the ban” imposed onto moi by b was effective. for her benefit and reading pleasure, and of course, because i am such a masochist and dweller of things that are bad for my health, i shall examine le ban below:
how to: persons involved are to have no physical, electronic, postal, etc etc, whatsoever contact for a period of forever. as in a “very very very x 10000 long time (counted in terms of years)” forever.
pro. no. 1: time does numb everything.
con no. 1: numb does not equal zero pain.
pro. no.2: you can get used to the numbed pain.
con no.2: you can get addicted to this numbed pain.
effectiveness: make the best out of a bad thing, and try to move on (give or take a couple yrs eh.)
notes:
1. do not, i repeat, do not listen to don mclean after being “banned”. d.m. should carry a “warning: suicide-worthy songs within” sign on each cd.
2. you will find yourself treasuring every little thing the other party has given you. i am still carrying the wallet b gave me, despite it being held up by staples in several parts.
3. alone time suddenly become very attractive periods of time.
4. obsession inevitably sets in for one or both parties.
happy banning.
ok, that’s that.
***
went to my primary school classmate, ashley’s wedding yesterday, first kena summon-ed by the dinner, then kena summon-ed by becky for the gift. feeling broke. :(
it got weird-surreal when the guys at the table, along with a talkative mr. koh (our fav pri. school teacher, yes, he's an old but hardy fellow) started discussing a friend of mine’s death by suicide. singapore is such a small rock that everyone is linked to each other in some odd way. in this case, they know adel’s dad.
i wanted to make some excuse and head to the toilet while they discussed the reasons for her death, but being butt-heavy, i just sat there feeling uncomfortable, acting nonchalant. i think any discussion of her reasons for jumping is so unnecessary. the girl is long dead. why discuss this at a wedding?
haven’t popped by to visit her niche for some time. think i shall pay her a little visit this weekend. which = church going.. hmmm...
***
finally,
reminder to all friends, i don’t have that much time for visiting, so do me a big favour and stay alive.
***
listening to: jealous guy – john lennon.
reading: simic’s wedding in hell
__
Saturday, December 03, 2005
pissy.
work is pissing me off. it's a sat for god's sake, give it a break.
princess is pissing me off too, not because of anything she did, but because i sometimes feel that she takes me for granted. thk whatever she doesnt know the existence of this blog. or i'm so dead. so so dead.
***
A Short One Over SMS
Your abandoned home, the here,
the right-now,
voted me ambassador to you.
I've been sent bearing memories
wrapped in pink,
pre-laced with addictive sugar.
Just for you.
I have had paperwork fabricated by experts
in Calcutta and gotten
all the red tape we could gather to keep you
"otherwise occupied"
here.
Somehow, I doubt your return and
my re-election.
***
cyril will kill me because i havent completed that thing he wanted me to do. death by faggot. should be fun.
the next post will come from a deluxe room somewhere in meritus mandarin. finally! a good thing from a piss-poor week.
listening to: i am manning the office phone today because 1. sandy is on leave, 2. j is sick home with fever after fulfilling his reservist duties, 3. lg's things. sadness.
reading: george mackay brown 's excellent celia (short story) recommended !!
__
princess is pissing me off too, not because of anything she did, but because i sometimes feel that she takes me for granted. thk whatever she doesnt know the existence of this blog. or i'm so dead. so so dead.
***
A Short One Over SMS
Your abandoned home, the here,
the right-now,
voted me ambassador to you.
I've been sent bearing memories
wrapped in pink,
pre-laced with addictive sugar.
Just for you.
I have had paperwork fabricated by experts
in Calcutta and gotten
all the red tape we could gather to keep you
"otherwise occupied"
here.
Somehow, I doubt your return and
my re-election.
***
cyril will kill me because i havent completed that thing he wanted me to do. death by faggot. should be fun.
the next post will come from a deluxe room somewhere in meritus mandarin. finally! a good thing from a piss-poor week.
listening to: i am manning the office phone today because 1. sandy is on leave, 2. j is sick home with fever after fulfilling his reservist duties, 3. lg's things. sadness.
reading: george mackay brown 's excellent celia (short story) recommended !!
__
Thursday, December 01, 2005
annoyance.me.yes.
sometimes i get over-zealous, and come across as annoying. i can't see that till it smacks me in the head. *smack head*. ah... much better.
silver lining: at least i got some material for that essay i was supposed to do. will explain someday wtf am blabbering about. someday.
meanwhile, other irrelevant news:
- more letters (administrative) for joys have arrived in the mail. still no feelings about her coming back on the 23rd. time has truly numbed me.
- hired new guy.
- went home before 8 o'clock 2 days within this week. major big deal.
- am on unofficial leave starting this weekend till early next week. to clients, i am in "hongkong", in actuality - zzzing at marina mandarin with phone switched off.
***
Hands
A pair of hands joins,
becomes inseparable
even against oncoming traffic.
One pulls, the other,
in timid gulps of girly sounds,
follows its tug,
finding itself rescued from collision.
Then laughter.
Till that laughter
causes tears,
and one shakes off
the other’s hold,
I tried looking, couldn’t trace anything,
until much later where
there it was;
at the other’s cheek,
smoothening happy tears,
delicately with a sweep of its thumb
and laughing again.
From there it will return to
her waiting hand,
where they will stay and
wait together.
Possibly.
I smile in spite of myself
and unconsciously,
find my own hand
closing into a grasp
and lasping back into a fist.
***
listeningto: don mclean - empty chairs
reading: levine's the mercy.
__
silver lining: at least i got some material for that essay i was supposed to do. will explain someday wtf am blabbering about. someday.
meanwhile, other irrelevant news:
- more letters (administrative) for joys have arrived in the mail. still no feelings about her coming back on the 23rd. time has truly numbed me.
- hired new guy.
- went home before 8 o'clock 2 days within this week. major big deal.
- am on unofficial leave starting this weekend till early next week. to clients, i am in "hongkong", in actuality - zzzing at marina mandarin with phone switched off.
***
Hands
A pair of hands joins,
becomes inseparable
even against oncoming traffic.
One pulls, the other,
in timid gulps of girly sounds,
follows its tug,
finding itself rescued from collision.
Then laughter.
Till that laughter
causes tears,
and one shakes off
the other’s hold,
I tried looking, couldn’t trace anything,
until much later where
there it was;
at the other’s cheek,
smoothening happy tears,
delicately with a sweep of its thumb
and laughing again.
From there it will return to
her waiting hand,
where they will stay and
wait together.
Possibly.
I smile in spite of myself
and unconsciously,
find my own hand
closing into a grasp
and lasping back into a fist.
***
listeningto: don mclean - empty chairs
reading: levine's the mercy.
__
act.cute.
those kiddo's pics that i've been meaning to put up.
tell me u think she's the sweetest. or else...
kiddo with her security blankie.
closeup kiddo with her doing bad habit of thumb sucking. naughty naughty.
closeup kiddo with her sucking blankie. even worse. sigh.
***
Baby-proofing
Thumbelina. You
are only eighteen months,
Be careful as you fly about this house
pointing out items of bourgeois pink
my father hid for your amusement.
Even here,
sharp corners exist.
My parents have reached the limits
of their baby-proofing efforts;
Entire walls you cursed with your hieroglyphics,
the dining table we never ever used properly,
my room with all its sex cordoned off
by a big black door
that held my parents at bay for years.
Everything is in sponge.
Again, pink for your sake.
If they could,
they would carpet the world in felt,
hang baby photos over every ugly thing,
straighten every frown before it arches,
and baby-proof you permanently
in velveteen cushions.
***
watching be with me. si-peh silent movie man. never had to literally read a movie so much. eh.. am starting to understand why cyril has no patience for it. it is starting to wear on me and the time meter has only just passed 45 min!
ok, it's 55 mins now and it has officially worn me out.
and i rented it. for 5 buckuroos, some more. plus that weird look the video rental uncle gave me when i went to the counter. why? cannot ah? sengkang kampungnites also can watch atas movie what.
:( swell.
ok, it's not a bad movie, i understand what it's getting at. but does he have to really really drive home the point? then try to confirm whether point received or not? I mean does he really think singaporeans are that dense that to state any point, you have to shout it into their ears and put "awas" lights around it? ... eh... on second thought, yeah, he might not be that far off...
but even he must admit focusing the major part of movie on the blind aunt is kind of overtly self-absorbed.
still brownie points for beautifully capturing how son of weird uncle communciates with her. major cool with the hands thing, then to contrast it with shots of weird uncle chopping/stirring food.
and for cute shots of samantha tan... :) btw, kissing scene, very tame.
oh,
somewhere in the midst of watching/reading this movie, i keep thinking the perfect complement/after-mint to this movie is... "sesame street: big bird in china"!
but for politically correct purpose, i cannot say why. sigh.
my recommendation? - it'll have to be big bird in china. ultra retro. i have the vcr somewhere...
_____
listeningto: the silent movie that is "be with me"
Reading: samantha tan.... :) damnn, she's cute.
__
tell me u think she's the sweetest. or else...
kiddo with her security blankie.
closeup kiddo with her doing bad habit of thumb sucking. naughty naughty.
closeup kiddo with her sucking blankie. even worse. sigh.
***
Baby-proofing
Thumbelina. You
are only eighteen months,
Be careful as you fly about this house
pointing out items of bourgeois pink
my father hid for your amusement.
Even here,
sharp corners exist.
My parents have reached the limits
of their baby-proofing efforts;
Entire walls you cursed with your hieroglyphics,
the dining table we never ever used properly,
my room with all its sex cordoned off
by a big black door
that held my parents at bay for years.
Everything is in sponge.
Again, pink for your sake.
If they could,
they would carpet the world in felt,
hang baby photos over every ugly thing,
straighten every frown before it arches,
and baby-proof you permanently
in velveteen cushions.
***
watching be with me. si-peh silent movie man. never had to literally read a movie so much. eh.. am starting to understand why cyril has no patience for it. it is starting to wear on me and the time meter has only just passed 45 min!
ok, it's 55 mins now and it has officially worn me out.
and i rented it. for 5 buckuroos, some more. plus that weird look the video rental uncle gave me when i went to the counter. why? cannot ah? sengkang kampungnites also can watch atas movie what.
:( swell.
ok, it's not a bad movie, i understand what it's getting at. but does he have to really really drive home the point? then try to confirm whether point received or not? I mean does he really think singaporeans are that dense that to state any point, you have to shout it into their ears and put "awas" lights around it? ... eh... on second thought, yeah, he might not be that far off...
but even he must admit focusing the major part of movie on the blind aunt is kind of overtly self-absorbed.
still brownie points for beautifully capturing how son of weird uncle communciates with her. major cool with the hands thing, then to contrast it with shots of weird uncle chopping/stirring food.
and for cute shots of samantha tan... :) btw, kissing scene, very tame.
oh,
somewhere in the midst of watching/reading this movie, i keep thinking the perfect complement/after-mint to this movie is... "sesame street: big bird in china"!
but for politically correct purpose, i cannot say why. sigh.
my recommendation? - it'll have to be big bird in china. ultra retro. i have the vcr somewhere...
_____
listeningto: the silent movie that is "be with me"
Reading: samantha tan.... :) damnn, she's cute.
__
Sunday, November 27, 2005
weelet.
for my niece. cute kid. showed princess her pics a little while back, and she gushed over the kiddo. thats amazing because princess has no patience for kiddies, maybe time with her own niece has mellowed her down.
hmm... am thinking evil thoughts. maybe i could loan her from my sis as a babe magnet for a while... that is if i could stand carrying the weelet the way from home to the park. (closest place for chickadees)
considerable...
***
Baby-proofing
Weelet.
You are only eighteen months,
so be careful when you fly about this house
pointing out items of bourgeois pink
my father hid for your amusement.
Even here,
sharp corners exist.
They have reached the outer limits
of their baby-proofing efforts;
Entire walls you cursed with your hieroglyphics,
the dining table we never ever used properly,
my room with all its sex cordoned off
by a big black door
that held my parents at bay for years.
If they could,
they would carpet the world in felt,
hang baby photos over every ugly thing
and baby-proof you permanently
in velveteen cushions.
***
reading: gerald durrell's biography. princess's bday gift to me couple of years back. i like reading about the man.
listening: weelet uttering rubbish and amusing herself.
hmm... am thinking evil thoughts. maybe i could loan her from my sis as a babe magnet for a while... that is if i could stand carrying the weelet the way from home to the park. (closest place for chickadees)
considerable...
***
Baby-proofing
Weelet.
You are only eighteen months,
so be careful when you fly about this house
pointing out items of bourgeois pink
my father hid for your amusement.
Even here,
sharp corners exist.
They have reached the outer limits
of their baby-proofing efforts;
Entire walls you cursed with your hieroglyphics,
the dining table we never ever used properly,
my room with all its sex cordoned off
by a big black door
that held my parents at bay for years.
If they could,
they would carpet the world in felt,
hang baby photos over every ugly thing
and baby-proof you permanently
in velveteen cushions.
***
reading: gerald durrell's biography. princess's bday gift to me couple of years back. i like reading about the man.
listening: weelet uttering rubbish and amusing herself.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
yearning recovery. + narcissism
i must have been obviously depressed over the last few weeks.
my 2 business partners have been tiptoeing nicely around me and being very sweet. suggesting i take a break and stuff like that. last week's very fufilling meeting involved more of wtf i am to do in vietnam and i got to thinking maybe i'm being bumped off to viet for negotiations (both of them know that me and negotiations dun go very well, given my temperment) is more of light duties, r and r and to get over being burnt out, than real work...
scheming buggers, but... hey, no complaints here! :)
this week, with both of them out of action (reservist, shanghai) i am to control the guys alone. oh shit. despite what the industry thinks, i know i'm pretty bad at this business thing. i blame any progress on luck, and the general naivety of our competition. 'nuff said.
am feeling so drained by the end of the day (more like night). and still i can't cover the gaps. f- bunnies.
ah yes, at the bloody tender age of 28+++, i am admitting burnt-out status. tell me, in bold and underlined words; is there any hope of recovery for burning out?
writing wise, it's been fun. at least a few interesting projects. oh, am on narcissim eruption, am on lush 99.5fm, as in my poems, somewhere during the next 2 weeks or these 2 weeks, whatever. no money in it but the narcissistic allure of being read on air, even if it's some god forsaken time slot in the wee wee mornings is too much to ignore.
mind, i dunno, that confirm die die for sure for sure, that it'll be read out, but at least thats what the email from their pr/scripting firm (people) says so, so i guess so eh.
more importantly; sad to say, i'll like to know who's reading it. i've never even read them out myself.
tell if you hear. thks!
listening to: my brain clear itself of its clutter
reading: wikipedia - hopping.
my 2 business partners have been tiptoeing nicely around me and being very sweet. suggesting i take a break and stuff like that. last week's very fufilling meeting involved more of wtf i am to do in vietnam and i got to thinking maybe i'm being bumped off to viet for negotiations (both of them know that me and negotiations dun go very well, given my temperment) is more of light duties, r and r and to get over being burnt out, than real work...
scheming buggers, but... hey, no complaints here! :)
this week, with both of them out of action (reservist, shanghai) i am to control the guys alone. oh shit. despite what the industry thinks, i know i'm pretty bad at this business thing. i blame any progress on luck, and the general naivety of our competition. 'nuff said.
am feeling so drained by the end of the day (more like night). and still i can't cover the gaps. f- bunnies.
ah yes, at the bloody tender age of 28+++, i am admitting burnt-out status. tell me, in bold and underlined words; is there any hope of recovery for burning out?
writing wise, it's been fun. at least a few interesting projects. oh, am on narcissim eruption, am on lush 99.5fm, as in my poems, somewhere during the next 2 weeks or these 2 weeks, whatever. no money in it but the narcissistic allure of being read on air, even if it's some god forsaken time slot in the wee wee mornings is too much to ignore.
mind, i dunno, that confirm die die for sure for sure, that it'll be read out, but at least thats what the email from their pr/scripting firm (people) says so, so i guess so eh.
more importantly; sad to say, i'll like to know who's reading it. i've never even read them out myself.
tell if you hear. thks!
listening to: my brain clear itself of its clutter
reading: wikipedia - hopping.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
film synopsis in fogginess.
woke early so i thought i get as confessional as i ever would be. i dun know why. dun ask, just humour me. this is about the later part of sunday. this isnt a poem, i just wanted the hazy feel. and b, if you ever read this. yes, u pretty much f-ed me up.
***
i watched it. that one show i should caught with you.
the last time i was here, your sister sat beside me in lieu
much later i learnt on that day, i was her inferior substitute
for the man she slipped her wedding ring off for.
both of you should see this. bring your mother.
we brought gaston in the same way i would have smuggled you through.
in loud nonchalance, hopeful
that the ticket man would not notice the quicken pace.
i followed it unconciously with that mischievous side grin
i always flashed when i won something.
the one you used your fingers to measure.
you have it too, but you accessorise better because of those eyes.
inside the black security-blankets everyone.
whilst silencing my phone, i wanted to text you:
“come back.”
this time i managed the entire line before deletion.
the coming attractions rolled.
i remembered you always had a comment for each,
which you wanted, (insisted) to see, with or without me.
cyril said that the leads mirrored sheo and him.
but at least they owned the happy ending.
who would feel for the poor man who had to watch
the woman he waited fifteen years for,
run from their wedding?
from a hazy scene, and some forgotten clever lines
between the mother and the daughter,
i finally realised what you meant
by missing and hating someone at the same time.
but to apply it so generously on me?
somewhere in that movie, i laughed in irony
and wanted you to see
8 years between us is nothing.
the show ends, it is good, and i have wasted it on you.
despite my best efforts, you stayed on. holding every available space
in my mind with your non-attendance.
in the car park, i remembered being grateful
for richard not bringing his cashcard because it meant that i could smoke.
lighting that cigarette, i remembered who i dropped it for
and why i am relighting it again.
home took a long time to arrive into view.
i go to sleep counting instances of you.
that next morning, the blunt knife my mother asked me to throw
nearly turned on me.
***
after that everything got clear again. haha. i realised i take a long time to heal from anything or anyone. despite everything.
___
***
i watched it. that one show i should caught with you.
the last time i was here, your sister sat beside me in lieu
much later i learnt on that day, i was her inferior substitute
for the man she slipped her wedding ring off for.
both of you should see this. bring your mother.
we brought gaston in the same way i would have smuggled you through.
in loud nonchalance, hopeful
that the ticket man would not notice the quicken pace.
i followed it unconciously with that mischievous side grin
i always flashed when i won something.
the one you used your fingers to measure.
you have it too, but you accessorise better because of those eyes.
inside the black security-blankets everyone.
whilst silencing my phone, i wanted to text you:
“come back.”
this time i managed the entire line before deletion.
the coming attractions rolled.
i remembered you always had a comment for each,
which you wanted, (insisted) to see, with or without me.
cyril said that the leads mirrored sheo and him.
but at least they owned the happy ending.
who would feel for the poor man who had to watch
the woman he waited fifteen years for,
run from their wedding?
from a hazy scene, and some forgotten clever lines
between the mother and the daughter,
i finally realised what you meant
by missing and hating someone at the same time.
but to apply it so generously on me?
somewhere in that movie, i laughed in irony
and wanted you to see
8 years between us is nothing.
the show ends, it is good, and i have wasted it on you.
despite my best efforts, you stayed on. holding every available space
in my mind with your non-attendance.
in the car park, i remembered being grateful
for richard not bringing his cashcard because it meant that i could smoke.
lighting that cigarette, i remembered who i dropped it for
and why i am relighting it again.
home took a long time to arrive into view.
i go to sleep counting instances of you.
that next morning, the blunt knife my mother asked me to throw
nearly turned on me.
***
after that everything got clear again. haha. i realised i take a long time to heal from anything or anyone. despite everything.
___
Thursday, November 10, 2005
decadence.
back from dinner with another bunch of guys. compared to them, i am a verifiable angel. one of them is complaining that his current love interest already has a bf, which has me remarking "as opposed to you already well-married with kiddies and all?" to which his answer was:
thats different.
how different, i have no idea.
the rest of the evening was spent with me listening attentively to them discussing the "quality" of chinese ktvs and their, eh... routine activities. i know this is not the idle boasting of pre-adulthood ns-boys, because, they are too old and because i've been "out" with them and their assorted "friends".
let me see; so far, i have been asked to take over as companion to one of their "friends" because i am a decent guy. (i cannot argue with that, comparatively, i am a bloody saint), to be interviewer to select the cutest english speaking chinese aspirant as an admin executive and having to defend the benefits of staying moderately moral. (i lost, naturally.)
i like to say only my reaction to overdose of alcohol (results in either me falling immediately into a deathly slumber or me getting violently sick) has saved me from waking up in the morning to a bad female decision. many many times.
however, i do wonder sometimes whether that, is a good or bad thing.
i have been invited to shanghai somewhere early next yr by this bunch. i've already survived 2 chinese trips eh...barely keeping to my odd notions of morality. we shall see with this one.
other than this, i should be heading out to vietnam, on a business mission, somewhere in jan or immediately after i complete the necessary research. i am childishly eager when it comes to vietnam. it has been years since i was there as a rothmans (read: dunhill cigarettes) intern. i have always missed it.
vietnam is not all about the war. and saigon has moved on. very much so.
this is the month of plans.
on another odd note, have been ordered to put up in mandarin hotel by oddly enough, my own parents on dec 3-5 in light in them going for a short holiday. apparently i am not to be trusted with keeping the house in order. so should anyone be looking for me, i shall be in either marina mandarin or meritus mandarin, counting coupons and expending my free-stay privileges.
in view of that, i must say, sometimes, work has its perks.
itunes on shuffles is playing keane. how very painful, not only musically, but because i bought this particular cd with b, on one of our so-called illict outings.
as a dedication to these decadent but delightful friends of mine, i wrote this awhile back:
***
Shanghai, a Morning Event
She lay there, a dead thing.
My source of heat
coiled between the sheets
reeking of vodka,
amongst the other things she took
to anaesthetise herself.
Was I even any good?
I contemplated
taking a knife
to that skin, dive into that heart
for checks.
She stirred, a thin moan escaped,
she surrendered
all her available options to me.
The small naked man,
sitting there, bent on decisions:
What's next?
I finally settled
on calling up for breakfast.
Today, I asked for an egg, soft-boiled
with its yolk heart
full, without cracks,
till I decided it was time.
***
listening to : the band - out of the blue. the guy who did the vocals for this track, rick danko, has passed away, so listening to him singing this is an odd feeling.
reading: an interesting email offer that is appealing to the narcissistic me, writing wise. cyril, i forgot to say this just now but thankyou you. :)
___
thats different.
how different, i have no idea.
the rest of the evening was spent with me listening attentively to them discussing the "quality" of chinese ktvs and their, eh... routine activities. i know this is not the idle boasting of pre-adulthood ns-boys, because, they are too old and because i've been "out" with them and their assorted "friends".
let me see; so far, i have been asked to take over as companion to one of their "friends" because i am a decent guy. (i cannot argue with that, comparatively, i am a bloody saint), to be interviewer to select the cutest english speaking chinese aspirant as an admin executive and having to defend the benefits of staying moderately moral. (i lost, naturally.)
i like to say only my reaction to overdose of alcohol (results in either me falling immediately into a deathly slumber or me getting violently sick) has saved me from waking up in the morning to a bad female decision. many many times.
however, i do wonder sometimes whether that, is a good or bad thing.
i have been invited to shanghai somewhere early next yr by this bunch. i've already survived 2 chinese trips eh...barely keeping to my odd notions of morality. we shall see with this one.
other than this, i should be heading out to vietnam, on a business mission, somewhere in jan or immediately after i complete the necessary research. i am childishly eager when it comes to vietnam. it has been years since i was there as a rothmans (read: dunhill cigarettes) intern. i have always missed it.
vietnam is not all about the war. and saigon has moved on. very much so.
this is the month of plans.
on another odd note, have been ordered to put up in mandarin hotel by oddly enough, my own parents on dec 3-5 in light in them going for a short holiday. apparently i am not to be trusted with keeping the house in order. so should anyone be looking for me, i shall be in either marina mandarin or meritus mandarin, counting coupons and expending my free-stay privileges.
in view of that, i must say, sometimes, work has its perks.
itunes on shuffles is playing keane. how very painful, not only musically, but because i bought this particular cd with b, on one of our so-called illict outings.
as a dedication to these decadent but delightful friends of mine, i wrote this awhile back:
***
Shanghai, a Morning Event
She lay there, a dead thing.
My source of heat
coiled between the sheets
reeking of vodka,
amongst the other things she took
to anaesthetise herself.
Was I even any good?
I contemplated
taking a knife
to that skin, dive into that heart
for checks.
She stirred, a thin moan escaped,
she surrendered
all her available options to me.
The small naked man,
sitting there, bent on decisions:
What's next?
I finally settled
on calling up for breakfast.
Today, I asked for an egg, soft-boiled
with its yolk heart
full, without cracks,
till I decided it was time.
***
listening to : the band - out of the blue. the guy who did the vocals for this track, rick danko, has passed away, so listening to him singing this is an odd feeling.
reading: an interesting email offer that is appealing to the narcissistic me, writing wise. cyril, i forgot to say this just now but thankyou you. :)
___
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
strength.
i need it.
i can't keep up with work and it's scaring the shit outof me. i made a list yesterday on the outstanding work to be done. and i ended up with a freaking long list. i was daunted just by making the list. sigh. clearing it seems impossible. and the damn list isn't staying static!
to liana: *wave* have u found me yet?
princess is off galavanting in europe. :(
so this popped into me, a funny one for her highness:
***
Your home, the here, the now,
made me ambassador to you.
I've been sent bearing memories
pre-tainted with sugar,
the fabricated paperwork and
all the red tape we could find to keep you
"otherwise occupied"
here.
Somehow, I keep doubting my re-election.
***
i will write more tonite. when i am stuck in the office clearing backlogs. woe is really me today.
***
listening to: my 2 ancient cuckoo clocks ticktocking out of tune. some funny superstition states that no 2 clocks in the house can show the exact same time.
re-reading: george mackay brown - ocean of time. another fav writer of me. member of dead white male club.
__
i can't keep up with work and it's scaring the shit outof me. i made a list yesterday on the outstanding work to be done. and i ended up with a freaking long list. i was daunted just by making the list. sigh. clearing it seems impossible. and the damn list isn't staying static!
to liana: *wave* have u found me yet?
princess is off galavanting in europe. :(
so this popped into me, a funny one for her highness:
***
Your home, the here, the now,
made me ambassador to you.
I've been sent bearing memories
pre-tainted with sugar,
the fabricated paperwork and
all the red tape we could find to keep you
"otherwise occupied"
here.
Somehow, I keep doubting my re-election.
***
i will write more tonite. when i am stuck in the office clearing backlogs. woe is really me today.
***
listening to: my 2 ancient cuckoo clocks ticktocking out of tune. some funny superstition states that no 2 clocks in the house can show the exact same time.
re-reading: george mackay brown - ocean of time. another fav writer of me. member of dead white male club.
__
Sunday, November 06, 2005
chauvinistic-O.
i know this will make me sound uber chauvinistic, but what the heck eh?
i rarely x33 buy female poets. in fact in my entire poetry collection, there was only one. plath's ariel. i just realised that. now, or as of yesterday night, there are 2.
ran out of the house yesterday evening at about 7ish due to early break from work and boredom. (yes, i work on sat, so loser rite?) no one was free and i mean no one; gaston was supposedly zzzing at home, cy had to go to sheo's friend bday party, damien i guess was putting in quality time with prospective ball and chain, becky's not in s'pore, no answer from mat for a while (schola i guess?) carl and kelly eh... lets not go there, etc etc
so i had to go out with self. which wasn't so bad. i popped down to borders to see whether i could pick up the others in the spiderwick series, but the field guide is still the only one they had out to date so went over to the poetry section to see what would catch my eye.
i get quite robotic when it comes to buying poetry books, so in a rough sense, this was how i conducted my search yesterday night:-
insert: eric's rules on buying poetry bookies:
rule no.1: go with the familiar
which means i arrow the familiar poets first; levine, langston hughes, ted hughes, donald hall etc, so yesterday, i did just that:
- levine rejected because levine always writes like levine, after owning 4 of his books, i want the next levine to break new grounds, do something different.
- langston hughes no because ancient fuddydaddy not my taste.
- ted hughes no because the last book i bought here was ted hughes's so i wanted something different.
- donald hall's one = not strong at all. disappointed.
- semus heaney's electric light (new one i think) caught my eye. plus i dun have a heaney so mental note taken, continued with search.
rule no. 2: no anthologies
i also very rarely buy anthologies. it's the same thing why best of's and anthologies cds are not preferrable. the flavour is lost. there's no proper flow. you will never get the feel of the collection or the themes the poet wanted to portray. of the lot of anthologies i surveyed, i am only moderately inclined towards the best american poetry series and only because in that one you get the feel of the guest editor’s taste in poetry. not always good and can be quite sala one.
rule no. 3: the little things
who really has the time to rife through everything? so the cover, spine, thickness, and price will all play a little part in selection. for e.g. unless it's payday, will i shell out 33++ for a thin say maybe 70 pages book or buy the more substantial 23++ 100 odd pages one with the pretty cover and the more appealing spine? of course, all other substances within being equal, meaning both being of equal poetic strength.
rule no.4: gender
like i said i rarely buy female poets. because of a no. of reasons actually.
a) as a rule, i prefer male poets because they generally exert more self control within a poem than a female counterpart. this isn’t a blanket rule, i have read male poets more whinny than your average manja queen. but as a general rule, i have been quite accurate on this point.
b) confessional – i like reading confessional style poems to a certain extent, but if the poem requires me to upload excessive amounts of sympathy, i get irritable. as an odd observation, i find women confessionals require more sympathy from the reader than a male one. not that there are many male confessionals around. off the top of my head, lowell, carver from the borders shelves and i think that’s it.
c) topic – women have different issues. not a bad thing, and actually a very good thing (provide variety) but those issues are difficult for me to fully “get into”. sampling a range of female poets, you will find abuse a pretty common topic, then the ever popular husband/bf’s an ass because he drinks/f-s around/gambles and doesn’t care about my feeling type poem is always a feature. men tend to surprise me more topic-wise. on the flipside, male poets have a higher tendency of being banal and boring, but i always sample before i buy so i’m pretty safe from that.
i had to eat these rules yesterday for supper.
i chose kimiko hahn’s mosquito and ant over semus heaney’s electric light! sorry mr. heaney-sir, i promise next trip i will get that one without consideration, promise. ok, kimiko hahn, she’s a half-jap half americano poetess whose book is “most rigorously women-centred work to date” as it says so on its back cover. so totally unlike me to choose this.
but her writing is strong. surprisingly, i am not immediately requested to surrender my sympathies. the topics are as i expected, but such control exercised in their execution. :)
i was intrigued from the 1st poem: entitled “the razor”.
(i hope she won’t mind if i reproduced it here)
The Razor
I want to return to the moment
father and I brought the canister of mother’s ashes
to the temple in some odd shopping bag.
We then dropped off the remains
to leave for a couple slices down the block
but the reverend pull a robe
over her jeans and blouse
picked up prayer bead
and suggested which was not a question
we say a sutra. Which one was it?
I only recalled I didn’t have a tissue;
that the incense I so dislike
felt sweet wafting into my sweater
and hair; that my whole body
shook without pause
though I did not make a sound
and tears and mucus covered my face and
sleeves because father did not know
I needed the handkerchief
mother had pressed a week earlier.
At times the loss felt like an organ
one could excise with a razor.
cool. and the rest of the book was more of this, sometimes even more brilliant but the thematic feel was consistent throughout.
which i find very attractive in a poetry collection.
btw, i am suppose to upload pics of my niece but my phone uplink is not working as it should so next post then. for now, just believe me when i say she's the cutest.
***
listening to: Yes - i've seen all good people.
reading: kimiko hahn's mosquito and ant
i rarely x33 buy female poets. in fact in my entire poetry collection, there was only one. plath's ariel. i just realised that. now, or as of yesterday night, there are 2.
ran out of the house yesterday evening at about 7ish due to early break from work and boredom. (yes, i work on sat, so loser rite?) no one was free and i mean no one; gaston was supposedly zzzing at home, cy had to go to sheo's friend bday party, damien i guess was putting in quality time with prospective ball and chain, becky's not in s'pore, no answer from mat for a while (schola i guess?) carl and kelly eh... lets not go there, etc etc
so i had to go out with self. which wasn't so bad. i popped down to borders to see whether i could pick up the others in the spiderwick series, but the field guide is still the only one they had out to date so went over to the poetry section to see what would catch my eye.
i get quite robotic when it comes to buying poetry books, so in a rough sense, this was how i conducted my search yesterday night:-
insert: eric's rules on buying poetry bookies:
rule no.1: go with the familiar
which means i arrow the familiar poets first; levine, langston hughes, ted hughes, donald hall etc, so yesterday, i did just that:
- levine rejected because levine always writes like levine, after owning 4 of his books, i want the next levine to break new grounds, do something different.
- langston hughes no because ancient fuddydaddy not my taste.
- ted hughes no because the last book i bought here was ted hughes's so i wanted something different.
- donald hall's one = not strong at all. disappointed.
- semus heaney's electric light (new one i think) caught my eye. plus i dun have a heaney so mental note taken, continued with search.
rule no. 2: no anthologies
i also very rarely buy anthologies. it's the same thing why best of's and anthologies cds are not preferrable. the flavour is lost. there's no proper flow. you will never get the feel of the collection or the themes the poet wanted to portray. of the lot of anthologies i surveyed, i am only moderately inclined towards the best american poetry series and only because in that one you get the feel of the guest editor’s taste in poetry. not always good and can be quite sala one.
rule no. 3: the little things
who really has the time to rife through everything? so the cover, spine, thickness, and price will all play a little part in selection. for e.g. unless it's payday, will i shell out 33++ for a thin say maybe 70 pages book or buy the more substantial 23++ 100 odd pages one with the pretty cover and the more appealing spine? of course, all other substances within being equal, meaning both being of equal poetic strength.
rule no.4: gender
like i said i rarely buy female poets. because of a no. of reasons actually.
a) as a rule, i prefer male poets because they generally exert more self control within a poem than a female counterpart. this isn’t a blanket rule, i have read male poets more whinny than your average manja queen. but as a general rule, i have been quite accurate on this point.
b) confessional – i like reading confessional style poems to a certain extent, but if the poem requires me to upload excessive amounts of sympathy, i get irritable. as an odd observation, i find women confessionals require more sympathy from the reader than a male one. not that there are many male confessionals around. off the top of my head, lowell, carver from the borders shelves and i think that’s it.
c) topic – women have different issues. not a bad thing, and actually a very good thing (provide variety) but those issues are difficult for me to fully “get into”. sampling a range of female poets, you will find abuse a pretty common topic, then the ever popular husband/bf’s an ass because he drinks/f-s around/gambles and doesn’t care about my feeling type poem is always a feature. men tend to surprise me more topic-wise. on the flipside, male poets have a higher tendency of being banal and boring, but i always sample before i buy so i’m pretty safe from that.
i had to eat these rules yesterday for supper.
i chose kimiko hahn’s mosquito and ant over semus heaney’s electric light! sorry mr. heaney-sir, i promise next trip i will get that one without consideration, promise. ok, kimiko hahn, she’s a half-jap half americano poetess whose book is “most rigorously women-centred work to date” as it says so on its back cover. so totally unlike me to choose this.
but her writing is strong. surprisingly, i am not immediately requested to surrender my sympathies. the topics are as i expected, but such control exercised in their execution. :)
i was intrigued from the 1st poem: entitled “the razor”.
(i hope she won’t mind if i reproduced it here)
The Razor
I want to return to the moment
father and I brought the canister of mother’s ashes
to the temple in some odd shopping bag.
We then dropped off the remains
to leave for a couple slices down the block
but the reverend pull a robe
over her jeans and blouse
picked up prayer bead
and suggested which was not a question
we say a sutra. Which one was it?
I only recalled I didn’t have a tissue;
that the incense I so dislike
felt sweet wafting into my sweater
and hair; that my whole body
shook without pause
though I did not make a sound
and tears and mucus covered my face and
sleeves because father did not know
I needed the handkerchief
mother had pressed a week earlier.
At times the loss felt like an organ
one could excise with a razor.
cool. and the rest of the book was more of this, sometimes even more brilliant but the thematic feel was consistent throughout.
which i find very attractive in a poetry collection.
btw, i am suppose to upload pics of my niece but my phone uplink is not working as it should so next post then. for now, just believe me when i say she's the cutest.
***
listening to: Yes - i've seen all good people.
reading: kimiko hahn's mosquito and ant
Friday, November 04, 2005
monster. in more ways than 1.
update: am so not feeling like i was a troll. certain events have transpired that assured me that prior response to sacking member of my crew was not warranted. he came back to haunt me with small crap. ok so now i am assured that i did the right thing in sacking said person.
on the flipside, if i was sacked, i guess i would make hell for past employer too. hmmm...
present (to second) mood: confusion.... :(
add multiple rerun of the banal depression ads that for some odd reason has been plaguing my tv screen. (f-ing me for paying scv late again, i guess)
equals me feeling that day was very oddly spent.
was trawling through me poems to prep for something fun i've been planning for these few days, checking for materials that could come in handy for a remix, or just checking for me crappy grammar and i found stuff that i haven't read for ages. namely:
this, which cy slipped to santa clara review (u are too sweet to a procrastinator)
Local Birds
Arrivals from the west,
a party of egrets strapped in white,
come to perch professionally in one perfect row
on the cold railings of the local canal.
They are early today, and the tide is still up.
Even the old men with their Tai-chi music
are not here yet.
So they check their feathers and rehearse their speeches.
On the opposite bank, a gang of crows
in gleaming black jackets and hungry looks,
gather with their loudhailer cries
to hurl vulgarities at the egrets,
intent on usurping their authority.
The egrets pretend not to hear;
they know with experience,
their beaks are no less sharp.
It was hard to tell in the early light,
with the tide not fully receded yet,
but already the guppies are herding
into separate shallow pools.
You can almost swear,
every single one has a ticket and a pencil
and everyone’s ready to decide
which sides they will die for.
and this (for first fruit's upcoming improbable heroes, which has been upcoming for a long x 2million too long time.)
The Daily Train Ensemble
Mat Rock
in his army No. 3
and nothing to do
on the daily train home
can’t resist showing off
taking his air guitar
out from under his sleeves.
A touch to test the strings
a glance left to right
then it starts
he strums it for all he’s worth
like he really knows how to play.
Maybe he does.
Then one by one
his backup band always arrives on time
a standard Joe to the left
drums an even beat
on his leather briefcase.
The Janes to the right and either sides
provide the backup vocals
as they pull in their individual jackets
eyes closed, quiet lips and faded lipstick
to complete the song.
Old man John Doe right to the back
watching the full ensemble
with the “been there, done that” look
taps his stick
to check if he can still hear
notes in a comfortably bitter voice
to check if he can still sing:
“One hit wonders”
mostly to himself.
***
haha, cute. but time to change my topics to something new, am so sick of always writing the same few themes. so boring. as if being stuck in my pressure cooker job and no hols in sight isn't enough. maybe write a few happy sesame street meet power puff girls type? eh...god i hope not.
oh, i just recently had an interesting idea, delirium from fever was useful afterall. am going take some time out soon to try it out. wish self luck. as in to find excuses to "chao" work.
on a totally unrelated note: went trawling blogs again, happened on this xanga site with this x100 very cute chickedee with a extremely addictive song on her blog, i happened to be playing r.e.m's the great beyond, and her site's song just took over. not that i minded. i so want the name of the song. but .. heehee, too shy to ask, because wait she think i big buaya. :)
gaston ur assistance here is hereby requested.
***
listening to: the verve - the drugs don't work. bummer, my sin poong "may cause drowsiness" pills don't do jack! so disappointed.
reading: a brunch of things: santa clara review vol 90 no. 2 (for narcissistic reasons), selected ted hughs' poems (because i am borrowing sylvia from the video shop tomo) and the lyrics to james blunt's dreary dreary songs (because of the multiple depression ads on the telly, i figure, if u got to go, might as well go all the way!)
ps. haha, my niece just called, my dad's cooing into the phone. she's so damn adorable. next post i will put her cute pics up. (shit, am getting that settledown yesyes committment good feeling again...)
__
on the flipside, if i was sacked, i guess i would make hell for past employer too. hmmm...
present (to second) mood: confusion.... :(
add multiple rerun of the banal depression ads that for some odd reason has been plaguing my tv screen. (f-ing me for paying scv late again, i guess)
equals me feeling that day was very oddly spent.
was trawling through me poems to prep for something fun i've been planning for these few days, checking for materials that could come in handy for a remix, or just checking for me crappy grammar and i found stuff that i haven't read for ages. namely:
this, which cy slipped to santa clara review (u are too sweet to a procrastinator)
Local Birds
Arrivals from the west,
a party of egrets strapped in white,
come to perch professionally in one perfect row
on the cold railings of the local canal.
They are early today, and the tide is still up.
Even the old men with their Tai-chi music
are not here yet.
So they check their feathers and rehearse their speeches.
On the opposite bank, a gang of crows
in gleaming black jackets and hungry looks,
gather with their loudhailer cries
to hurl vulgarities at the egrets,
intent on usurping their authority.
The egrets pretend not to hear;
they know with experience,
their beaks are no less sharp.
It was hard to tell in the early light,
with the tide not fully receded yet,
but already the guppies are herding
into separate shallow pools.
You can almost swear,
every single one has a ticket and a pencil
and everyone’s ready to decide
which sides they will die for.
and this (for first fruit's upcoming improbable heroes, which has been upcoming for a long x 2million too long time.)
The Daily Train Ensemble
Mat Rock
in his army No. 3
and nothing to do
on the daily train home
can’t resist showing off
taking his air guitar
out from under his sleeves.
A touch to test the strings
a glance left to right
then it starts
he strums it for all he’s worth
like he really knows how to play.
Maybe he does.
Then one by one
his backup band always arrives on time
a standard Joe to the left
drums an even beat
on his leather briefcase.
The Janes to the right and either sides
provide the backup vocals
as they pull in their individual jackets
eyes closed, quiet lips and faded lipstick
to complete the song.
Old man John Doe right to the back
watching the full ensemble
with the “been there, done that” look
taps his stick
to check if he can still hear
notes in a comfortably bitter voice
to check if he can still sing:
“One hit wonders”
mostly to himself.
***
haha, cute. but time to change my topics to something new, am so sick of always writing the same few themes. so boring. as if being stuck in my pressure cooker job and no hols in sight isn't enough. maybe write a few happy sesame street meet power puff girls type? eh...god i hope not.
oh, i just recently had an interesting idea, delirium from fever was useful afterall. am going take some time out soon to try it out. wish self luck. as in to find excuses to "chao" work.
on a totally unrelated note: went trawling blogs again, happened on this xanga site with this x100 very cute chickedee with a extremely addictive song on her blog, i happened to be playing r.e.m's the great beyond, and her site's song just took over. not that i minded. i so want the name of the song. but .. heehee, too shy to ask, because wait she think i big buaya. :)
gaston ur assistance here is hereby requested.
***
listening to: the verve - the drugs don't work. bummer, my sin poong "may cause drowsiness" pills don't do jack! so disappointed.
reading: a brunch of things: santa clara review vol 90 no. 2 (for narcissistic reasons), selected ted hughs' poems (because i am borrowing sylvia from the video shop tomo) and the lyrics to james blunt's dreary dreary songs (because of the multiple depression ads on the telly, i figure, if u got to go, might as well go all the way!)
ps. haha, my niece just called, my dad's cooing into the phone. she's so damn adorable. next post i will put her cute pics up. (shit, am getting that settledown yesyes committment good feeling again...)
__
Thursday, November 03, 2005
ill.+high.t = delete$
f-. flu. why must i always fall ill on holidays?! it's not bleeding fair.
tues:
deliriously feverish and still insisted on going to sheo's place where cy once again took unflattering pictures of me. see his site for more hideous me. i swear that one's a doppelganger. maybe it's the rare holiday killer disease, where horrible and mysterious ailments inflict poor me during major holidays.
weds:
fever still raged within and i did the most horrible thing in my life. i sacked the guy. what is this job turning me into? of course, the professional thing is to say he deserved it. yes he does. but it doesn't lessen the guilt of turning out a guy who needs the money to feed his family. and i am the horrible horrible troll who must do it.
have been asked to speak to another potential to fill his position. nicer way to say pouching but we need men of caliber. otherwise, i might have to do the dirty work myself. hey, waaaait a minute... i am doing the dirty work myself... shit. ok, otherwise, i might have to do ALL the dirty work myself.
thurs:
today. woke up in coughing fits but was pleased to note that the fever has subsided. haha. but mother had to spoil it by nagging. shit thoughts of buying my own place again invade my mind.
d rescued me by asking me out for high tea. or that was the initial intention. went to suntec first to meet him where i bought this fantastic book:
brilliantly drawn! i like. am so getting the entire series.
high tea was confusing. went round looking for a high tea place. marina mandarin - don't have. sheranton - also don't have (but we got talking about the sweet ms heather yamy, who used to stay there, heather if on the offchance of offchances x2 million should you be able to read this, email me. :) kay?) meritus negara had but was so puny we headed for marriott. marriott had and we gorged ourselves.
okay not really becoz we have become older men with smaller stomaches. i would say we have 3 medium plates and gave up, settling on coffee and light desserts. sad for buffet standards.
to work off the food (mainly carbo) we went shopping and i made first kill with my purchase of r.e.m's best of collection, notable thing is it has a side cd containing rarities and b-sides. i love b-sides! should be fun unravelling it. but truth be told, i bought the entire 28.++ cd for the sake of one song.
everybody hurts.
d wants to compile a list of these dreary songs for his driving periods. what's his problem? he's the one getting married in may, ohhhh... maybe thats why... haha. sorrie leonie, joke la.
after that, we scored consecutive kills with our purchases even managed (me la) to slot in a little flirting with some underaged salesgirl with cute peranakan accent. her shop sells lomos! must get me lomo up again. wanna shoot some pictures!
total money wasted: a lot. :(
interestingly enough my 2nd largest purchase was the fee for the doc's who i think gave me weird medicine for my flu, i count 2 nameless fill-me-ups drugs, one from 3m pharm (not known for medicines) and one from shin poong pharm which the newbie doc (coz i have never seen him before, my regular doc, dr belinda woodworth not around) said will kindof knock me off good.
i jump at any drug that says "warning: may cause drowsiness."
since this clinic is one of princess's clients, (she sells drugs, that why i love her.) she will not be pleased that i was not dispensed one of her company's drugs.
***
listening to: r.e.m: everybody hurts - d's talking about getting the pet shop boys' compilation next. now cy will be pleased. fag music what next? spandex?
reading: arthur spiderwick's field guide to the fantastic world around you. yes, yes, yes! am so getting the whole entire series! f- harry and his pimple problems (never a fan) this is the hands down winner.
__
tues:
deliriously feverish and still insisted on going to sheo's place where cy once again took unflattering pictures of me. see his site for more hideous me. i swear that one's a doppelganger. maybe it's the rare holiday killer disease, where horrible and mysterious ailments inflict poor me during major holidays.
weds:
fever still raged within and i did the most horrible thing in my life. i sacked the guy. what is this job turning me into? of course, the professional thing is to say he deserved it. yes he does. but it doesn't lessen the guilt of turning out a guy who needs the money to feed his family. and i am the horrible horrible troll who must do it.
have been asked to speak to another potential to fill his position. nicer way to say pouching but we need men of caliber. otherwise, i might have to do the dirty work myself. hey, waaaait a minute... i am doing the dirty work myself... shit. ok, otherwise, i might have to do ALL the dirty work myself.
thurs:
today. woke up in coughing fits but was pleased to note that the fever has subsided. haha. but mother had to spoil it by nagging. shit thoughts of buying my own place again invade my mind.
d rescued me by asking me out for high tea. or that was the initial intention. went to suntec first to meet him where i bought this fantastic book:
brilliantly drawn! i like. am so getting the entire series.
high tea was confusing. went round looking for a high tea place. marina mandarin - don't have. sheranton - also don't have (but we got talking about the sweet ms heather yamy, who used to stay there, heather if on the offchance of offchances x2 million should you be able to read this, email me. :) kay?) meritus negara had but was so puny we headed for marriott. marriott had and we gorged ourselves.
okay not really becoz we have become older men with smaller stomaches. i would say we have 3 medium plates and gave up, settling on coffee and light desserts. sad for buffet standards.
to work off the food (mainly carbo) we went shopping and i made first kill with my purchase of r.e.m's best of collection, notable thing is it has a side cd containing rarities and b-sides. i love b-sides! should be fun unravelling it. but truth be told, i bought the entire 28.++ cd for the sake of one song.
everybody hurts.
d wants to compile a list of these dreary songs for his driving periods. what's his problem? he's the one getting married in may, ohhhh... maybe thats why... haha. sorrie leonie, joke la.
after that, we scored consecutive kills with our purchases even managed (me la) to slot in a little flirting with some underaged salesgirl with cute peranakan accent. her shop sells lomos! must get me lomo up again. wanna shoot some pictures!
total money wasted: a lot. :(
interestingly enough my 2nd largest purchase was the fee for the doc's who i think gave me weird medicine for my flu, i count 2 nameless fill-me-ups drugs, one from 3m pharm (not known for medicines) and one from shin poong pharm which the newbie doc (coz i have never seen him before, my regular doc, dr belinda woodworth not around) said will kindof knock me off good.
i jump at any drug that says "warning: may cause drowsiness."
since this clinic is one of princess's clients, (she sells drugs, that why i love her.) she will not be pleased that i was not dispensed one of her company's drugs.
***
listening to: r.e.m: everybody hurts - d's talking about getting the pet shop boys' compilation next. now cy will be pleased. fag music what next? spandex?
reading: arthur spiderwick's field guide to the fantastic world around you. yes, yes, yes! am so getting the whole entire series! f- harry and his pimple problems (never a fan) this is the hands down winner.
__
Monday, October 31, 2005
cowardice.
i am a coward in a hundred different ways.
on mon i will be giving the boot to one of our guys. for a hundred different infractions committed over as long as he's been with us. truly considering his attitude, his unwillingness to work with others and even to work per se, professionally, i am assured. actually, i should have done it a long time ago.
but he's pushing 50, and has 3 kids. the youngest only about 3.
god, i feel like crap.
if u ask me, i have no heart for it. but it has to be done. mondays have never been so fucky.
thurs:-
still flight 1st show. also my virgin atas type play. the outcome is expected - knocked out. gaston said i might have been snoring. eh.. in my defence, i didn't sleep the night before becoz of the office reno. and i did catch the play in rehearsal stage.
so sua kueh, did the "i was in lky's seat thing".
fri:-
i went galavanting with princess fri night. her idea. out of the blue. hmmm... :)
ah, humbug. princess is my numero tiga loose end, and is in a running battle with joys to be my longest and oldest problem. but she's a good problem. you know everyone has a someone that they hold as "the one i can never have", princess is my "one that i can never have".
i told her 14 yrs is freaking long. and she gave me that look.... silence, she was thinking, i think. so coward that i am, changed the subject and heeheehaha all was forgotten.
oh, after knowing her so long, i finally realised and confirmed that she's as commitment phobic as me. wait, come to think of it, even worse than me. haha.
sun:-
gaston: i rented initial d for fun. crap! angsty for no reason. but the jap girl... so kawaii!
alamak.
just realised that after so long i recognised the car! my shrink (i have a shrink, no lah, she my pri school classmate who just happens to be a shrink, but free consultation is a plus) has that car, she drives it for a spin with me sometimes, god it's a really dorky car!
becky, if u reading this, your daddy's car is a big deal now. haha.
re-tuned princess's poem again. had a new one, but lazy to type. maybe on deepavali.
***
This One's for You
Tap, tap.
That's me at your door. Again.
I don't have the keys anymore.
If i did, I could have let myself in,
past the whitewashed walls
scribing "I was here" in red spray
in the corner you reserved just for me.
Following the neon breadcrumbs
I tiptoed past the corridor into
the difference between yours and mine.
Somewhere in the coldest corner of your room
are my letters.
Stacked and arranged chronologically,
their lids still sealed by my tongue; mine.
There should be dead roses here,
wilting and refusing to dry; yours.
i found my bear, jammed into a cup, and forced into a smile;
you can keep that.
Much later, Heart pump, crutches,
knives of every precision;
yours, mine, his his
his.
(f-s. still not done. but me tired... sleepy time. zzz)
***
listening to : dirty harry - gorillaz
reading: selected thom gunn poems but i dunno who selected.
__
on mon i will be giving the boot to one of our guys. for a hundred different infractions committed over as long as he's been with us. truly considering his attitude, his unwillingness to work with others and even to work per se, professionally, i am assured. actually, i should have done it a long time ago.
but he's pushing 50, and has 3 kids. the youngest only about 3.
god, i feel like crap.
if u ask me, i have no heart for it. but it has to be done. mondays have never been so fucky.
thurs:-
still flight 1st show. also my virgin atas type play. the outcome is expected - knocked out. gaston said i might have been snoring. eh.. in my defence, i didn't sleep the night before becoz of the office reno. and i did catch the play in rehearsal stage.
so sua kueh, did the "i was in lky's seat thing".
fri:-
i went galavanting with princess fri night. her idea. out of the blue. hmmm... :)
ah, humbug. princess is my numero tiga loose end, and is in a running battle with joys to be my longest and oldest problem. but she's a good problem. you know everyone has a someone that they hold as "the one i can never have", princess is my "one that i can never have".
i told her 14 yrs is freaking long. and she gave me that look.... silence, she was thinking, i think. so coward that i am, changed the subject and heeheehaha all was forgotten.
oh, after knowing her so long, i finally realised and confirmed that she's as commitment phobic as me. wait, come to think of it, even worse than me. haha.
sun:-
gaston: i rented initial d for fun. crap! angsty for no reason. but the jap girl... so kawaii!
alamak.
just realised that after so long i recognised the car! my shrink (i have a shrink, no lah, she my pri school classmate who just happens to be a shrink, but free consultation is a plus) has that car, she drives it for a spin with me sometimes, god it's a really dorky car!
becky, if u reading this, your daddy's car is a big deal now. haha.
re-tuned princess's poem again. had a new one, but lazy to type. maybe on deepavali.
***
This One's for You
Tap, tap.
That's me at your door. Again.
I don't have the keys anymore.
If i did, I could have let myself in,
past the whitewashed walls
scribing "I was here" in red spray
in the corner you reserved just for me.
Following the neon breadcrumbs
I tiptoed past the corridor into
the difference between yours and mine.
Somewhere in the coldest corner of your room
are my letters.
Stacked and arranged chronologically,
their lids still sealed by my tongue; mine.
There should be dead roses here,
wilting and refusing to dry; yours.
i found my bear, jammed into a cup, and forced into a smile;
you can keep that.
Much later, Heart pump, crutches,
knives of every precision;
yours, mine, his his
his.
(f-s. still not done. but me tired... sleepy time. zzz)
***
listening to : dirty harry - gorillaz
reading: selected thom gunn poems but i dunno who selected.
__
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
cartunes.
i love songs for the road. browsing through my ipod i find many of my favourite songs to have driving (driven) related themes or subjects. e.g. bic runga's drive, aimee mann's king of the jailhouse, van morrison's ancient highway, matchbox 20's rest stop, etc etc.
major cool.
major irony too coz i dunno how to drive.
but i'm always on the road. imagine a day's schedule stretching from tuas to kallang way, from battery road to yishun, ntu to suntec. i dun really mind it all that much, i do wish s.jobs comes out with a featherweight notebook, but am not complaining about my beloved ibook.
oh, got a cool quiz from blog-surfing some young jc girl's blog (purely intellectual and curiosity motives only, mind you.) whereby you set your ipod on shuffle or your mp3 player on random and ask it the following questions (my ipod answers beneath each question):
joys emailed again today. to ask about her bills and stuff, about how i am coping with work, and where i'll be taking her when she comes back. it makes me a little eager for her to be back and it makes me miss her a little, just a wee bit. but i'm not breaking chairs and rushing to answer the email. i haven't even contemplated a reply yet. i guess given a little time, emotions can get numb.
it can only be summed up as a case of "i still miss her but i dun care anymore." it's an odd feeling.
listeningto: elton john: rocket man.
reading: jack kerouac: on the road (no la, am just re-rereading cetain parts.)
___
major cool.
major irony too coz i dunno how to drive.
but i'm always on the road. imagine a day's schedule stretching from tuas to kallang way, from battery road to yishun, ntu to suntec. i dun really mind it all that much, i do wish s.jobs comes out with a featherweight notebook, but am not complaining about my beloved ibook.
oh, got a cool quiz from blog-surfing some young jc girl's blog (purely intellectual and curiosity motives only, mind you.) whereby you set your ipod on shuffle or your mp3 player on random and ask it the following questions (my ipod answers beneath each question):
- What do you think of me?
van morrison: "you don't know me (how f-ing cool is this quiz ?! major)" - Will I have a happy life?
abba: "the visitors (cracking up)" (f-er mocking me! so cannot man.) - What do my friends really think of me?
joni mitchell: "carey" (taken out of context, could this be taken to mean that i am CARE-y?) - How can I make myself happy?
elton john: "hercules" (i.e. exercise bro.) - How can I make myself smarter?
abba: "sos" (oh. this is not looking good.) - What should I do with my life?
aimee mann: "i can't help you anymore" (f-. my ipod has given up on me!) - Can you give me some advice?
glen campbell: "by the time i get to phoenix" (so i guess i'll have to wait?) - What do you think happiness is?
matchbox 20: "you won't be mine" (meaning my ipod has decided that my non-existent love life is a dead end?) - Do you have any advice to give over the next few hours/days?
allman brothers band: "one way out" (so not good for me loh) - A song for me.
joni mitchell: "chelsea morning" (oh yeah, i do have to wake early tomorrow.) - A song for my friends.
joni mitchell: "circle game" (ha, anyone who knows this song would freak out at the coolness of my contemplative ipod) - What will tomorrow be like?
van morrison: "ancient highway" (shall take it as a sign that i shall be exiting old mandai rd off kje tomorrw. or f-, be stuck there in traffic) - What will next year be like?
kathy mccathy: "living life" (whopee! could i be facing retirement at 29? or a holiday filled 2006? am keeping all fingers crossed and double knitted) - Will I like my life?
damien rice: "cold water" (hmmm... not a good thing no?) - How will I die, I say morbidly?
beautiful south: "dream a little dream" (wooo... dying in sleep, u call that morbid?)
joys emailed again today. to ask about her bills and stuff, about how i am coping with work, and where i'll be taking her when she comes back. it makes me a little eager for her to be back and it makes me miss her a little, just a wee bit. but i'm not breaking chairs and rushing to answer the email. i haven't even contemplated a reply yet. i guess given a little time, emotions can get numb.
it can only be summed up as a case of "i still miss her but i dun care anymore." it's an odd feeling.
listeningto: elton john: rocket man.
reading: jack kerouac: on the road (no la, am just re-rereading cetain parts.)
___
Monday, October 24, 2005
insomniac.
there is cannot sleep, don't wanna sleep, and shit i can't f-ing sleep.
i am in "shit i can't f-ing sleep" mode. despite the fact, that i have to, mind, have to, wake at 5.35am to go to work tomorrow because level 37 f.x.a.p. requires my expert knowledge in visual displays. i.e. they probably broke the pin on one of them vga cables again. p.l.b.k.a.c (problem lies between keyboard and chair)
sigh sigh sigh.
am reading arthur yap's space between city trees, of the older gen, i like his works best and if he was still featured on the mentor list (nac thingy) i would so fill that application form up despite my age and go be an eager-beaver student all over again. 'sides, i look young for my age no? (actually, even i can't lie that much)
anyway, he is so damn good. the topics he focuses on are mostly very everyday things, bicycle, rain, alamak, bicycle in the rain. but it is the way he carrys it through that prevents it from becoming (and this is in MY very own opinion) a g.k.'s g.p.a. poem.
oh side track, (next time i write more on why i read a.y.) finally, the sheeps have arrived for the counting... Bah-HAHA.. one! one bloody sheep. Bah-haha! two, two bloody sheep! three, three chio marys with them little lambs! ... Bah-haha! (sheep has its perks.)
leave the .05 of you with yet another unfinished poem.
***
For the Boy
An exercise book prostrates itself
quietly on the coffee table top
accompanied by a lone pencil;
blunt from overuse,
tired from spelling out
far too many characters
and the entire weight of one boy’s head.
The cake is cold. You could blame the icing,
Even with the fat birthday candles
lit
and all the others wrapped and
huddled together,
the warmth could not bear the wait.
The boy stands to earn a new bicycle
if he passes. The room if he fails.
Two pens hang by the edge of the dining table;
one blue, one red.
The papers are ready.
***
listening to: danny boy - eva cassidy
reading : arthur yap, as above.
i am in "shit i can't f-ing sleep" mode. despite the fact, that i have to, mind, have to, wake at 5.35am to go to work tomorrow because level 37 f.x.a.p. requires my expert knowledge in visual displays. i.e. they probably broke the pin on one of them vga cables again. p.l.b.k.a.c (problem lies between keyboard and chair)
sigh sigh sigh.
am reading arthur yap's space between city trees, of the older gen, i like his works best and if he was still featured on the mentor list (nac thingy) i would so fill that application form up despite my age and go be an eager-beaver student all over again. 'sides, i look young for my age no? (actually, even i can't lie that much)
anyway, he is so damn good. the topics he focuses on are mostly very everyday things, bicycle, rain, alamak, bicycle in the rain. but it is the way he carrys it through that prevents it from becoming (and this is in MY very own opinion) a g.k.'s g.p.a. poem.
oh side track, (next time i write more on why i read a.y.) finally, the sheeps have arrived for the counting... Bah-HAHA.. one! one bloody sheep. Bah-haha! two, two bloody sheep! three, three chio marys with them little lambs! ... Bah-haha! (sheep has its perks.)
leave the .05 of you with yet another unfinished poem.
***
For the Boy
An exercise book prostrates itself
quietly on the coffee table top
accompanied by a lone pencil;
blunt from overuse,
tired from spelling out
far too many characters
and the entire weight of one boy’s head.
The cake is cold. You could blame the icing,
Even with the fat birthday candles
lit
and all the others wrapped and
huddled together,
the warmth could not bear the wait.
The boy stands to earn a new bicycle
if he passes. The room if he fails.
Two pens hang by the edge of the dining table;
one blue, one red.
The papers are ready.
***
listening to: danny boy - eva cassidy
reading : arthur yap, as above.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
innovations.
3 f-ing tiring days, a whole shitload of dust, and all we have to show for it is a brand new floor (laminate), a labyrinth of store racks, white walls instead of blue walls and new lights for the office area. Oh and from the depths of the store, we managed to unearth the exhaust pipe of a motorcycle, brand new some more.
so confess now, yee tenants new and old of 0405, who killed the bloody motorcyclist?
actually, come to think about it, it's quite alot of shit done up.
the work is not yet done. f-! have to now drag self to office to play aunt and clean the floor. i know there was something fishy about undertaking a renovation of the office, and thinkin we could be supermen and clear it in 3 days max, even with the taxing av/lg schedule going on at the same thing.
f-. why did i agree to this?
oh yeah, i remember now. moola.
as a fledgling av co. (3-4 yrs is babyhood in the av industry) we got to stay lean, keep cost down and innovate as much as we can. even at the expense of our own bodies. sometimes. so i guess it's late nights for the next few f-ing days. at least the office looks so damn pretty now i am tempted to buy low tables and have everyone work on the floor.
oh, as a reward, we officially christened the floor with samy's remarkable masala chicken, eaten malay style. highlight of yesterday.
earlier yesterday, while in the cab, as a laugh and to keep me spirits up, i wrote a little piece for princess, whom i think is fuming at me for lying to her about joining her company. haha, deal with it, princess. :)
***
This One's for You
Tap, tap.
That's me knocking at your door.
Of course, it isn't mine.
I don't have the keys to it anymore.
(Letterbox, check the letterbox)
Otherwise, I would have let myself in,
past the whitewashed walls (new) into
the difference between yours and mine.
Letters, their lids still sealed by my tongue; mine.
Roses, wilting and refusing to dry; yours.
A bear, squeezed into a cup so hard, he had to smile;
you can keep that.
Heart pump, crutches, knives of every precision;
yours, mine, his his his.
***
ok, stop here. finish it later or i'll fool with it some more later. i got to vamoosh, or i'll never finish.
Listening to: burning down the spark - nancy sinatra. how noir.
reading: ultramarine - raymond carver. simply beautiful. here is (was) a poet who could transverse 2 mediums effortlessly, read his short stories, they read like poems. read his poems, they tell his stories. the thing about carver, he is confessional, but never pathetic.
cy would tell u, i am not a real large fan of confessionals, but i'll add this, i love reading the good ones.
i think too many locals write confessions to the point of exhausting literary truths. i read so many that exist solely on the sympathy of the readers. thats sad, as readers we are not obliged to offer our sympathies unless u give strong reasons.
like this local poet wannabe once said (never met the fellow, but from his writings, i've already decided i dun like him, but on this one point, i must agree with him) the thing about literary truths is that they are immensely boring.
carver is never boring. he might overextend himself, but thats the fun of carver, he pushes the line between sentimental and pathetic and somehow, manages to get away with it.
brilliant.
too bad he dead now. sigh.
so confess now, yee tenants new and old of 0405, who killed the bloody motorcyclist?
actually, come to think about it, it's quite alot of shit done up.
the work is not yet done. f-! have to now drag self to office to play aunt and clean the floor. i know there was something fishy about undertaking a renovation of the office, and thinkin we could be supermen and clear it in 3 days max, even with the taxing av/lg schedule going on at the same thing.
f-. why did i agree to this?
oh yeah, i remember now. moola.
as a fledgling av co. (3-4 yrs is babyhood in the av industry) we got to stay lean, keep cost down and innovate as much as we can. even at the expense of our own bodies. sometimes. so i guess it's late nights for the next few f-ing days. at least the office looks so damn pretty now i am tempted to buy low tables and have everyone work on the floor.
oh, as a reward, we officially christened the floor with samy's remarkable masala chicken, eaten malay style. highlight of yesterday.
earlier yesterday, while in the cab, as a laugh and to keep me spirits up, i wrote a little piece for princess, whom i think is fuming at me for lying to her about joining her company. haha, deal with it, princess. :)
***
This One's for You
Tap, tap.
That's me knocking at your door.
Of course, it isn't mine.
I don't have the keys to it anymore.
(Letterbox, check the letterbox)
Otherwise, I would have let myself in,
past the whitewashed walls (new) into
the difference between yours and mine.
Letters, their lids still sealed by my tongue; mine.
Roses, wilting and refusing to dry; yours.
A bear, squeezed into a cup so hard, he had to smile;
you can keep that.
Heart pump, crutches, knives of every precision;
yours, mine, his his his.
***
ok, stop here. finish it later or i'll fool with it some more later. i got to vamoosh, or i'll never finish.
Listening to: burning down the spark - nancy sinatra. how noir.
reading: ultramarine - raymond carver. simply beautiful. here is (was) a poet who could transverse 2 mediums effortlessly, read his short stories, they read like poems. read his poems, they tell his stories. the thing about carver, he is confessional, but never pathetic.
cy would tell u, i am not a real large fan of confessionals, but i'll add this, i love reading the good ones.
i think too many locals write confessions to the point of exhausting literary truths. i read so many that exist solely on the sympathy of the readers. thats sad, as readers we are not obliged to offer our sympathies unless u give strong reasons.
like this local poet wannabe once said (never met the fellow, but from his writings, i've already decided i dun like him, but on this one point, i must agree with him) the thing about literary truths is that they are immensely boring.
carver is never boring. he might overextend himself, but thats the fun of carver, he pushes the line between sentimental and pathetic and somehow, manages to get away with it.
brilliant.
too bad he dead now. sigh.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
omega.
it's time to tie some loose ends.
actually, the time came, went, came back again, left a post-it, went for lunch, called back to check, left 2 phone messages and 4 emails and is currently lounging at home waiting for the call back.
but anyway, like i said, i got to tie some loose ends.
loose end satu - chris
had a talk with ave (terrence's moll) and i sense she's really been wanting to ask me about this for a long long time, so since we bumped into each other today, she finally asked that question: what did I do to chris?
actually the answer is nothing. which is true. in a bad, shun all contact, avoid all calls kind of way. hey, dun judge me kay? i have my mistakes too u know. (and quite a bit, i must say) anyway i've been feeling guilty about her for the longest time now.
i met chris again recently. like in august. she's got short hair, angel tattoo (or wings) on lower back, that tan that she always had, i think on her way to gym. i wasn't surprised that my colleagues looked stunned and described her as hot. (i can't see her that way) so anyway, i was supposed to call her coz we were both in a rush to get somewhere. i said yeah, i'll call, it's the same number right? yeah i'll call.
of course, i forgot to. (not on purpose)
i emailed her yesterday. got an immediate reply. she's in melbourne. why? i dunno. and her friendster status went back to single. but whatever happens, i will, find a way to say sorry to her and be decent to her.
fine, some part of it is a selfish thing; i wanna get rid of my guilt, but at least it's some kind of closure right?
loose end duo - b.
this is harder. like end of the world harder. am gonna start by deleting her number from my handphone contact. yeah, like right now... so here goes!
...
...
...
...
eh... maybe tomorrow?
loose end tiga, hey come to think of it, i got a shitload of loose ends. no matter, i shall clear them one at a time.
wish me luck.
***
listening to: feel flows - beach boys. really. am into nostalgia.
reading: lawrence durrell's prospero's cell. it's a scenery descriptive, nothing more, but he has such a flowery way of writing, it's attractively hard to read, yet you wanna keep going over those same lines.
actually, the time came, went, came back again, left a post-it, went for lunch, called back to check, left 2 phone messages and 4 emails and is currently lounging at home waiting for the call back.
but anyway, like i said, i got to tie some loose ends.
loose end satu - chris
had a talk with ave (terrence's moll) and i sense she's really been wanting to ask me about this for a long long time, so since we bumped into each other today, she finally asked that question: what did I do to chris?
actually the answer is nothing. which is true. in a bad, shun all contact, avoid all calls kind of way. hey, dun judge me kay? i have my mistakes too u know. (and quite a bit, i must say) anyway i've been feeling guilty about her for the longest time now.
i met chris again recently. like in august. she's got short hair, angel tattoo (or wings) on lower back, that tan that she always had, i think on her way to gym. i wasn't surprised that my colleagues looked stunned and described her as hot. (i can't see her that way) so anyway, i was supposed to call her coz we were both in a rush to get somewhere. i said yeah, i'll call, it's the same number right? yeah i'll call.
of course, i forgot to. (not on purpose)
i emailed her yesterday. got an immediate reply. she's in melbourne. why? i dunno. and her friendster status went back to single. but whatever happens, i will, find a way to say sorry to her and be decent to her.
fine, some part of it is a selfish thing; i wanna get rid of my guilt, but at least it's some kind of closure right?
loose end duo - b.
this is harder. like end of the world harder. am gonna start by deleting her number from my handphone contact. yeah, like right now... so here goes!
...
...
...
...
eh... maybe tomorrow?
loose end tiga, hey come to think of it, i got a shitload of loose ends. no matter, i shall clear them one at a time.
wish me luck.
***
listening to: feel flows - beach boys. really. am into nostalgia.
reading: lawrence durrell's prospero's cell. it's a scenery descriptive, nothing more, but he has such a flowery way of writing, it's attractively hard to read, yet you wanna keep going over those same lines.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
changeling.
time for a small, little, wee change.see see. (tilt eyes 180) can right? hey, am a software retard. the fact that i have changed my template is pretty damn nbccb good already u know.
oops, so much for be nice day.
anyway, vlq has updated their masthead, (<-- ) on their website (-->) i think it's nice. so go there already. oh, did i mention i've 3 poems on it? thats me ego talking.
nuff said.
oh, some changes to the prev. post poem, cosmetics mainly.
***
For the Woman Who Draws Wings
You at your table, surrounded by jars,
wrecking yourself over these wings, building
one transparent section at a time,
with a twig of a pen,
its end bladed so sharp,
your finger supplies the ink.
despite everything, your voodoo
will never carry these through to flight.
Body-less, they will never stand
against the wind.
They will spend their strength here, protesting
in weak flaps, grounded in plain paper.
Something within their skeletal
torment must give you pleasure.
***
listeningto: abba. yes seriously, abba. no really, abba.
reading: jim carroll, fear of dreaming. on a 1-10 for imagery, 11. on a 1-10 for readability, 5.
___
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
immitis.
early days off work always gets me thinking. maybe i am turning into a stern fellow. the phone can't stop ringing, it doesn't understand that i am off work now and it should stop with the work related talk.
poor gem.
i really pushed her buttons. she changed her tone half-way through the conversation. but i really wasn't in the mood to discuss the buying preference of the hospital people.
i think i am becoming a meaner person and somehow that saddens me. i snap easy these days. and i am not so flexible when talking to people; yes is yes, no is no. i prefer the younger less experienced me without the big ego, that was willing to learn and willing to swallow pride.
i think i was happier too. poorer no doubt but way happier.
new random resolution: being nice. regardless, whether it's my fault or their fault, i'll be nice and accomodating but firm. today is be-nice day.
start by calling gem later to apologise.
anyway, was spacing out during work earlier yesterday and wrote this:
***
For the Woman Who Draws Wings
I imagine you at your table, surrounded by jars,
wrecking yourself over the carcass of these wings, building
transparent sections one at a time,
with that twig of a pen,
its end cut so sharp
your finger supplies the ink.
In spite of this, your voodoo
will never carry these into flight.
Body-less, they will not stand
against the wind
and will spend their strength here, protesting
in weak flaps, grounded in plain paper.
Something within their skeletal
torment must give you pleasure.
poor gem.
i really pushed her buttons. she changed her tone half-way through the conversation. but i really wasn't in the mood to discuss the buying preference of the hospital people.
i think i am becoming a meaner person and somehow that saddens me. i snap easy these days. and i am not so flexible when talking to people; yes is yes, no is no. i prefer the younger less experienced me without the big ego, that was willing to learn and willing to swallow pride.
i think i was happier too. poorer no doubt but way happier.
new random resolution: being nice. regardless, whether it's my fault or their fault, i'll be nice and accomodating but firm. today is be-nice day.
start by calling gem later to apologise.
anyway, was spacing out during work earlier yesterday and wrote this:
***
For the Woman Who Draws Wings
I imagine you at your table, surrounded by jars,
wrecking yourself over the carcass of these wings, building
transparent sections one at a time,
with that twig of a pen,
its end cut so sharp
your finger supplies the ink.
In spite of this, your voodoo
will never carry these into flight.
Body-less, they will not stand
against the wind
and will spend their strength here, protesting
in weak flaps, grounded in plain paper.
Something within their skeletal
torment must give you pleasure.
Monday, October 17, 2005
intro.con'td.
i am writing this through the compose function of blogger which i find rather fascinating. yeah, yeah, sua ku, i know i know, but when u have been using safari for 3 months without the ability to do stuff on it, switching to firefox seems like that smart and fun thing that i should have done way earlier.
which of course explains why this post looks a tad odd.
anyway, back to my superfriends thingy i was playing with: so in order of appearance within this blog, the characters are:
cy, d. and current applicant: see last last post (the one with the pic)
b.
real name: cannot say. restraining order.
occupation: student, tormentor of hearts
alliance: none. am barred from approaching within 10 metres of her now-happy life.
power: ability to wrench heart from my person + the ability of not returning above mentioned heart back to owner. = subpower to be able to enter my thoughts frequently throughout the day.
subnote: missing: self's heart, if found, kindly glue back parts before returning. oh and wash your hands please.
sheo
real name: sheo something something indian
occupation: edb guppy, eh... i meant yuppie.
alliance: cy's special fren. " "s to be used liberally.
power: those eyes! those eyes! ahhhhhh! .... medusa also no fight.
other powers: unerring ability to like the most gut-wrenching, brain-wrecking movies. case in point, it was recently rumoured that he chose the myth over corpse bride. known victims are still reeling.
intestinals
real name: richard chua
occupation: artistic bum. no la, playwright la, actor lah. drama-mama
alliance: cy, sheo, wilson, + other artistic types
power: richard's intestines have attained self-awareness. they have penetrated his brain and now control every aspect of his daily routine. be afraid, they know qinggong!!!!
gaston
real name: gaston something
occupation: cao armyboy
alliance: aunt cy's mentee, friend to known hottie.
power: none, he's disarmingly normal. rumours exist that he is able to sweep women off feet easily, i have tossed a couple of test subject his way hoping to see this performed, meanwhile i wait earnestly.
ok in a nutshell these are the folk who have appeared here. any questions? no? then i'm off to work.
***
listening to: one last love song - beautiful south, parody, parody parody.
reading: worknotes and whathaveyous, in preparation for a paperwork heavy day. sigh.
which of course explains why this post looks a tad odd.
anyway, back to my superfriends thingy i was playing with: so in order of appearance within this blog, the characters are:
cy, d. and current applicant: see last last post (the one with the pic)
b.
real name: cannot say. restraining order.
occupation: student, tormentor of hearts
alliance: none. am barred from approaching within 10 metres of her now-happy life.
power: ability to wrench heart from my person + the ability of not returning above mentioned heart back to owner. = subpower to be able to enter my thoughts frequently throughout the day.
subnote: missing: self's heart, if found, kindly glue back parts before returning. oh and wash your hands please.
sheo
real name: sheo something something indian
occupation: edb guppy, eh... i meant yuppie.
alliance: cy's special fren. " "s to be used liberally.
power: those eyes! those eyes! ahhhhhh! .... medusa also no fight.
other powers: unerring ability to like the most gut-wrenching, brain-wrecking movies. case in point, it was recently rumoured that he chose the myth over corpse bride. known victims are still reeling.
intestinals
real name: richard chua
occupation: artistic bum. no la, playwright la, actor lah. drama-mama
alliance: cy, sheo, wilson, + other artistic types
power: richard's intestines have attained self-awareness. they have penetrated his brain and now control every aspect of his daily routine. be afraid, they know qinggong!!!!
gaston
real name: gaston something
occupation: cao armyboy
alliance: aunt cy's mentee, friend to known hottie.
power: none, he's disarmingly normal. rumours exist that he is able to sweep women off feet easily, i have tossed a couple of test subject his way hoping to see this performed, meanwhile i wait earnestly.
ok in a nutshell these are the folk who have appeared here. any questions? no? then i'm off to work.
***
listening to: one last love song - beautiful south, parody, parody parody.
reading: worknotes and whathaveyous, in preparation for a paperwork heavy day. sigh.
Sunday, October 16, 2005
note2.
wow, hsin min is fast. he just emailed me about using matching talismans for oct qlrs about 2 days ago and then pop comes his update on qlrs.
anyway, so qlrs has put up one of my poems. it's on the right. i think way more people read qlrs than this blog, but my ego says let's get them all, so anyway go click and read it.
***
listening to: i heard simply red during dinner today.
reading: simon perchik - salt of the earth type but his middle poem in vlq surprises, by being so tender. it is a welcome variation of his style. excellent.
***
anyway, so qlrs has put up one of my poems. it's on the right. i think way more people read qlrs than this blog, but my ego says let's get them all, so anyway go click and read it.
***
listening to: i heard simply red during dinner today.
reading: simon perchik - salt of the earth type but his middle poem in vlq surprises, by being so tender. it is a welcome variation of his style. excellent.
***
pic+intro.
by hd connelly.
the picture which accompanied my poems on vlq. i think it's nice. no?
incidentally, tis the very first time i put up pics, because, i dun know how to before ma. aiyoh so malu.
have been wanting to clarify the acornyms and abbreviations that i use on me friends in this blog, but u know the drill, too lazy, why bother blah blah blah. anyway, nursing major headache right now so i think i do something constructive:
in random order:
cy
real name: cyril wong yit mun.
occupation: premier love poet of singapore, queen of perumal rd
alliances: me sec classmate
power: bitchy-est, numero uno, mouth in the east of singapore, god bless ur lifeless carcass should u be the target of his highly mobile lips. has tongue that can suddenly erupt from depth of mouth to give major lashing.
notice when viewing: it is recommended that one stay at least outside of the distance that his tongue can be extended. (i.e 6 metres) however, do note that cy has been known to jump unsuspecting victims when the mood takes him.
d.
real name: damien chew
occupation: lao-si, si-fu, tea-cher
alliance: cafe buddy, fellow "singapore-sucks" dreamer
power: grouchy man of east singapore, face can blacken within seconds. after which flowers tend to wilt when he passes.
sub-power: emo-blackmailer, eh, becoz he know a lot of me secrets hee hee.
current applicant
real name: cannot say
occupation: something related to marketing
alliance: church, current interest (i think so)
power: abilities range; quicker than quicksand unpredictability, to is she leading me on, or am i thinking to much? to blocking my ability to feel and decide.
subnote: "i dun know, how?"
... to be continued.
_____
Saturday, October 15, 2005
note.
just a short short note before i go off to the office. (eeee, office...) vlq (verse libre quarterly, or verse libre occassional which is what they call themselves now) has its newest issue out. just click vlq link to the right... yes.. it's still showing last issue's masthead, but go beyond that and u'll find this quarter's latest. which includes me. haha. i have 3 in this one. i think the picture looks so solemn. fits october but i can't place why.
______
______
Friday, October 14, 2005
readjustments.
need some mental readjustments. been blahing on women(and 1 girl) for too many posts, so i shut up now on that and write about other things.
like work.
work is crap. actually my job is pretty fun, we build visuals, as in we make the clients' presentation presentable by putting together a couple of pricey audio visual equipment. we design and built av (not adult video, but that is good too) systems for clients like fujixerox, oracle, mtv, etc etc. by and large, the work is bloody fun. requires many late nights and early mornings too, but when you're in the mood, the morning comes pretty quick.
the people are not so fun.
i just came back from the exhibition. so many many people i know and don't wanna know there. we're the new kid on the block, 4 years old, this industry is unique; it's so small and cannibalistic that everyone came from somewhere else within the industry. i.e. much poaching. i myself came from another larger outfit. so there's loads of finger pointing, tongue-wagging and crap-shitting by everyone.
i stand guilty too.
sometimes its hard to take shit lying down and like what chris one of my colleagues said, (and himself also a former bigwig of another much much much larger outfit) i know what are the wrong buttons to press in others and i must, diedie must press them. i dun disagree. i found out after 5 odd years in the industry that i actually have a foul temper and a mean streak. not a good thing. who could boast of a resignation highlighted by slamming the table on the boss?
oh god. i changed quite a bit from my patrician days.
anyway had some time to write while surveying a government project that we are currently undertaking, and reworked the old poem in the previous post. methinks this is better, what say you?
***
Luck.
Newspaper lady, a stall by the road,
hawking cigarettes under the table,
making wedding plans.
Just opposite, an anonymous accident.
Everyone stops to gawk, take numbers,
a long queue is expected at the lotteries tonight.
Where a twenty-four year old girl mans the booth,
testing surnames with her name.
Someday a winner will come to claim her hand,
with a smile.
There is one today; A Mr. So and so
with the bright eyes and the paid entourage.
He has the winning ticket in hand and
a suitable girl in mind.
He wonders:
"Will I be lucky tonight?"
***
listening to: random radio i think i remember hearing hootie and the blowfish.
reading: simic, walking the black cat - no one, and i mean no one can hallucinate as well as simic. brilliant.
p.s. the imagery of the fat woman with the wedding plans comes from simic's "Roach Motel": "...And a fat woman with a husky voice./She drinks gin of a bottle,/sways her hips to the radio,/Has wedding plans." of course, his' is way better, i must say.
like work.
work is crap. actually my job is pretty fun, we build visuals, as in we make the clients' presentation presentable by putting together a couple of pricey audio visual equipment. we design and built av (not adult video, but that is good too) systems for clients like fujixerox, oracle, mtv, etc etc. by and large, the work is bloody fun. requires many late nights and early mornings too, but when you're in the mood, the morning comes pretty quick.
the people are not so fun.
i just came back from the exhibition. so many many people i know and don't wanna know there. we're the new kid on the block, 4 years old, this industry is unique; it's so small and cannibalistic that everyone came from somewhere else within the industry. i.e. much poaching. i myself came from another larger outfit. so there's loads of finger pointing, tongue-wagging and crap-shitting by everyone.
i stand guilty too.
sometimes its hard to take shit lying down and like what chris one of my colleagues said, (and himself also a former bigwig of another much much much larger outfit) i know what are the wrong buttons to press in others and i must, diedie must press them. i dun disagree. i found out after 5 odd years in the industry that i actually have a foul temper and a mean streak. not a good thing. who could boast of a resignation highlighted by slamming the table on the boss?
oh god. i changed quite a bit from my patrician days.
anyway had some time to write while surveying a government project that we are currently undertaking, and reworked the old poem in the previous post. methinks this is better, what say you?
***
Luck.
Newspaper lady, a stall by the road,
hawking cigarettes under the table,
making wedding plans.
Just opposite, an anonymous accident.
Everyone stops to gawk, take numbers,
a long queue is expected at the lotteries tonight.
Where a twenty-four year old girl mans the booth,
testing surnames with her name.
Someday a winner will come to claim her hand,
with a smile.
There is one today; A Mr. So and so
with the bright eyes and the paid entourage.
He has the winning ticket in hand and
a suitable girl in mind.
He wonders:
"Will I be lucky tonight?"
***
listening to: random radio i think i remember hearing hootie and the blowfish.
reading: simic, walking the black cat - no one, and i mean no one can hallucinate as well as simic. brilliant.
p.s. the imagery of the fat woman with the wedding plans comes from simic's "Roach Motel": "...And a fat woman with a husky voice./She drinks gin of a bottle,/sways her hips to the radio,/Has wedding plans." of course, his' is way better, i must say.
chance.
here, here an odd odd day. (tues)
what are the chances? meeting 3 people in quick sucession whom i should have had small chances of meeting in a normal day? odd.
first: the lg girl
ok not so odd that i meet her, but she has switched dept and no longer has the pleasure of dealing with muy. (sigh..) still cute as hell, and cuter than hell donning glasses. shared small talk and "long-time-no-sees" with her but had to beat a hasty retreat before her colleague start teasing us again. still, wow. chance encounter because i wasnt intending on going up if not to take the demo disc from meiling (also very cute but not my type).
2nd: li lian
took my degree with her, she's joys' clone. same surname, same look, even talk the same. my introduction line to her was: "u look a lot like someone i know." at a bus stop no less. first and only girl i ever went up to introduce myself, and with that stinker of a pickup line. thinking of joys makes me do really stupid things.
she didnt recognise me even though we were face to face, i didnt pursue the matter. i guess i am a ghost in her life now. long story. still looking good though. i wonder if she has left sia?
kept wondering if this was a prelude to joys coming back.
3rd: cheryl
my worldly cousin, born a month earlier than me, looking weathered and beat. citibanker. she's been there for a while. parting words to me: "don't tell your daddy that i'm smoking!" i felt the rectangular bulge in my pocket, smiled back, and said "ok!".
have realised that i've been blahing about women for the last few blog entries, oops. hormones. tricky thing u know.
anyway, something i wrote on the subject matter a long time ago. (some changes)
****
Luck.
Fat lady by the roadside, selling papers,
hawking cigarettes under the table,
making wedding plans.
You wonder how the lucky guy looks like.
Father of two buys the papers,
he’s a whistler with a song in his mind,
as he strolls into no. 58A marked with red neon.
Someone’s gonna get lucky tonight.
Just turned 16 and on to the best JC next year,
sends her man out;
her list includes Coca Cola and
"don't forget the condoms."
With luck he won't be gone long.
The bell rings, her number is called.
the door opens, she waits with same rehearsed look.
It’s the whistler, with the papers.
Lucky me, lucky you.
***
listening to: rainnie yang going off key on the telly. but so kawaii so who cares?!
reading: gunter grass: my century. really. i try to be intellectual sometimes, am failing miserably though.
___
what are the chances? meeting 3 people in quick sucession whom i should have had small chances of meeting in a normal day? odd.
first: the lg girl
ok not so odd that i meet her, but she has switched dept and no longer has the pleasure of dealing with muy. (sigh..) still cute as hell, and cuter than hell donning glasses. shared small talk and "long-time-no-sees" with her but had to beat a hasty retreat before her colleague start teasing us again. still, wow. chance encounter because i wasnt intending on going up if not to take the demo disc from meiling (also very cute but not my type).
2nd: li lian
took my degree with her, she's joys' clone. same surname, same look, even talk the same. my introduction line to her was: "u look a lot like someone i know." at a bus stop no less. first and only girl i ever went up to introduce myself, and with that stinker of a pickup line. thinking of joys makes me do really stupid things.
she didnt recognise me even though we were face to face, i didnt pursue the matter. i guess i am a ghost in her life now. long story. still looking good though. i wonder if she has left sia?
kept wondering if this was a prelude to joys coming back.
3rd: cheryl
my worldly cousin, born a month earlier than me, looking weathered and beat. citibanker. she's been there for a while. parting words to me: "don't tell your daddy that i'm smoking!" i felt the rectangular bulge in my pocket, smiled back, and said "ok!".
have realised that i've been blahing about women for the last few blog entries, oops. hormones. tricky thing u know.
anyway, something i wrote on the subject matter a long time ago. (some changes)
****
Luck.
Fat lady by the roadside, selling papers,
hawking cigarettes under the table,
making wedding plans.
You wonder how the lucky guy looks like.
Father of two buys the papers,
he’s a whistler with a song in his mind,
as he strolls into no. 58A marked with red neon.
Someone’s gonna get lucky tonight.
Just turned 16 and on to the best JC next year,
sends her man out;
her list includes Coca Cola and
"don't forget the condoms."
With luck he won't be gone long.
The bell rings, her number is called.
the door opens, she waits with same rehearsed look.
It’s the whistler, with the papers.
Lucky me, lucky you.
***
listening to: rainnie yang going off key on the telly. but so kawaii so who cares?!
reading: gunter grass: my century. really. i try to be intellectual sometimes, am failing miserably though.
___
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
transit.
she's (joys) coming back. not for good. but in transit to genting with the parentals. on the eve of christmas eve. typically a period of reflection for muy. not just because it's a catholic holiday, but because it's company policy to be bo-chap during major holidays. i.e. cny, christmas, any holiday falling on fri or mon.
i am so totally not feeling anything joyous about her return.
i learnt the hard way the last time that expecting too much from her leads to us having our yearly bicker session. bickering through emails is so bloody sad. imagine being pissed and showing it but still having to wait a day for an equally pissed-off reply.
and reading it in the middle of a pissy day.
read some girl's blog recently about her baiting some young guy. very funny. reminded me of a poem i once wrote...
***
Race Queen
It’s you and your bored looks at the junction,
a pale temptation framed against
those lights that were left to us.
We finally have something in common;
two people waiting for something to fall.
Your companion can’t stop grinning,
has his hands chained round you,
challenging me for rights to you.
Mischievously, you blew your smoke over
as an incentive to a chase.
Then the lights dropped to green
and we lost ourselves in the distance.
Till we reached the same speed, in different cars
the fastest we could ever reach;
Mine, because it was the best I could;
His, because it was all he would.
Even then, you went faster still
till the next junction, months from now,
it is you;
in a different cut, car, driver, same look
me, in a different tie, cab, same me, still me.
***
listening to: julie delpy: je t'aime tant - just something about a chick singing in french... niccccceeeee....
reading: george mackay brown: ocean of time - sparse style, salt of the earth = excellent
___
i am so totally not feeling anything joyous about her return.
i learnt the hard way the last time that expecting too much from her leads to us having our yearly bicker session. bickering through emails is so bloody sad. imagine being pissed and showing it but still having to wait a day for an equally pissed-off reply.
and reading it in the middle of a pissy day.
read some girl's blog recently about her baiting some young guy. very funny. reminded me of a poem i once wrote...
***
Race Queen
It’s you and your bored looks at the junction,
a pale temptation framed against
those lights that were left to us.
We finally have something in common;
two people waiting for something to fall.
Your companion can’t stop grinning,
has his hands chained round you,
challenging me for rights to you.
Mischievously, you blew your smoke over
as an incentive to a chase.
Then the lights dropped to green
and we lost ourselves in the distance.
Till we reached the same speed, in different cars
the fastest we could ever reach;
Mine, because it was the best I could;
His, because it was all he would.
Even then, you went faster still
till the next junction, months from now,
it is you;
in a different cut, car, driver, same look
me, in a different tie, cab, same me, still me.
***
listening to: julie delpy: je t'aime tant - just something about a chick singing in french... niccccceeeee....
reading: george mackay brown: ocean of time - sparse style, salt of the earth = excellent
___
Monday, October 10, 2005
fire.fire.
i love playing with fire.
yesterday morning had to drag myself down to office to prep the projectiondesign (read: bloody ex. projector) for ranjit, who true to his nature played me out. again. the only cool thing about this is that i learned from ranjit (aka p.i. or pitiful idiot), that me kopitiam kaki, ranjit's trusted crony, gul is back from programming almost all of reliance india.
about damn time. must drag gul out for kopi.
having been played out, which i actually anticipated, i called mr. cyril wong yit mun, premier love-poet (they realli don't know what they were getting themselves into by calling him that) of his generation and singapore (who has requested that i not shorten his beautiful name to just cy.) for brunch.
lounged at his place with him and beng liang while we waited for gaston, sheo to come for tea. by then, had kinda figured that it would be a food-oriented sunday. i think it was when beng liang asked me straight up when i went in whether i was interested in peanut pancakes.
yada yada yada, bitch bitch bitch (actually just cyril wong yit mun) wrote something (see previous post), insult others. the drill.
beng liang took out his boots for polishing and i cringed at the sound of the kiwi tin dropping on the floor. the memories the memories!
gaston came, the topic shifted to women. cyril wong yit mun naturally wilted and turned bored.
so we went for tea and intestinals joined us. after that, i had to split to meet current applicant for dinner, she wanted to pierce her ears so i tagged along for some moral support, so cute to see her cringe in pain, expectations, expectations. literally haha.
anyway she looked kinda cute yesterday.
then she asked me "do u have a blog?" with the accusing eyes.
i was going like damn, did i write anything incriminating which she read? then answered a hesitant yes... (stretched) to which she replied that she also has a blog. (sigh of relief)
hers is on running so i told her mine is primarily focused on poetry, whilst "forgetting" to tell her there's quite a large chunk of personal info on board too.
it's not that i wanna lie to her, but i wanna keep my outlets. i did a little test yesterday so am pretty sure that based on the info she has on me it will be next to impossible for her to get the location of this blog.
i haven't figured her out yet.
give a little time.
oh, a serious subject poem which i did some work on few days back:
***
The Men I Worked With
I couldn'’t mask my fascination
at getting my first hard hat.
Despite twenty-four years of being me
I worked childishly at fitting it, right
there, in front of everybody.
He found it amusing;
one of my men, Ah Keng,
my last real roughneck. A steal
because he was too old to command his price.
Twenty years of construction,
You could see it in the man;
all rock bones and built, a gut
made of beer, polished by a combination of
sand and economic rice.
Shake his hand,
cop a feel of his sandpaper hands,
and run your fingers through his map of hidden cuts
that will never heal right.
If you want to watch him work,
keep your eyes on his boots
and how he will wear
even these new ones out,
walking on too much steel and concrete.
He'’d come to me every morning
a packet of black coffee hanging from his fingers,
a smile through teeth stained by nicotine
and roadside tar,
from a face cemented with that look
like I was the son
he raised building other people'’s houses,
on other people's wood and stone
and took through secondary school, RJC, University,
America
in that coarse accent and talk
that everyone had to learn to love.
The son that married the English girl,
The son who lives in London now.
He writes me a letter about once a month,
Ah Keng said in his defence
but they don'’t talk about women
or the money he keeps promising to send.
Anyway, you should see Ah Keng go at it.
He'’d be up a scaffold
before you can don your goggles
and cut through metal like how he eats.
You wonder what keeps him going like that
anymore.
I offered my help once
but all he wanted, was for me
to hold his hat for a little while.
***
listening to : dickie chicks - landslide: am a covert dickie chicks fan, run, the american country madness is contagious.
reading: billy colin's picnic, lighting.
__
yesterday morning had to drag myself down to office to prep the projectiondesign (read: bloody ex. projector) for ranjit, who true to his nature played me out. again. the only cool thing about this is that i learned from ranjit (aka p.i. or pitiful idiot), that me kopitiam kaki, ranjit's trusted crony, gul is back from programming almost all of reliance india.
about damn time. must drag gul out for kopi.
having been played out, which i actually anticipated, i called mr. cyril wong yit mun, premier love-poet (they realli don't know what they were getting themselves into by calling him that) of his generation and singapore (who has requested that i not shorten his beautiful name to just cy.) for brunch.
lounged at his place with him and beng liang while we waited for gaston, sheo to come for tea. by then, had kinda figured that it would be a food-oriented sunday. i think it was when beng liang asked me straight up when i went in whether i was interested in peanut pancakes.
yada yada yada, bitch bitch bitch (actually just cyril wong yit mun) wrote something (see previous post), insult others. the drill.
beng liang took out his boots for polishing and i cringed at the sound of the kiwi tin dropping on the floor. the memories the memories!
gaston came, the topic shifted to women. cyril wong yit mun naturally wilted and turned bored.
so we went for tea and intestinals joined us. after that, i had to split to meet current applicant for dinner, she wanted to pierce her ears so i tagged along for some moral support, so cute to see her cringe in pain, expectations, expectations. literally haha.
anyway she looked kinda cute yesterday.
then she asked me "do u have a blog?" with the accusing eyes.
i was going like damn, did i write anything incriminating which she read? then answered a hesitant yes... (stretched) to which she replied that she also has a blog. (sigh of relief)
hers is on running so i told her mine is primarily focused on poetry, whilst "forgetting" to tell her there's quite a large chunk of personal info on board too.
it's not that i wanna lie to her, but i wanna keep my outlets. i did a little test yesterday so am pretty sure that based on the info she has on me it will be next to impossible for her to get the location of this blog.
i haven't figured her out yet.
give a little time.
oh, a serious subject poem which i did some work on few days back:
***
The Men I Worked With
I couldn'’t mask my fascination
at getting my first hard hat.
Despite twenty-four years of being me
I worked childishly at fitting it, right
there, in front of everybody.
He found it amusing;
one of my men, Ah Keng,
my last real roughneck. A steal
because he was too old to command his price.
Twenty years of construction,
You could see it in the man;
all rock bones and built, a gut
made of beer, polished by a combination of
sand and economic rice.
Shake his hand,
cop a feel of his sandpaper hands,
and run your fingers through his map of hidden cuts
that will never heal right.
If you want to watch him work,
keep your eyes on his boots
and how he will wear
even these new ones out,
walking on too much steel and concrete.
He'’d come to me every morning
a packet of black coffee hanging from his fingers,
a smile through teeth stained by nicotine
and roadside tar,
from a face cemented with that look
like I was the son
he raised building other people'’s houses,
on other people's wood and stone
and took through secondary school, RJC, University,
America
in that coarse accent and talk
that everyone had to learn to love.
The son that married the English girl,
The son who lives in London now.
He writes me a letter about once a month,
Ah Keng said in his defence
but they don'’t talk about women
or the money he keeps promising to send.
Anyway, you should see Ah Keng go at it.
He'’d be up a scaffold
before you can don your goggles
and cut through metal like how he eats.
You wonder what keeps him going like that
anymore.
I offered my help once
but all he wanted, was for me
to hold his hat for a little while.
***
listening to : dickie chicks - landslide: am a covert dickie chicks fan, run, the american country madness is contagious.
reading: billy colin's picnic, lighting.
__
Sunday, October 09, 2005
ku-niang.
f- heavens, (blasphemy) me writings starting to sound like a ku-niang! (see fag-worthy poem below)
must be cy's fault. to counter, need presence of women (select)
pls apply if you fit the requirements:
1) cute as hell
2) shorter than me
3) cuter than hell when wearing glasses
4) very important: female (at birth and presently)
ladies, lari kuat kuat, it's for a good cause. :)
***
Fearful
of losing time over-counting
whatever I spend on you.
It will never be enough
and I will always be in debt
to someone else, somewhere else.
I have the records, itemised.
Could you pay them back?
Will you promise?
I called you
till my voice gave up and ran away,
Called you with long wires and plastic cups,
redialed, no answer.
Lover, stone woman, bitch,
names have no ill-effect on you.
I already know your reply:
I'll call you back.
Which is when exactly?
Soon
that word has become a vowel to you.
Buy, buy, buy.
***
listening to: cy bitch on the mobile
reading: james haug's poems. excellent. veri good. my kind of fellow.
__
must be cy's fault. to counter, need presence of women (select)
pls apply if you fit the requirements:
1) cute as hell
2) shorter than me
3) cuter than hell when wearing glasses
4) very important: female (at birth and presently)
ladies, lari kuat kuat, it's for a good cause. :)
***
Fearful
of losing time over-counting
whatever I spend on you.
It will never be enough
and I will always be in debt
to someone else, somewhere else.
I have the records, itemised.
Could you pay them back?
Will you promise?
I called you
till my voice gave up and ran away,
Called you with long wires and plastic cups,
redialed, no answer.
Lover, stone woman, bitch,
names have no ill-effect on you.
I already know your reply:
I'll call you back.
Which is when exactly?
Soon
that word has become a vowel to you.
Buy, buy, buy.
***
listening to: cy bitch on the mobile
reading: james haug's poems. excellent. veri good. my kind of fellow.
__
Saturday, October 08, 2005
summon-ed.
kena summon.
a good friend of mine from st pat's, ex-schoolmate, scouts, blah blah blah, has done the unthinkable. he summon-ed me to his wedding at the marina mandarin tonight. damn they are all getting themselves tied down.
first jem, now leonard, i mean its fine if it's my female friends, (coz at 28, a lot of them got them ticking clocks going at urgent speed) it's about right, mayyyybe a little late, (good and bad thing, princess might just say, oh to hell with choice and fall into me waiting arms, where she should have been all these 12 years.) but if the guys start this nonsense, then it's trouble man.
it means a couple of important things:
1) i fought me way thru that whole landslide of wedding invites from me female friends, spending a fortune on summons, only to meet head-on in this new batch of me bros getting hitched. wtf, how does a person save $ in singapore?
2) the guys are feeling that it is time. which is scary as hell.
is it time? i get the goosebumps midway whilst carrying my most adorable 18 mth, extremely precocious niece, (micky! i refused to call her by her full name, michaela) so sometimes have to transfer her back to dad while i reel from the thought of marriage and family.
on the other hand, i find myself screening potential dates with a most odd question: do i see myself marrying her? dam thinks i m nuts, but that's coming from a guy who's waist deep in marriage preparation course and on track to wed on may 2006 to princess's ex-schoolmate no less (haha a bonefide cradle-snatcher, he 35 she 28), so his comments dun count.
the people at work and the industry figure i crazy too with my catholic view on marriage and fidelity. (no no, a non-"havoc" catholic is not an oxymoron, yet) esp when i clam up when it comes to ktvs in shanghai. (lets just call it after-hours)
much to think about.
---
listening to: my mother f-ing me about me always wearing jeans.
reading: my friend's friend blog, female, very entertaining.
a good friend of mine from st pat's, ex-schoolmate, scouts, blah blah blah, has done the unthinkable. he summon-ed me to his wedding at the marina mandarin tonight. damn they are all getting themselves tied down.
first jem, now leonard, i mean its fine if it's my female friends, (coz at 28, a lot of them got them ticking clocks going at urgent speed) it's about right, mayyyybe a little late, (good and bad thing, princess might just say, oh to hell with choice and fall into me waiting arms, where she should have been all these 12 years.) but if the guys start this nonsense, then it's trouble man.
it means a couple of important things:
1) i fought me way thru that whole landslide of wedding invites from me female friends, spending a fortune on summons, only to meet head-on in this new batch of me bros getting hitched. wtf, how does a person save $ in singapore?
2) the guys are feeling that it is time. which is scary as hell.
is it time? i get the goosebumps midway whilst carrying my most adorable 18 mth, extremely precocious niece, (micky! i refused to call her by her full name, michaela) so sometimes have to transfer her back to dad while i reel from the thought of marriage and family.
on the other hand, i find myself screening potential dates with a most odd question: do i see myself marrying her? dam thinks i m nuts, but that's coming from a guy who's waist deep in marriage preparation course and on track to wed on may 2006 to princess's ex-schoolmate no less (haha a bonefide cradle-snatcher, he 35 she 28), so his comments dun count.
the people at work and the industry figure i crazy too with my catholic view on marriage and fidelity. (no no, a non-"havoc" catholic is not an oxymoron, yet) esp when i clam up when it comes to ktvs in shanghai. (lets just call it after-hours)
much to think about.
---
listening to: my mother f-ing me about me always wearing jeans.
reading: my friend's friend blog, female, very entertaining.
Friday, October 07, 2005
forgetting.
i have an odd memory. i can sometimes remember really obscure details from years and years ago, but i can forget the short term things alarmingly easily.
i had a fourth stanza for one of me work-in-progress, which i thought could be promising, but for the life of me, i can't remember how it starts.
lppl.
listening to: the citycab jingle
reading: levine's the mercy
i had a fourth stanza for one of me work-in-progress, which i thought could be promising, but for the life of me, i can't remember how it starts.
lppl.
listening to: the citycab jingle
reading: levine's the mercy
joys.
what happens when someone you absolutely adore disappoints you?
it's really a small thing. her forgetting banking administrations. but it starts you analysing. then you realise that time does changes things. she's been in aus for the last 2-3 years and you have forgotten the last remnants of how she sounds like. she's never coming back, is she? sure, you've stopped being in love with her for years now, but you never did stop caring, or so you thought, but the truth is, even that has dwindled to almost a pinch a couple of months back. all that remains is your word and what you promised. her. joy. i once told her that i would do anything to keep her happy. i was wrong.
i feel terrible that i think this way. i think it's called guilt.
i wrote this for her while she was studying in aus:
***
Thinking of You.
On impossibly blue days, with barely enough breeze
to keep this heat just right,
just enough to stay beneath
comforting.
On rainy ones, embracing coffee and cigarettes,
with all your favourite colours in pills strewn before me.
In the living room, devoid of everything that matters.
In the company of friends,
within that hollow space we keep spare,
right inside our laughter.
At sunset.
Until sunrise.
Between crowds, keeping up with names
while yours keeps barging its way through.
Between rides, entertaining myself
with slides of you, you, you.
I am scribing your name into the seats,
hoping you'll read them.
After work, in a back alley on the way
back to the usual.
After breakfast, etched on the faces
of every common girl I meet on the way to work.
All of today.
All of yesterday, the day before, tomorrow
and let's just bulk book the days after that.
Before turning off the lights
one by one.
Before kissing somebody else.
Please.
Come back. I missed you.
***
listeningto: david gray - this year's love. so i could set the mood and be all moody and grim with this gloomy song.
reading: her banking administrations
__
it's really a small thing. her forgetting banking administrations. but it starts you analysing. then you realise that time does changes things. she's been in aus for the last 2-3 years and you have forgotten the last remnants of how she sounds like. she's never coming back, is she? sure, you've stopped being in love with her for years now, but you never did stop caring, or so you thought, but the truth is, even that has dwindled to almost a pinch a couple of months back. all that remains is your word and what you promised. her. joy. i once told her that i would do anything to keep her happy. i was wrong.
i feel terrible that i think this way. i think it's called guilt.
i wrote this for her while she was studying in aus:
***
Thinking of You.
On impossibly blue days, with barely enough breeze
to keep this heat just right,
just enough to stay beneath
comforting.
On rainy ones, embracing coffee and cigarettes,
with all your favourite colours in pills strewn before me.
In the living room, devoid of everything that matters.
In the company of friends,
within that hollow space we keep spare,
right inside our laughter.
At sunset.
Until sunrise.
Between crowds, keeping up with names
while yours keeps barging its way through.
Between rides, entertaining myself
with slides of you, you, you.
I am scribing your name into the seats,
hoping you'll read them.
After work, in a back alley on the way
back to the usual.
After breakfast, etched on the faces
of every common girl I meet on the way to work.
All of today.
All of yesterday, the day before, tomorrow
and let's just bulk book the days after that.
Before turning off the lights
one by one.
Before kissing somebody else.
Please.
Come back. I missed you.
***
listeningto: david gray - this year's love. so i could set the mood and be all moody and grim with this gloomy song.
reading: her banking administrations
__
Thursday, October 06, 2005
re-attempt/s.
can't sleep.
a collection of images filling up brain. yes, all women. yes, yes, all not mine. and yes, damn.
i have to admit this, poetry is not going be a sufficient substitute. but short of everything else, it must do. here's some re-attempt at a couple i posted here (i think, lazy to check)
***
the 2 g.koh gpa-"inspired" remixes.
Husband-less (remix)
So
he is dead.
Finally
he is only
a newspaper clipping
that would yellow,
and fold away
into her routine.
At least now,
over the space
of these next few years
she could rewrite him
entirely into myth
where he is blameless
and she is his only
heroine, priestess
of his cult, loyally
tending to him
on that altar,
his 15 centimetres worth
of dead space, and totally
insensitive
to everything
she once
believed of him.
***
Strolling (remix)
Apa holds my boy’s hand
as they paddle their feet
across the start of the sea
together.
My son believes
he could staple each wave
to the sand with just a stomp
of his precious foot.
I know my father's reactions by heart.
I am his son and I laugh with
him at my boy's antics.
I hear it in the labour of his chuckles
as they drum the air.
It won’t be long now
when my son’s grip shall rival,
then exceed his,
and I shall be made
to stand there, watching
his weaken, droop,
reminding my son not to cry, and
hoping that I could bind
his existence to us
just by holding on to his hand.
***
the stinker from 2 posts prior.
***
The Test
Another unsuccessful applicant
crying in the adjacent bathroom.
Washing me
off her hands,
right now.
Any minute now,
she would slam that door.
Pity.
I fancied her.
her fragile Chinese cut and
that talcum feel,
I lost my grip
trying to slip my arms around
her schoolgirl waist,
faking laughter
as we fell.
I was fooling myself
with her hair.
Purposely short, so she could be
freed from bonds,
like yours.
That perfume;
I would have bought the same one for you.
i would have gone right there and then.
Tasting her lips,
I think I called your name
post impact.
I set this up.
Practically asked for it.
Halfway through the flight
of stairs leading up to all this,
I suspected she would excel
in the mimicry of you.
I depended on it.
***
yeah, finally sleepy. shall sleep on it, see whether tomorrow could have turned these into more stinking bastards.
reading: simic's a wedding in hell. i like his kind of evil.
listening to : the 2 grandfather clocks beat the time. believe it or not, it helps me sleep.
__
a collection of images filling up brain. yes, all women. yes, yes, all not mine. and yes, damn.
i have to admit this, poetry is not going be a sufficient substitute. but short of everything else, it must do. here's some re-attempt at a couple i posted here (i think, lazy to check)
***
the 2 g.koh gpa-"inspired" remixes.
Husband-less (remix)
So
he is dead.
Finally
he is only
a newspaper clipping
that would yellow,
and fold away
into her routine.
At least now,
over the space
of these next few years
she could rewrite him
entirely into myth
where he is blameless
and she is his only
heroine, priestess
of his cult, loyally
tending to him
on that altar,
his 15 centimetres worth
of dead space, and totally
insensitive
to everything
she once
believed of him.
***
Strolling (remix)
Apa holds my boy’s hand
as they paddle their feet
across the start of the sea
together.
My son believes
he could staple each wave
to the sand with just a stomp
of his precious foot.
I know my father's reactions by heart.
I am his son and I laugh with
him at my boy's antics.
I hear it in the labour of his chuckles
as they drum the air.
It won’t be long now
when my son’s grip shall rival,
then exceed his,
and I shall be made
to stand there, watching
his weaken, droop,
reminding my son not to cry, and
hoping that I could bind
his existence to us
just by holding on to his hand.
***
the stinker from 2 posts prior.
***
The Test
Another unsuccessful applicant
crying in the adjacent bathroom.
Washing me
off her hands,
right now.
Any minute now,
she would slam that door.
Pity.
I fancied her.
her fragile Chinese cut and
that talcum feel,
I lost my grip
trying to slip my arms around
her schoolgirl waist,
faking laughter
as we fell.
I was fooling myself
with her hair.
Purposely short, so she could be
freed from bonds,
like yours.
That perfume;
I would have bought the same one for you.
i would have gone right there and then.
Tasting her lips,
I think I called your name
post impact.
I set this up.
Practically asked for it.
Halfway through the flight
of stairs leading up to all this,
I suspected she would excel
in the mimicry of you.
I depended on it.
***
yeah, finally sleepy. shall sleep on it, see whether tomorrow could have turned these into more stinking bastards.
reading: simic's a wedding in hell. i like his kind of evil.
listening to : the 2 grandfather clocks beat the time. believe it or not, it helps me sleep.
__
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
stinker minkers.
stinkers. i wrote absolute stinkers, that last one reads really badly.
depressed.
wats worse, was caught in the after 8.30am jam at my place because i got the cab late, and because this rural ulu place has only one, one f-ing road of any use to me. ok, fine, count the tpe, two, two f-ing roads of any use to me. and i had to be there at 8.30 coz sandy needs me there to go through my invoicing.
apparently, i have a terrible habit of forgetting to invoice my clients. how embarrassing.
where do i stay? sengkang. ulu right? i can see comprehension dawning on your face. i have long abandoned riding the bus/lrt/mrt, damn the price, have been calling for my ride to work for *gasp* almost a year now.
oh, only license i have is a tv license, and even that is a “i-think-so”
i bet the jam is because they decided it was a great time to cut trees or “repair” roads. it is not f-ing moving. bad bad day.
oh. ambulance behind. hmmm.. accident. oh, eh mea culpa, mea maximus culpa?
oh, on a high note, current applicant (nothing to do with stinker poem) sms-ed me yesterday out of the blue, after disappearing for like 3 days, apologising for lack of comm. i can’t figure her, she’s a hot/cold blower. but that’s cool, i like the space. she wants dinner, i can never do weekdays, (unless she’s princess, then taking time off work is a no problemo) so i guess its sun. i haven’t gotten myself eating into her sat schedule. hmmm, shall attempt to squeeze me way in someday.
looks like the weekend has been more or less filled. sat with cy for a book launch, sun dinner with her. in between shall sandwich a couple of books. hmmm.. sleep is 2nd/3rd priority, am a late sleeper (late is 2-3am) early riser (7 on the damn dot) but take forever to warm up brain to coherence.
am gonna seek comfort in levine. (or if princess would find it in her heart to buzz me...)
depressed.
wats worse, was caught in the after 8.30am jam at my place because i got the cab late, and because this rural ulu place has only one, one f-ing road of any use to me. ok, fine, count the tpe, two, two f-ing roads of any use to me. and i had to be there at 8.30 coz sandy needs me there to go through my invoicing.
apparently, i have a terrible habit of forgetting to invoice my clients. how embarrassing.
where do i stay? sengkang. ulu right? i can see comprehension dawning on your face. i have long abandoned riding the bus/lrt/mrt, damn the price, have been calling for my ride to work for *gasp* almost a year now.
oh, only license i have is a tv license, and even that is a “i-think-so”
i bet the jam is because they decided it was a great time to cut trees or “repair” roads. it is not f-ing moving. bad bad day.
oh. ambulance behind. hmmm.. accident. oh, eh mea culpa, mea maximus culpa?
oh, on a high note, current applicant (nothing to do with stinker poem) sms-ed me yesterday out of the blue, after disappearing for like 3 days, apologising for lack of comm. i can’t figure her, she’s a hot/cold blower. but that’s cool, i like the space. she wants dinner, i can never do weekdays, (unless she’s princess, then taking time off work is a no problemo) so i guess its sun. i haven’t gotten myself eating into her sat schedule. hmmm, shall attempt to squeeze me way in someday.
looks like the weekend has been more or less filled. sat with cy for a book launch, sun dinner with her. in between shall sandwich a couple of books. hmmm.. sleep is 2nd/3rd priority, am a late sleeper (late is 2-3am) early riser (7 on the damn dot) but take forever to warm up brain to coherence.
am gonna seek comfort in levine. (or if princess would find it in her heart to buzz me...)
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
plath.
i think the first proper book of poetry i've ever read was by plath.
either plath or dylan thomas. i still like reading plath a lot, i think i got sick of dylan t really quick. i liked plath's raw feeling. the woman has talent, but it never really got a proper chance to be refined, eh u know because of erh.. the oven thingy.
i liked her insecurities, u can feel it haunting her poems, how she would be controlling the poem until a certain point then just when it gets tight, she releases a whole stream of brilliance. (doesn't work all the time though) i think it stems from how she was jealous that hughes was rightly a better poet than she ever would be. i think that jealousy helped, it fueled her writing. it may be blasphemy, but i think if she survived, she would have faded. badly.
try reading ariel and birthday letters at the same time, it's quite the one-two, like an intense male-female tennis match, but you'll see why i said ted hughes is stronger.
i mentioned before (somewhere) that her poem "The Applicant" was my personal fav of hers. the one below isn't what i would count as a remix since even the themes are different, so i guess it's an "inspired by".
****
The Test
In the adjacent bathroom;
Another unsuccessful applicant.
I believe she's crying,
washing her hands off me,
right now.
Any minute now,
she would slam that door.
Pity.
I fancied her. That talcum feel,
her fragile Chinese cut and
skin so smooth I lost my grip
slipping these hands around
her schoolgirl waist.
I remembered laughing
as we fell.
I was fooling myself with her hair.
Purposely shortened,
freed from the burden of bonds,
like yours.
That perfume,
I would have bought the same one for you.
The taste of her lips
biting my tongue,
I think I called out your name
post impact.
I know I asked for it.
Somewhere in the flight
of stairs leading up to all this,
I have already guessed that
she would excel
in the mimicry of you.
****
either plath or dylan thomas. i still like reading plath a lot, i think i got sick of dylan t really quick. i liked plath's raw feeling. the woman has talent, but it never really got a proper chance to be refined, eh u know because of erh.. the oven thingy.
i liked her insecurities, u can feel it haunting her poems, how she would be controlling the poem until a certain point then just when it gets tight, she releases a whole stream of brilliance. (doesn't work all the time though) i think it stems from how she was jealous that hughes was rightly a better poet than she ever would be. i think that jealousy helped, it fueled her writing. it may be blasphemy, but i think if she survived, she would have faded. badly.
try reading ariel and birthday letters at the same time, it's quite the one-two, like an intense male-female tennis match, but you'll see why i said ted hughes is stronger.
i mentioned before (somewhere) that her poem "The Applicant" was my personal fav of hers. the one below isn't what i would count as a remix since even the themes are different, so i guess it's an "inspired by".
****
The Test
In the adjacent bathroom;
Another unsuccessful applicant.
I believe she's crying,
washing her hands off me,
right now.
Any minute now,
she would slam that door.
Pity.
I fancied her. That talcum feel,
her fragile Chinese cut and
skin so smooth I lost my grip
slipping these hands around
her schoolgirl waist.
I remembered laughing
as we fell.
I was fooling myself with her hair.
Purposely shortened,
freed from the burden of bonds,
like yours.
That perfume,
I would have bought the same one for you.
The taste of her lips
biting my tongue,
I think I called out your name
post impact.
I know I asked for it.
Somewhere in the flight
of stairs leading up to all this,
I have already guessed that
she would excel
in the mimicry of you.
****
Monday, October 03, 2005
jambrake.
must jambrake. too much remix is screwing up brain. plus the brain pain has not subsided. the hamster one is still mind-numbingly painful, i think its hard to identify sincerely/truthfully with a hamster without finding it funny.
here's some work in progress:
****
Confessions
1. Perv
Of course I know your name.
You tagged it right
above your left breast
and let it tell.
You are the pixie pulling days
at the Penny Black
because your nights are fully booked.
You are the student packer at Borders
who confessed it down
Fantasy and Literature A to D
that you have lost it.
I am losing it, because
you are almost younger than legal
and you served me beer at Sunset Bay
in a red sleeveless with the word
Bilabong
stamped on your ass, brazen.
I wanted to make my offer,
but I guessed
you would have refused my name.
2. Priest
Father, forgive me,
I consumed the full view
of the plain thing on pew no. 10
left of sanctuary,
behind the posse of fat ladies
who feed me and
think all priests are angelic.
They believe I am staring at them
and bask in the pain of my smile,
winking me their dedications.
I'll win them no favors.
But if I could I would have
called her out from where ever I stood:
Ask her about life outside pew no. 10,
how far she goes for love,
demarcate her limitations
and what happens when she leaves
left from sanctuary.
3. 17
He broke me without ceremony there
and then at the foot of the bed
of a four by four room
on the fourth floor of a nameless hotel
someone recommended him.
Not so much the sex
or the way he tore
my skirt without formality
just the way he stares straight into me.
he offers nothing, not even his name
but days later at work, when I see him again,
a shiver between shelves
of books nobody buys to read.
I remember the silence of his sex.
Somewhere between the disapproval
of the taxi driver
who delivered us to nameless hotel no. 2
and the vampiric stab of his bite
I hear my mother repeating
"You are Catholic."
and then very little else.
****
i am obviously short a few stanzas. i am still figuring out the other characters. if u can't tell yet, the characters have to be linked together, or have relations. e.g. mother, or father.
any suggestions? taxi driver? hmmm...
listening to: ain't no sunshine by freddie king - one word: fierce.
reading: ariel by sylvia plath - and my fav feminist poem is *drum roll* "The Applicant" - good stuff.
also reading: fires by raymond carver - my fav poet, warts and all, bar none. philip levine comes a distant second.
__
here's some work in progress:
****
Confessions
1. Perv
Of course I know your name.
You tagged it right
above your left breast
and let it tell.
You are the pixie pulling days
at the Penny Black
because your nights are fully booked.
You are the student packer at Borders
who confessed it down
Fantasy and Literature A to D
that you have lost it.
I am losing it, because
you are almost younger than legal
and you served me beer at Sunset Bay
in a red sleeveless with the word
Bilabong
stamped on your ass, brazen.
I wanted to make my offer,
but I guessed
you would have refused my name.
2. Priest
Father, forgive me,
I consumed the full view
of the plain thing on pew no. 10
left of sanctuary,
behind the posse of fat ladies
who feed me and
think all priests are angelic.
They believe I am staring at them
and bask in the pain of my smile,
winking me their dedications.
I'll win them no favors.
But if I could I would have
called her out from where ever I stood:
Ask her about life outside pew no. 10,
how far she goes for love,
demarcate her limitations
and what happens when she leaves
left from sanctuary.
3. 17
He broke me without ceremony there
and then at the foot of the bed
of a four by four room
on the fourth floor of a nameless hotel
someone recommended him.
Not so much the sex
or the way he tore
my skirt without formality
just the way he stares straight into me.
he offers nothing, not even his name
but days later at work, when I see him again,
a shiver between shelves
of books nobody buys to read.
I remember the silence of his sex.
Somewhere between the disapproval
of the taxi driver
who delivered us to nameless hotel no. 2
and the vampiric stab of his bite
I hear my mother repeating
"You are Catholic."
and then very little else.
****
i am obviously short a few stanzas. i am still figuring out the other characters. if u can't tell yet, the characters have to be linked together, or have relations. e.g. mother, or father.
any suggestions? taxi driver? hmmm...
listening to: ain't no sunshine by freddie king - one word: fierce.
reading: ariel by sylvia plath - and my fav feminist poem is *drum roll* "The Applicant" - good stuff.
also reading: fires by raymond carver - my fav poet, warts and all, bar none. philip levine comes a distant second.
__
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