so i am more or less sticking to lj. 2 is too much trouble. so long blogger. eh. for now?
me - alittlebalcony.livejournal.com
listeningto: camera obscura's tears for affairs
reading: dana gioia's can poetry matter? essay
current location: where else? my other home, the bloody office.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
the uneducated me.
i discovered (actually, i discovered the discovery long x 1000 time ago, so "discovered" is salah) so anyway, i acknowledge that i am inadequately equipped to intelligently (as opposed to "dissing") appraise and appreciate a range of poetry that is beyond what i deem a modern period.
so since i have been effectively crippled (again) for the next few days, i think its high time i brush up on my donnes, shakes, chaucers, (boring, boring) miltons (fun!) frosties, as well as the pounds, eliots, audens, whitmans, i.e. most of the relevant seriouslyx10 dead white men, all of whom (with the exception of shakey, frosty, and milton), i have only made half hearted attempts at reading so that at least when an intelligent poetically inclined person swings by, i can discuss something other than :
"wow loah, her g-string can see le!"
seriously, i have restricted/slanted my reading list so much towards a select bunch of modern poets and (not so seriously) d.w.ms that i have become myopic, and have almost started regarding poetry outside of that list as irrelevant and/or obsolete or rubbish. which, of course, is so wrong.
so if there are any chiobus (i stress chiobus) with said experience in said subject, and willing to tutor me, kindly email me your application form (must attach photo). kay?
so since i have been effectively crippled (again) for the next few days, i think its high time i brush up on my donnes, shakes, chaucers, (boring, boring) miltons (fun!) frosties, as well as the pounds, eliots, audens, whitmans, i.e. most of the relevant seriouslyx10 dead white men, all of whom (with the exception of shakey, frosty, and milton), i have only made half hearted attempts at reading so that at least when an intelligent poetically inclined person swings by, i can discuss something other than :
"wow loah, her g-string can see le!"
seriously, i have restricted/slanted my reading list so much towards a select bunch of modern poets and (not so seriously) d.w.ms that i have become myopic, and have almost started regarding poetry outside of that list as irrelevant and/or obsolete or rubbish. which, of course, is so wrong.
so if there are any chiobus (i stress chiobus) with said experience in said subject, and willing to tutor me, kindly email me your application form (must attach photo). kay?
Monday, October 23, 2006
on bloom.
so i wasted the entire weekend reading essays. yes. the entire weekend. O_O am so fucking intellectual can.
anyhow, my fav ones are still those of harold bloom's. he's biased, boombastic, sarcastic, brilliant, an irrelevant dinosaur who never fails to excite. i dont always agree, but that, i think, is the point. you must make your own decisions on his opinions, but ah... the way he presents it; like he must be right because should he be wrong, the literary world will be a smaller sadder place to live in.
convincing in an evil sense. excellent.
though i cannot help but agree wholeheartedly, mind and with what little soul i possess, on this one. ;)
listening to: camera obscura - my sister's social agony
reading: thumboo on whose canon, what texts, which methods.
__
anyhow, my fav ones are still those of harold bloom's. he's biased, boombastic, sarcastic, brilliant, an irrelevant dinosaur who never fails to excite. i dont always agree, but that, i think, is the point. you must make your own decisions on his opinions, but ah... the way he presents it; like he must be right because should he be wrong, the literary world will be a smaller sadder place to live in.
convincing in an evil sense. excellent.
though i cannot help but agree wholeheartedly, mind and with what little soul i possess, on this one. ;)
listening to: camera obscura - my sister's social agony
reading: thumboo on whose canon, what texts, which methods.
__
Monday, October 02, 2006
confession. disclaimer.
i think i should say this.
if you are reading this, and are not a bot/alien/non-human of higher self consiousness, and have arrived at this site not through a random sequence of event, and believe that i am not aware of your presence...
you are so wrong. hahaha.
just thought i say it. yes. boredom strikes.
if you are reading this, and are not a bot/alien/non-human of higher self consiousness, and have arrived at this site not through a random sequence of event, and believe that i am not aware of your presence...
you are so wrong. hahaha.
just thought i say it. yes. boredom strikes.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Monday, September 18, 2006
for last last sunday.
Apart from having to severely over-work myself, resulting in major illness, (again, i am a weak child) what was left of the last weekend actually turned out pretty interesting. albeit a wee bit embarrassing.
managed to attend the big orgy of a launch at sam on sat, as usual late, which turned out to be a good thing because i missed a sizable portion of dr kk seet’s intro. small mercies. the interesting bit actually came at the end of the thing, when cy suddenly introduced me to this girl:
cy: eric, come, this is rui.
me: oh oh hi. *smile politely*
cy: this is rui. *blink blink*
then it suddenly dawned on me that this was donna’s friend. the one who informed her about the existence of my flighty butterfly poem, then tormented me by refusing to tell me who she was.
me: OHHHHH.... *blush.* *blush*
rui: *smile* *semi-snigger*
me: *embarrassed to death*
naturally, being me, i tried to explain to her that i wasnt one of those weird stalker types you see in the movies. end result: i managed to impress her with my enormous stupidity, revealed that i actually wrote 2 more poems of related subject matter, and overall, i “eh” “ah” all over.
sor fern and beng liang who were also at the scene of the crime, were rather amused by this. and subsequently got even more amused when they discovered that i wrote poetry. this despite me hanging around perumal road with all of them. i think they thought i was the handyman, despite the very glaring fact that i didnt do any handy work there at all.
was over at their new place just the other day to look at their new telly and how my guys were gonna mount up the tv. they had guests, more of sor fern’s life editors and contributors i think. beng passed me the bracket that harvey norman’s gave them for the sharp and i was surprised to see that it was a copied one of paul’s 2632 bracket (long story, but i had a part to play in the design of the original model of that line, part of the XLT 26 range) in any case, they seemed more amused of that seemingly contrasting nugget of my life, and amused themselves by introducing me to their guests as the renaissance man, who can write poetry, mount tvs, and draw detailed diagrams for bracketry. i responded by informing their guests that despite that effeminate label, i was still, definitely straight.
managed to also catch wilson’s entry for the esplanade's sparks 4 creative development programme, entitled “Deviation: Dichterliebe” last last sunday. he used my poem, “one moment” in one of the scenes, the one where he drops roses while reciting it to the audience. it is an odd feeling when someone else reads your stuff, and in that dramatic voice, it’s quite eerie. but so ego that i blushed.
go watch it when wilson presents it for the next round. he got through this round to advance to the next one. which i think gets him more funding or something.
cy got nom-ed for singapore lit prize 06, but somehow feels that he won't win. even when all the nominees are poetry books. silly boy.
in other news, princess is somewhere in russia. and i actually miss her.
managed to attend the big orgy of a launch at sam on sat, as usual late, which turned out to be a good thing because i missed a sizable portion of dr kk seet’s intro. small mercies. the interesting bit actually came at the end of the thing, when cy suddenly introduced me to this girl:
cy: eric, come, this is rui.
me: oh oh hi. *smile politely*
cy: this is rui. *blink blink*
then it suddenly dawned on me that this was donna’s friend. the one who informed her about the existence of my flighty butterfly poem, then tormented me by refusing to tell me who she was.
me: OHHHHH.... *blush.* *blush*
rui: *smile* *semi-snigger*
me: *embarrassed to death*
naturally, being me, i tried to explain to her that i wasnt one of those weird stalker types you see in the movies. end result: i managed to impress her with my enormous stupidity, revealed that i actually wrote 2 more poems of related subject matter, and overall, i “eh” “ah” all over.
sor fern and beng liang who were also at the scene of the crime, were rather amused by this. and subsequently got even more amused when they discovered that i wrote poetry. this despite me hanging around perumal road with all of them. i think they thought i was the handyman, despite the very glaring fact that i didnt do any handy work there at all.
was over at their new place just the other day to look at their new telly and how my guys were gonna mount up the tv. they had guests, more of sor fern’s life editors and contributors i think. beng passed me the bracket that harvey norman’s gave them for the sharp and i was surprised to see that it was a copied one of paul’s 2632 bracket (long story, but i had a part to play in the design of the original model of that line, part of the XLT 26 range) in any case, they seemed more amused of that seemingly contrasting nugget of my life, and amused themselves by introducing me to their guests as the renaissance man, who can write poetry, mount tvs, and draw detailed diagrams for bracketry. i responded by informing their guests that despite that effeminate label, i was still, definitely straight.
managed to also catch wilson’s entry for the esplanade's sparks 4 creative development programme, entitled “Deviation: Dichterliebe” last last sunday. he used my poem, “one moment” in one of the scenes, the one where he drops roses while reciting it to the audience. it is an odd feeling when someone else reads your stuff, and in that dramatic voice, it’s quite eerie. but so ego that i blushed.
go watch it when wilson presents it for the next round. he got through this round to advance to the next one. which i think gets him more funding or something.
cy got nom-ed for singapore lit prize 06, but somehow feels that he won't win. even when all the nominees are poetry books. silly boy.
in other news, princess is somewhere in russia. and i actually miss her.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
today took a left turn at 6.15pm from good day territory to bad day ground zero. i am reduced to grinding my teeth in the dark again and worse, i have to write a dismissal letter again for second time in my career in this company. somewhere in my head i can hear boey kim cheng murmuring about the pace of life in singapore being too fast, mixed with the lyrical tone of his classic Day of No Name. all quietly murmured out, as is the way boey k.c reads.
am now on a cab headed towards millenia tower to fire-fight a potential disastrous event, and i keep asking myself the same questions: why is everything a matter of life or death here? responsibilities and liabilities aside, must every event be stamped with the priority chop until one day this country will turn into india where every email is marked “important” and everything is labelled “urgent” until it comes to the part where they got to pay. some days i hate being me and today shouldnt have to be one of them.
edit: at freaking 2.54am in the morning
i just finished work. damn.
edit 2: at freaking 735am only a little bit later in that same morning
i just woke up. to start work again. damn.
i hope you had a bad day too.
am now on a cab headed towards millenia tower to fire-fight a potential disastrous event, and i keep asking myself the same questions: why is everything a matter of life or death here? responsibilities and liabilities aside, must every event be stamped with the priority chop until one day this country will turn into india where every email is marked “important” and everything is labelled “urgent” until it comes to the part where they got to pay. some days i hate being me and today shouldnt have to be one of them.
edit: at freaking 2.54am in the morning
i just finished work. damn.
edit 2: at freaking 735am only a little bit later in that same morning
i just woke up. to start work again. damn.
i hope you had a bad day too.
Thursday, September 07, 2006
the loss. the £$%@!!! loss.
i lost my house keys. :( worse, i lost the thumbdrive that i used as a backup file which, due to my natural stupidity, i used as my f.ing keychain, whats more this thumbdrive has information about where the f. i stay. and everything i have written since a f.ing long time ago.
and its a freaking 1 gb t.drive. :(
for prospective burglars i spit at u. i changed the lock already.
and why did i lose it? i blame it on comex, on the love of my life. and the process of buying a laptop for her. oh, when told of my loss, she offered me the use of her void deck, as a place to zzz in case my parents drive me (not the first time i lost my keys, this year) and her echoing sniggers.
methinks i am gonna hang on to the laptop for a while. let her sweat while her masters homework piles up and she has to come beg me.
of course naturally, i will give in. am a weak willed idiot.
murmur murmur....
and its a freaking 1 gb t.drive. :(
for prospective burglars i spit at u. i changed the lock already.
and why did i lose it? i blame it on comex, on the love of my life. and the process of buying a laptop for her. oh, when told of my loss, she offered me the use of her void deck, as a place to zzz in case my parents drive me (not the first time i lost my keys, this year) and her echoing sniggers.
methinks i am gonna hang on to the laptop for a while. let her sweat while her masters homework piles up and she has to come beg me.
of course naturally, i will give in. am a weak willed idiot.
murmur murmur....
Sunday, August 20, 2006
someone needs sex.
i made myself some triple layer ham sandwich just now because i'm mildly depressed and sandwiches are comforting, esp. when its gormet ham with odd names like walnut ham, pacific chicken ham, and something something sandwich ham. then to blanket the comfort, meiji plastic canister type milk.
fine, i failed at writing something which was meant to exorcise something and its pissing me off. so there, bourgeois depression. so urban nothing.
my house-hunting intentions has flared up again.
fine, i failed at writing something which was meant to exorcise something and its pissing me off. so there, bourgeois depression. so urban nothing.
my house-hunting intentions has flared up again.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Monday, August 14, 2006
insomniac2.
it's 3 freaking am.
i have a meeting at 9am. which means i have to be in at 7ish to clear a ton of work waiting for me at the office. (becoz i wasted my leave on thurs and fri, doing jack.)
i can't sleep. nabey. x100000000000000.
gonna see if reading lawrence durrell helps.
***
listeningto: SPEED! - my graduation! (hahahaa. omg. i turned into a schoolgirl.)
reading: reflections on a marine venus - lawrence durrell.
i have a meeting at 9am. which means i have to be in at 7ish to clear a ton of work waiting for me at the office. (becoz i wasted my leave on thurs and fri, doing jack.)
i can't sleep. nabey. x100000000000000.
gonna see if reading lawrence durrell helps.
***
listeningto: SPEED! - my graduation! (hahahaa. omg. i turned into a schoolgirl.)
reading: reflections on a marine venus - lawrence durrell.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
nabey, i am older than the pc.
trivia - the ibm 5150 pc, the original personal computer was launched on 12 aug 1981 which makes me nabey older than the freaking pc. so undignifying. :(
another - on one of my net-surfing/lurking trip, i reencountered one of my fav poems;
went to the library lelong sale yesterday, ended up buying a pack of harper's magazine, which is actually an interesting read. bought other odd books, fitzgerald, etc and prospero's cell by lawrence durrell, which i already own, but my heart broke to see durrell's beautiful book tossed around by peasants who cannot recognise a gem for what it is. so i bought it for 2 bucks, so sad. lawrence durrell banished to the bargain bin.
total damage - 21$, 5 for the mags, 2 for each of the books = 8 books (some i know i won't even touch, why?).
listeningto: chanchan - buena vista social club
reading: after the fires - boey kim cheng
another - on one of my net-surfing/lurking trip, i reencountered one of my fav poems;
I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself.
A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough
Without ever having felt sorry for itself.
-- D.H. Lawrence
cool huh?went to the library lelong sale yesterday, ended up buying a pack of harper's magazine, which is actually an interesting read. bought other odd books, fitzgerald, etc and prospero's cell by lawrence durrell, which i already own, but my heart broke to see durrell's beautiful book tossed around by peasants who cannot recognise a gem for what it is. so i bought it for 2 bucks, so sad. lawrence durrell banished to the bargain bin.
total damage - 21$, 5 for the mags, 2 for each of the books = 8 books (some i know i won't even touch, why?).
listeningto: chanchan - buena vista social club
reading: after the fires - boey kim cheng
Friday, August 11, 2006
ego at guardian.
was having my 1st try at fun with guardian's poetry workshop. haha. it's also the first review i've got from writing stuff eh, for some time now. and it turned out pretty well, so i'm having a big ego moment, even though it's just another poetry workshop and i shouldnt. haha.
here it is - guardian.
hmmm, not too pleased that my line spacings were altered though. eh, however, i suspect thats due to apple mail translating to outlook rather than anything else. alamak, ah f-* it la. :)
***
listening to: every mother's son - the pretenders
reading: marrying off mother and other stories - gerald durrell
here it is - guardian.
hmmm, not too pleased that my line spacings were altered though. eh, however, i suspect thats due to apple mail translating to outlook rather than anything else. alamak, ah f-* it la. :)
***
listening to: every mother's son - the pretenders
reading: marrying off mother and other stories - gerald durrell
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
anniversary.
major insomnia yesterday/this morning. finally managed to knock out at 4, which meant i woke at 1.30, blur like sotong. i thought this insomnia thing was over and done with. oh well, think i caught it from the girl who doesnt sleep (come to think of it, that she has that name, makes it poetic irony).
oh, this is an anniversary, so i've been doing this blog thing for an entire year. odd feeling annivesaries, like it's some kind of achievement, when all it proves is that something was kept up for x period of time. whether you like it or not.
went to the yishun dam yesterday. arggh the place is being ruined. there are so many initial d-wannabes there with their souped up vehicles and their obligatory lians. (not complaining about that though) though the ice-cream men there do get major business.
it amazes me that people are so bored that they'll up and go all the way to yishun dam and just hang out in large band by the side of the road, doing jack. i dun get it but i was there too, so guilty of the same.
it's a weird place. there's nothing there, but the drive there and the wide expanse of water is cool, if there are no crowd.
listeningto: touched by the sun - carly simon
reading: anxiety of influence - harold bloom
oh, this is an anniversary, so i've been doing this blog thing for an entire year. odd feeling annivesaries, like it's some kind of achievement, when all it proves is that something was kept up for x period of time. whether you like it or not.
went to the yishun dam yesterday. arggh the place is being ruined. there are so many initial d-wannabes there with their souped up vehicles and their obligatory lians. (not complaining about that though) though the ice-cream men there do get major business.
it amazes me that people are so bored that they'll up and go all the way to yishun dam and just hang out in large band by the side of the road, doing jack. i dun get it but i was there too, so guilty of the same.
it's a weird place. there's nothing there, but the drive there and the wide expanse of water is cool, if there are no crowd.
listeningto: touched by the sun - carly simon
reading: anxiety of influence - harold bloom
Monday, July 31, 2006
just write.
i am still sick. while delirious and somewhat high on the little yellow pills, i attended cy's new book launch at booksactually. managed to take a heap of photos for the day, with pretty nice candid shots i must say. (ego ego) so if u know his site, go see.
mental note to self: if sick or delirious, just shut up and look intelligent rather than embarrass self. sigh. i never learn. :(
cy's new book is so different isn't it?
oh, fyi there's another launch on the 18th of aug. at select.
***
qlrs is back up with the new issue. it is reassuring to know that it is, at least for oct, gonna carry on. it is interesting to note, that while by now everyone has put arthur yap's passing to the back of their minds, and all literary busybodies (me included/esp) were eagerly anticipating t. hsin min's reply to that newpaper writeup about qlrs, i thought it was pretty cool of him to say something about arthur yap's passing first before dealing with the writeup in a quick, short paragraph. in fact, i blush in shame.
i am in this issue of qlrs, and the latest issue of blackmail press, (sweet how they came out a day apart from each other) and i was gonna head down to the office yesterday mid-afternoon to print my latest attempts at submission for snail-mailing out, but somehow decided against it by not bringing my ibook along. procrastination has somehow gotten the best of me today. but did get some real work work done so am pretty proud of self. :) hee.
tell me something: why do you submit?
i am curious.
***
reading: rereading minsk - lavinia greenlaw
listeningto: its too late - carol king
***
mental note to self: if sick or delirious, just shut up and look intelligent rather than embarrass self. sigh. i never learn. :(
cy's new book is so different isn't it?
oh, fyi there's another launch on the 18th of aug. at select.
***
qlrs is back up with the new issue. it is reassuring to know that it is, at least for oct, gonna carry on. it is interesting to note, that while by now everyone has put arthur yap's passing to the back of their minds, and all literary busybodies (me included/esp) were eagerly anticipating t. hsin min's reply to that newpaper writeup about qlrs, i thought it was pretty cool of him to say something about arthur yap's passing first before dealing with the writeup in a quick, short paragraph. in fact, i blush in shame.
i am in this issue of qlrs, and the latest issue of blackmail press, (sweet how they came out a day apart from each other) and i was gonna head down to the office yesterday mid-afternoon to print my latest attempts at submission for snail-mailing out, but somehow decided against it by not bringing my ibook along. procrastination has somehow gotten the best of me today. but did get some real work work done so am pretty proud of self. :) hee.
tell me something: why do you submit?
i am curious.
***
reading: rereading minsk - lavinia greenlaw
listeningto: its too late - carol king
***
Monday, July 24, 2006
disrespecting the poets.
this is crap. i am crap. literally. damn stomach problem aint going away. this is ridiculous. am not suppose to get stomach crap and i am not even sure why i got stomach crap. i mean come on, i was eating everything in hcm city, even the roadside stalls with the suspect meat sandwiches (which is excellent really) and i was good. but now here i am, in spore, home and out of no where i get stomach crap.
spent entire day in toilet bombing the crap outta several major cities. for company, i dragged in mark strand's selected poems, the but anthology and billy collins' sailing alone around the room. so if you are mr. m.s. or mr. b.c. or one of the people on the but anthology (there's a pun here, but i dun wanna talk about it) and you're wondering why the day smells like crap on your end, now you know.
yesyes, i washed my hands.
i am in a bad mood and i can't sleep.
***
listening to: oh, you dun wanna hear.
reading: billy colins - sailing alone around the room.
***
spent entire day in toilet bombing the crap outta several major cities. for company, i dragged in mark strand's selected poems, the but anthology and billy collins' sailing alone around the room. so if you are mr. m.s. or mr. b.c. or one of the people on the but anthology (there's a pun here, but i dun wanna talk about it) and you're wondering why the day smells like crap on your end, now you know.
yesyes, i washed my hands.
i am in a bad mood and i can't sleep.
***
listening to: oh, you dun wanna hear.
reading: billy colins - sailing alone around the room.
***
Monday, July 17, 2006
seed reading.
got a preview of cy’s new not-yet-for-sale book, Like a Seed with its Singular Purpose, eh actually i have the whole book, hee.
its such a pretty book. not sure if ffurious did it, but i like it as compared to most of the rest of his books.
it was a quick read, plus, had to get away from the house chores, so i disappeared to the nearby 24/7 macs to devour this. it took a short while to adjust myself to the noise of mundane lians and bengs (chio tally: 1 maybe cute lian only) but i soon got into it. its so well arranged. and i think its the best one since the orbit one. its quite different but still recognisably cy.
and i shall stop here. i'll pick this up after his launch of the book at the end of the month. so go buy it once its out.
its such a pretty book. not sure if ffurious did it, but i like it as compared to most of the rest of his books.
it was a quick read, plus, had to get away from the house chores, so i disappeared to the nearby 24/7 macs to devour this. it took a short while to adjust myself to the noise of mundane lians and bengs (chio tally: 1 maybe cute lian only) but i soon got into it. its so well arranged. and i think its the best one since the orbit one. its quite different but still recognisably cy.
and i shall stop here. i'll pick this up after his launch of the book at the end of the month. so go buy it once its out.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
the death of mind fuck day
mind fuck day came and went yesterday. supposedly if i remembered right it should have been her birthday yesterday.
thats the thing though, i am starting to forget. which should be a good thing, but if i indulge myself and go right into this, i wonder, what will i be like when and if i give this hankering up? i've been a puppy for so long i forget what i am really like.
anyway, as mind fuck days go, yesterday was a non event. my eventual amnesia would make for the best birthday present she would ever want from me. but while that certainly looks promising i still have a wee bit more to go before i give up all the memories.
so for now, the best thing i could give her for yesterday, is my continued non-participation in her life.
oh, well, happy supposed birthday, b.
thats the thing though, i am starting to forget. which should be a good thing, but if i indulge myself and go right into this, i wonder, what will i be like when and if i give this hankering up? i've been a puppy for so long i forget what i am really like.
anyway, as mind fuck days go, yesterday was a non event. my eventual amnesia would make for the best birthday present she would ever want from me. but while that certainly looks promising i still have a wee bit more to go before i give up all the memories.
so for now, the best thing i could give her for yesterday, is my continued non-participation in her life.
oh, well, happy supposed birthday, b.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
chao.
whoohoo. am home. as in vietnam, ho chi minh city. oh i miss this place so much. more later. :)
edit: 9.7.2006, somewhere in substation.
finally decided to update about this trip. well for one, it was a really short trip. reached there on friday back on the sunday morning flight to singapore. basically a work trip for our new venture in vietnam and to scout the ground and see whether it was worth setting up an outpost in ho chi minh. am so gonna envy whoever we send there for the permanent posting if this venture goes through. becoz whoever it is, it can't be me! :( damn.
ho chi minh is messy. everybody who goes there will take their hat to the traffic. it was crazy ten years ago, crazy in my post army days in 2000 and still still crazy today. i have pictures somewhere in my phone. i love the craziness though. something about being born and bred in orderly singapore probably instilled this longing for a little chaos. the rest confess they can't take the weaving madness, i on the other was just getting used to it. thank god i dun drive though. the horn isnt used so much as a frustrated fist-waving tool but more as a "hey i am here" announcement speaker. everybody adjusts instantly, without checking mirrors and such. traffic there is a daily miracle.
the people are friendly. not in your face, smile because you are a tourist friendly but a genuine interest in being a nice friendly person. its not fake. that kind of friendliness is really hard to find.
i know i could so live there.
sigh. miss it so much.
oh, spied a beautiful side table i might wanna buy... hmmm...
edit: 9.7.2006, somewhere in substation.
finally decided to update about this trip. well for one, it was a really short trip. reached there on friday back on the sunday morning flight to singapore. basically a work trip for our new venture in vietnam and to scout the ground and see whether it was worth setting up an outpost in ho chi minh. am so gonna envy whoever we send there for the permanent posting if this venture goes through. becoz whoever it is, it can't be me! :( damn.
ho chi minh is messy. everybody who goes there will take their hat to the traffic. it was crazy ten years ago, crazy in my post army days in 2000 and still still crazy today. i have pictures somewhere in my phone. i love the craziness though. something about being born and bred in orderly singapore probably instilled this longing for a little chaos. the rest confess they can't take the weaving madness, i on the other was just getting used to it. thank god i dun drive though. the horn isnt used so much as a frustrated fist-waving tool but more as a "hey i am here" announcement speaker. everybody adjusts instantly, without checking mirrors and such. traffic there is a daily miracle.
the people are friendly. not in your face, smile because you are a tourist friendly but a genuine interest in being a nice friendly person. its not fake. that kind of friendliness is really hard to find.
i know i could so live there.
sigh. miss it so much.
oh, spied a beautiful side table i might wanna buy... hmmm...
Sunday, June 25, 2006
death and taxes.
i should be reading the shitload of books i bought from the states, but my attention is drawn elsewhere. specifically to raymond carver's excellent ultramarine. i like the feeling of staying home all day and not doing a single thing. well nothing except playing with my adorable niece, who has a new name for me, - big. whoa, diet time.
i should have worked on replying to the inquiry on my tax returns, esp since i was way late, and i should have sent them the "evidence" on why that lazyass (haha) of a mother, isnt working her butt off since at 60+ she's pretty "young", and more because, i think it just doesnt feel governmentally right to be claiming relief because of her.
ah i'll write them tomorrow.
which brings me to the funny story of how the guys in my office concurrently decided, 3-4 days before i flew to the states that it was the appropriate time to submit ourselves to the tax dept.
naturally we were all bloody late. dean, the guy who casually asked the rest whether we did our taxes, was pleasantly surprised that there were 3 other guys who didnt grunt back that painful yes. so he had company for that ira trip. besides that, he also had something quite like a court appointment for the non-filling of tax thingys, so he didnt really have a choice. the other 3 of us were cowed by that officially looking paper and decided that since there was company we might as well troop down together.
upon reaching there, Jon, decided he wasnt really done procrastinating, so he sat outside. dean dilligently trooped upstairs to the more severe looking office while j.s. and i, (his bosses) waved cheerfully at him, and urging him to call us, if he need bail.
we went in. confronted with the impressive looking help kiosk, i, an audio visual entreprenuer, capable of solving complex audio visual systems, and mouthing off impressive-sounding theories on light rays and colour separation, turned immediately to the middle-age admin officer standing next to the kisok and said:
"uncle, press which button?"
followed by his cheerful retort:
"this one, the one that says "press here to start".
as a cover for my dim-wittedness, i, in my most intelligent voice said:
"ooohhh, wow, high tech huh?"
looking at the other queue, J.s. was looking equally dumb-founded. (and he makes this trip each year without fail.)
we got ushered to young admin officers (possibly arts and soci or biz ad grads) who beamed at us with brilliant smiles.
mine asked me:
"you mean up till now you still havent submitted your tax details?"
from the cubicle next to us, J.s.'s voice could be heard, apparently he was asked the same question:
"thats nothing, my colleague sitting in the next cubicle, one more is outside wondering whether he filed, and another one's upstair hoping we don't have to go up to bail him out."
i smiled as sweetly as i could to the pretty lady.
****
listeningto: joni mitchell - you turn me on i am a radio
reading: carver's ultramarine
i should have worked on replying to the inquiry on my tax returns, esp since i was way late, and i should have sent them the "evidence" on why that lazyass (haha) of a mother, isnt working her butt off since at 60+ she's pretty "young", and more because, i think it just doesnt feel governmentally right to be claiming relief because of her.
ah i'll write them tomorrow.
which brings me to the funny story of how the guys in my office concurrently decided, 3-4 days before i flew to the states that it was the appropriate time to submit ourselves to the tax dept.
naturally we were all bloody late. dean, the guy who casually asked the rest whether we did our taxes, was pleasantly surprised that there were 3 other guys who didnt grunt back that painful yes. so he had company for that ira trip. besides that, he also had something quite like a court appointment for the non-filling of tax thingys, so he didnt really have a choice. the other 3 of us were cowed by that officially looking paper and decided that since there was company we might as well troop down together.
upon reaching there, Jon, decided he wasnt really done procrastinating, so he sat outside. dean dilligently trooped upstairs to the more severe looking office while j.s. and i, (his bosses) waved cheerfully at him, and urging him to call us, if he need bail.
we went in. confronted with the impressive looking help kiosk, i, an audio visual entreprenuer, capable of solving complex audio visual systems, and mouthing off impressive-sounding theories on light rays and colour separation, turned immediately to the middle-age admin officer standing next to the kisok and said:
"uncle, press which button?"
followed by his cheerful retort:
"this one, the one that says "press here to start".
as a cover for my dim-wittedness, i, in my most intelligent voice said:
"ooohhh, wow, high tech huh?"
looking at the other queue, J.s. was looking equally dumb-founded. (and he makes this trip each year without fail.)
we got ushered to young admin officers (possibly arts and soci or biz ad grads) who beamed at us with brilliant smiles.
mine asked me:
"you mean up till now you still havent submitted your tax details?"
from the cubicle next to us, J.s.'s voice could be heard, apparently he was asked the same question:
"thats nothing, my colleague sitting in the next cubicle, one more is outside wondering whether he filed, and another one's upstair hoping we don't have to go up to bail him out."
i smiled as sweetly as i could to the pretty lady.
****
listeningto: joni mitchell - you turn me on i am a radio
reading: carver's ultramarine
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
bye bye hero.
another poetic hero has passed on. arthur yap passed away in his sleep yesterday. first kunitz then yap. oh well thats life.
actually made plans with cy and gaston to go kinda pay the last respect thing today but the interview for the new guy dragged into small talk, and discussion of plans for the year ahead took too long, and by the time i was done, it was over.
i suspect i subconsciously avoid funerals and wakes. i have exceeded the total amount of fingers i have for the number of funerals and wakes i have missed.
i dont really know how to behave at a funeral. its just me, but i tend to fidget, crack jokes and smile too much. i dunno why.
when my granduncle passed away, i was the only grand-whatever who wasnt present. and i was quite sure i was his favourite. i am not making any excuses now, but i wasnt sad for his passing then (i was 14) and since i knew i couldnt behave appropriately so i figured i make an excuse for my absence..
till date, i am still fondly thought of as being filial but unfortunate.
maybe i need a new heart.
or maybe i just need to be reminded. ha.
***
listening to: the verve - the drugs don't work
reading: mark strand - selected poems
actually made plans with cy and gaston to go kinda pay the last respect thing today but the interview for the new guy dragged into small talk, and discussion of plans for the year ahead took too long, and by the time i was done, it was over.
i suspect i subconsciously avoid funerals and wakes. i have exceeded the total amount of fingers i have for the number of funerals and wakes i have missed.
i dont really know how to behave at a funeral. its just me, but i tend to fidget, crack jokes and smile too much. i dunno why.
when my granduncle passed away, i was the only grand-whatever who wasnt present. and i was quite sure i was his favourite. i am not making any excuses now, but i wasnt sad for his passing then (i was 14) and since i knew i couldnt behave appropriately so i figured i make an excuse for my absence..
till date, i am still fondly thought of as being filial but unfortunate.
maybe i need a new heart.
or maybe i just need to be reminded. ha.
***
listening to: the verve - the drugs don't work
reading: mark strand - selected poems
Friday, June 16, 2006
overbudget.
i am back. a little spaced out, a little out of touch, but back nonetheless.
america is ... weird. okay, to be fair, orlando is weird. portions of everything are ott. way over the top. save for the first day/midnite's fiasco with the service staff, the people over there are eh... more friendly than i gave them credit for.
i blame free alcohol (courtesy of the fellows from pd) and the tackiness of hooters.
managed to squeeze in a looky-look at the mall area on the last 2 days before the flight home and made the mistake of going to the barnes and noble and the fye stores.
bought:
ted kooser - delights and shadows
various old/dead people - tales before tolkien (the fantasy fan in me still alive)
nikki giovanni - blue
carl dennis - practical gods
emerson - late wife
bukowski - mockingbird, wish me luck
billy collins - sailing alone around the room
mark strand - selected poems
latest issue of the new yorker
1 x moleskin notebook
way too much anime - samurai champloo (whole set), TAG (whole set) ninja scroll, gilamesh, blood, etc etc.
oh and got dragged in to this, i went willingly, of course:
america is ... weird. okay, to be fair, orlando is weird. portions of everything are ott. way over the top. save for the first day/midnite's fiasco with the service staff, the people over there are eh... more friendly than i gave them credit for.
i blame free alcohol (courtesy of the fellows from pd) and the tackiness of hooters.
managed to squeeze in a looky-look at the mall area on the last 2 days before the flight home and made the mistake of going to the barnes and noble and the fye stores.
bought:
ted kooser - delights and shadows
various old/dead people - tales before tolkien (the fantasy fan in me still alive)
nikki giovanni - blue
carl dennis - practical gods
emerson - late wife
bukowski - mockingbird, wish me luck
billy collins - sailing alone around the room
mark strand - selected poems
latest issue of the new yorker
1 x moleskin notebook
way too much anime - samurai champloo (whole set), TAG (whole set) ninja scroll, gilamesh, blood, etc etc.
oh and got dragged in to this, i went willingly, of course:
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
sin cere.
there is something to be said about sincerity in poetry.
i think it's a "pre-"prerequisite. an over obvious pre-starting point. like a list for making fried rice would state rice, oil etc, but won't include the wok becoz it's understood. sincerity only matters if the poet is any good. becoz ultimately, almost all poetry is sincere, but it doesnt, by any stretch of will, make the poem good. in fact, sincerity is also an important ingredient in bad poetry.
i echo harold bloom's (who quoted oscar wilde) statement that sincerity isnt nearly enough to generate poems. yesyes, while as an aspirant, i may be guilty of flouting the rules (badly) sometimes, but as a reader, it is my right to claim bloom's stance.
skill/talent/meaning/execution cannot be put aside merely because we feel the poet was sincere in the protrayal of his theme (often political or with social baggage). the sincerity of his theme cannot be bigger than the rest of it or else the poem will be sunk by its ambitions.
yes, i've been reading bloom. haha. and cross referencing his introduction in best of the best american poetry (1984) where he makes a spirited rant against how people read and judge poetry by the wrong criteria.
tess gallagher says something to that effect about too many new poets using the sympathy for the tragedies in their lives as currency to buy readership. the "me-me" rant is so american.
thats what i been thinking about.
good news in the local poetry scene - excellent new entrant (well, to me new lah) in the form of a ms grace chua, the recent softblow update saw 3 interesting pieces from this lady and i must say one thing:
f-*, i was writing crap crap crap at her age. brillant stuff.
see esp. the 2nd poem, homesick. wow. nice. a simple repetitive poem, that has a banger of a closing line, an interesting progression of the repeated line with meaning and all that in 20 concise lines.
major cool.
other news: at present time, still trying to decipher american mentality. encountered something strange, why does the world's most capitalistic country have such protectionistic rules? the norway guys were trying to set up the system today at the convention hall, when a couple of them thought it be a good idea to focus the projector on their own using a ladder they borrowed from the other booth. well, end result, a $500 fine from the trade union for doing something the rigger/setup crew have to do. and they used 11 people to set up 4 parcans; 1 to each parcan, 1 to direct them from the floor, 1 to advise the guy directing them, and god knows where the rest were. talk about american efficiency. well, at least they looked garung.
and to add to last night fiasco with the room reservations, we were locked out of the room today again. apparently we weren't in the room last night, we never appeared, the receipt issued to us last night was a mysterious unexplainable event, so was how our luggage got into the room, how we somehow mysteriously got our keycards and according to the system, we didnt appear until just now when i started speaking harshly to people. however, the system did somehow remember that we had to pay for last night.
i can't remember how many times the same guy asked for our names. f-*, i thought i had bad short term memory.
and the statistics are wrong, 1 in 3 people here are not obese. 1 in 3 people here are considerably healthy. the rest are miraculously alive. i feel thin here. :) how their planes take off, and how they manage to shove their butts through the aisle i have no f-* idea, but i am impressed. diabetic medication must do well here.
***
listening to: jason mraz - geek in pink (when in rome do as the romans, when in america, pls deposit your cow senses at the customs [livestock restrictions] and it will mailed back to when you leave the country, thank you and have a nice day.)
i think it's a "pre-"prerequisite. an over obvious pre-starting point. like a list for making fried rice would state rice, oil etc, but won't include the wok becoz it's understood. sincerity only matters if the poet is any good. becoz ultimately, almost all poetry is sincere, but it doesnt, by any stretch of will, make the poem good. in fact, sincerity is also an important ingredient in bad poetry.
i echo harold bloom's (who quoted oscar wilde) statement that sincerity isnt nearly enough to generate poems. yesyes, while as an aspirant, i may be guilty of flouting the rules (badly) sometimes, but as a reader, it is my right to claim bloom's stance.
skill/talent/meaning/execution cannot be put aside merely because we feel the poet was sincere in the protrayal of his theme (often political or with social baggage). the sincerity of his theme cannot be bigger than the rest of it or else the poem will be sunk by its ambitions.
yes, i've been reading bloom. haha. and cross referencing his introduction in best of the best american poetry (1984) where he makes a spirited rant against how people read and judge poetry by the wrong criteria.
tess gallagher says something to that effect about too many new poets using the sympathy for the tragedies in their lives as currency to buy readership. the "me-me" rant is so american.
thats what i been thinking about.
good news in the local poetry scene - excellent new entrant (well, to me new lah) in the form of a ms grace chua, the recent softblow update saw 3 interesting pieces from this lady and i must say one thing:
f-*, i was writing crap crap crap at her age. brillant stuff.
see esp. the 2nd poem, homesick. wow. nice. a simple repetitive poem, that has a banger of a closing line, an interesting progression of the repeated line with meaning and all that in 20 concise lines.
major cool.
other news: at present time, still trying to decipher american mentality. encountered something strange, why does the world's most capitalistic country have such protectionistic rules? the norway guys were trying to set up the system today at the convention hall, when a couple of them thought it be a good idea to focus the projector on their own using a ladder they borrowed from the other booth. well, end result, a $500 fine from the trade union for doing something the rigger/setup crew have to do. and they used 11 people to set up 4 parcans; 1 to each parcan, 1 to direct them from the floor, 1 to advise the guy directing them, and god knows where the rest were. talk about american efficiency. well, at least they looked garung.
and to add to last night fiasco with the room reservations, we were locked out of the room today again. apparently we weren't in the room last night, we never appeared, the receipt issued to us last night was a mysterious unexplainable event, so was how our luggage got into the room, how we somehow mysteriously got our keycards and according to the system, we didnt appear until just now when i started speaking harshly to people. however, the system did somehow remember that we had to pay for last night.
i can't remember how many times the same guy asked for our names. f-*, i thought i had bad short term memory.
and the statistics are wrong, 1 in 3 people here are not obese. 1 in 3 people here are considerably healthy. the rest are miraculously alive. i feel thin here. :) how their planes take off, and how they manage to shove their butts through the aisle i have no f-* idea, but i am impressed. diabetic medication must do well here.
***
listening to: jason mraz - geek in pink (when in rome do as the romans, when in america, pls deposit your cow senses at the customs [livestock restrictions] and it will mailed back to when you leave the country, thank you and have a nice day.)
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
o.c.
ok, after a sleepless 19 hour flight, neckache, stomachache, headache, plus a 3 hour long connecting flight + distress from 20 odd screaming female high school hillbillies on what must probably be their 1st flight anywhere, a 60$S cab ride with no change back, blur as f-* front desk hotel staff, no ciggies!!! and some momentary distress in getting the internet up, bad food...
i am finally properly in orlando, orange county where i'll be till the 13th/14th before making that f-* trip back.
f-* its 3.24am. and i can't sleep. and no smokes, coz its a no smoking room and i have no ciggies!!
nabey. x 1000.
i am finally properly in orlando, orange county where i'll be till the 13th/14th before making that f-* trip back.
f-* its 3.24am. and i can't sleep. and no smokes, coz its a no smoking room and i have no ciggies!!
nabey. x 1000.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
name-dropping.
i liked this weekend. while it still had a couple of irritating phone calls from work-related parties, and though my trip to beijing is most likely cancelled, due to no sq tickets (principal vendor refuses to fly anything else) and no ready product prototype, the weekend passed rather pleasantly. for one, i managed to read quite a bit. i finished interrogation at noon and most of minsk, read bits of milosz's second space and started on carver's what we talk about when we talk about love.
whole chunks of net-poetry were devoured too. gumball poetry is back up, see them at this site. i think the concept is so sweet, imagine buying poetry in this manner. of course, being pragmatic and singaporean, cyril says it won't happen here. but i am allowed to dream about my perfect retirement bookshop now am i? which incidentally i visited. (see previous post)
read more blackmail press, the issue with cy and hsin min's stuff in it.
there's this cute hawaiian site, by the name of tinfish that's quite impressive.
stumbled onto prairie schooner. high browishly nice.
cyril sent me this sweet poem by david grubb on shadow train. excellent go google him.
didnt do much writing this weekend, but the readings more than made up for it. i think i am coming out with a list of "have to get my hands on" books, that includes poetry books by bukowski, more mark strand, the confessions by augustine, aquinas's Summa Theologica (though i just know i will fall asleep reading these 2), aurelius's meditations (who am i kidding?) and ... the entire collected works of beatrix potter regarding peter wabbit and friends. for my niece, and the not so young, leo.
i wanna do something to my room, like put my books/poetry collection in some form of order. actually quite a number of my books are in the office, freaking out visitors and staff.
went cruising the seletar reservoir area with damien and rawn, ate ice cream and before that teochew porridge. it's such a weird, relax-jack, place. wish spore island could loosen up and have more places that are just incidentally fun, rather than, all made-up and touristy. spore island needs spots for its own inhabitants too u know.
and my orlando tixs are confirmed. so i'll be flying on a jet plane (which i actually hate) a holiday disguised as work is always a beautiful thing. :)
***
reading: seamus heaney - electric light
***
whole chunks of net-poetry were devoured too. gumball poetry is back up, see them at this site. i think the concept is so sweet, imagine buying poetry in this manner. of course, being pragmatic and singaporean, cyril says it won't happen here. but i am allowed to dream about my perfect retirement bookshop now am i? which incidentally i visited. (see previous post)
read more blackmail press, the issue with cy and hsin min's stuff in it.
there's this cute hawaiian site, by the name of tinfish that's quite impressive.
stumbled onto prairie schooner. high browishly nice.
cyril sent me this sweet poem by david grubb on shadow train. excellent go google him.
didnt do much writing this weekend, but the readings more than made up for it. i think i am coming out with a list of "have to get my hands on" books, that includes poetry books by bukowski, more mark strand, the confessions by augustine, aquinas's Summa Theologica (though i just know i will fall asleep reading these 2), aurelius's meditations (who am i kidding?) and ... the entire collected works of beatrix potter regarding peter wabbit and friends. for my niece, and the not so young, leo.
i wanna do something to my room, like put my books/poetry collection in some form of order. actually quite a number of my books are in the office, freaking out visitors and staff.
went cruising the seletar reservoir area with damien and rawn, ate ice cream and before that teochew porridge. it's such a weird, relax-jack, place. wish spore island could loosen up and have more places that are just incidentally fun, rather than, all made-up and touristy. spore island needs spots for its own inhabitants too u know.
and my orlando tixs are confirmed. so i'll be flying on a jet plane (which i actually hate) a holiday disguised as work is always a beautiful thing. :)
***
reading: seamus heaney - electric light
***
week of 1sts.
a large week of firsts. whilst waiting for various members of cy-sheo large fag/queen club, (this weekend being the largest standing at a table of 8) i went roaming the silent, greater tanjong pagar area and suddenly realised that i could pop by booksactually.
now that was nerdishly exciting because i have never been to the place. so i went to consult the tanjong pagar station map, worked out the exit alphabet and then got on my way.
i wasnt disappointed.
it was open, this quaint place, up a small flight of stairs, into the brightest of lofts, open and welcome. a white place led up to by a small contingent of plastic army men. walls ringed with books and books. the old cameras and typewriters set the mood. so cool.
the books didnt disappoint, i saw charles bukowski's "the Captain Is Out To Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship", bought czelaw milosz's "Second Space", and carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love". milosz's ABC beckons... the poetry collection is acceptable, but has gaps. still many good books i would love to get me hands on.
it is a happy place. :)
go there, they close on sundays, open weekdays till sat, 11am-9pm 125A telok ayer street. i think from my conversation with the people there, one kenneth and karen, they seem to have a poetry reading every 2nd something of the month.
anyways, do go. very nice place.
after that on the way back to duxton road to meet the large band of alternative-ers i passed by
and
i remembered the last time i was there i was with b. the brain really f-s with you sometimes no?
other 1sts - 2 movies in a week, alone. both movies cannot make it. 1st milosz book, 1st time to bliss, 1st time to seriouslyseriously Indian pub (but was fun and friendly)
all in all a heady week.
***
listeningto: kansascali - if i...
reading: raymond carver - What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
now that was nerdishly exciting because i have never been to the place. so i went to consult the tanjong pagar station map, worked out the exit alphabet and then got on my way.
i wasnt disappointed.
it was open, this quaint place, up a small flight of stairs, into the brightest of lofts, open and welcome. a white place led up to by a small contingent of plastic army men. walls ringed with books and books. the old cameras and typewriters set the mood. so cool.
the books didnt disappoint, i saw charles bukowski's "the Captain Is Out To Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship", bought czelaw milosz's "Second Space", and carver's "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love". milosz's ABC beckons... the poetry collection is acceptable, but has gaps. still many good books i would love to get me hands on.
it is a happy place. :)
go there, they close on sundays, open weekdays till sat, 11am-9pm 125A telok ayer street. i think from my conversation with the people there, one kenneth and karen, they seem to have a poetry reading every 2nd something of the month.
anyways, do go. very nice place.
after that on the way back to duxton road to meet the large band of alternative-ers i passed by
and
i remembered the last time i was there i was with b. the brain really f-s with you sometimes no?
other 1sts - 2 movies in a week, alone. both movies cannot make it. 1st milosz book, 1st time to bliss, 1st time to seriouslyseriously Indian pub (but was fun and friendly)
all in all a heady week.
***
listeningto: kansascali - if i...
reading: raymond carver - What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
mea culpa.
okay, that prev. one was f-ky, so maybe this one to clear your mouth of the vomit. hahaha. as u can tell, today, i got no mood to work. :)
for Little Girls
You each have an angel to yourselves,
the sex of course, depends on your preference.
You can choose the wings too;
Small waspy ones, purely for decoration,
midsized butterfly types, out of place
and possibly too gay for flight.
Or big dumb dove wings, which take forever
to preen, but look the best on the boy
with charcoal eyes and lalang hair,
always sneaking peeks at your test scores,
as he hovers somewhere over your shoulder,
the Jack of sniggers and unkind words,
the one with whom you just know
you will grow up to marry.
**
listeningto: aimee mann - just like anyone
_
for Little Girls
You each have an angel to yourselves,
the sex of course, depends on your preference.
You can choose the wings too;
Small waspy ones, purely for decoration,
midsized butterfly types, out of place
and possibly too gay for flight.
Or big dumb dove wings, which take forever
to preen, but look the best on the boy
with charcoal eyes and lalang hair,
always sneaking peeks at your test scores,
as he hovers somewhere over your shoulder,
the Jack of sniggers and unkind words,
the one with whom you just know
you will grow up to marry.
**
listeningto: aimee mann - just like anyone
_
re-attempts at form.
got bored on a long cab ride, decide to have some half-hearted fun with form, which i have not touched for a while. oh boy. laugh it up kiddos.
***
Last Pills
Down to our last pills,
having wasted too many on getting along.
Already, we are waking,
if you won’t go for more, I will.
Possessed, dancing to our individual fill,
drunk on our nakedness, diving into the black,
in this state, even you could love me,
right down to your last pill.
Smoke grants the room a frosted feel,
like your face, towards me, in your trance.
You reach for more; nothing, you are yelling,
“Go for more! Or I will.”
I went, then carried on, going farther still,
till the urge for dancing has been filled,
when the smoke has been forcibly cleared,
right down to my last pill
after that, even if you refused to go, I would have.
***
listening to : chris pierce - are you beautiful
reading: stanley kunitz - collected poems
_
***
Last Pills
Down to our last pills,
having wasted too many on getting along.
Already, we are waking,
if you won’t go for more, I will.
Possessed, dancing to our individual fill,
drunk on our nakedness, diving into the black,
in this state, even you could love me,
right down to your last pill.
Smoke grants the room a frosted feel,
like your face, towards me, in your trance.
You reach for more; nothing, you are yelling,
“Go for more! Or I will.”
I went, then carried on, going farther still,
till the urge for dancing has been filled,
when the smoke has been forcibly cleared,
right down to my last pill
after that, even if you refused to go, I would have.
***
listening to : chris pierce - are you beautiful
reading: stanley kunitz - collected poems
_
Sunday, May 21, 2006
the man is dead.
kunitz has passed away. i think he was my 3rd poetic hero, the no.3 contemporary poet i read after plath and hughes, before levine, before carver. i think i picked up his Passing Through from the stamford library and was immediately engrossed in it.
i think the attraction is becoz of his "uncle-ish" manner of writing. there's a soft tone in his poems, like you would imagine coming from your fav male grandparent (if you have one) saying "you know boy, when i was your age..." no reprimands, just a nostalgic storyteller. still, i see his pic, read his poems, and wonder if the words "boy, i have taken more salt, then you have had rice." would apply to him. haha.
slate has a small article of him by pinsky if anyone's interested to rest. as for kunitz's books, i recommend Passing Through.
***
listeningto: mary j blige - be without you
reading: mark strand - blizzard of one
update: thought that it was remarkably sad that i could go on about the man and yet not own a single copy of his book, so whilst waiting for davinci code to open, i bought his collected poems, hardback mind you, to join the rest in my poetry book collection. last copy at kino.
**
i think the attraction is becoz of his "uncle-ish" manner of writing. there's a soft tone in his poems, like you would imagine coming from your fav male grandparent (if you have one) saying "you know boy, when i was your age..." no reprimands, just a nostalgic storyteller. still, i see his pic, read his poems, and wonder if the words "boy, i have taken more salt, then you have had rice." would apply to him. haha.
slate has a small article of him by pinsky if anyone's interested to rest. as for kunitz's books, i recommend Passing Through.
***
listeningto: mary j blige - be without you
reading: mark strand - blizzard of one
update: thought that it was remarkably sad that i could go on about the man and yet not own a single copy of his book, so whilst waiting for davinci code to open, i bought his collected poems, hardback mind you, to join the rest in my poetry book collection. last copy at kino.
**
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
holy matrimony.
the last few of my close church-going friends are getting hitched. soon they will be baby factories. figures, catholics. heehee kidding. (choop, i still one kay.)
dam got chained down last night at a very sweet sentosa-beaufort reception and terrence and ave will be facing the same fate this dec at goodwoods. that makes me and rawn the last 2. and rawn's like 2 yrs younger than me and just started out with the working world. hmm, so the sights are on me. hope their hands dun get tired coz it looks like a long wait.
from last night's party antics, i have surmised the following surival tactics are necessary for coming out of your own wedding reception unscathed:
1. Do Not invite your close friends back to the room, esp if they have had a go at the alcohol and are carrying alcohol.
2. Do Not drink anything that your close friends hand you. Even though they have vouched with their lives that said drink is edible. better yet, be very suspicious if said drink is described with the word: edible.
3. Do learn how to read chinese, well, at least the hanyu pinyin.
4. Do Not allow the MC to drink. In fact, do not even sit the MC with the rowdy, intelligent friends with the evil ideas.
5. Do warn the management about the "yam-seng" being vigourous.
6. Ban games. no matter how innocent.
7. prep your obligatory speech beforehand. proof read thoroughly for booboos that the missus shouldnt hear.
8. no need to cater expensive beer, as long as its alcohol, people will be happy.
9. get your mom or dad to go back to the room as a rescuer. the friends ease up on the naughty games when the parentals drop by.
10. Better yet, Do Not hold a wedding dinner, just send a mass email stating "Dear friends, got married. Love you all, pls send all angbaos via cheque/money order/TT to XXX-XXXX-X account no."
and no. 11. just for me - get a girl first.
hee.
dam got chained down last night at a very sweet sentosa-beaufort reception and terrence and ave will be facing the same fate this dec at goodwoods. that makes me and rawn the last 2. and rawn's like 2 yrs younger than me and just started out with the working world. hmm, so the sights are on me. hope their hands dun get tired coz it looks like a long wait.
from last night's party antics, i have surmised the following surival tactics are necessary for coming out of your own wedding reception unscathed:
1. Do Not invite your close friends back to the room, esp if they have had a go at the alcohol and are carrying alcohol.
2. Do Not drink anything that your close friends hand you. Even though they have vouched with their lives that said drink is edible. better yet, be very suspicious if said drink is described with the word: edible.
3. Do learn how to read chinese, well, at least the hanyu pinyin.
4. Do Not allow the MC to drink. In fact, do not even sit the MC with the rowdy, intelligent friends with the evil ideas.
5. Do warn the management about the "yam-seng" being vigourous.
6. Ban games. no matter how innocent.
7. prep your obligatory speech beforehand. proof read thoroughly for booboos that the missus shouldnt hear.
8. no need to cater expensive beer, as long as its alcohol, people will be happy.
9. get your mom or dad to go back to the room as a rescuer. the friends ease up on the naughty games when the parentals drop by.
10. Better yet, Do Not hold a wedding dinner, just send a mass email stating "Dear friends, got married. Love you all, pls send all angbaos via cheque/money order/TT to XXX-XXXX-X account no."
and no. 11. just for me - get a girl first.
hee.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
bad. i mean bad bad.
supposedly, it was meant to be a lazy sunday.
well, at least the intentions were there and all was well till about 1 when johnson called to report on the little polycom disaster they had over at symantec's spanking new office at singpost. wasnt a big deal, and jon's not exactly well versed in setting up vc. truth be told, i think polycom's diagnostics and utilities are great but their obsession with passwords is majoro irritatingno.
oh well, no biggie. but it woke me up from nuahness and i dragged me over to the office to download the plans and look over the details for the new project i had to think for. monday morning deadline and i am still taking my time about it. hee. i am the king of procrastination.
anyway gave up at about 4ish (i.e. didnt do much) and went over to cy's to nuah. had a filling crab dinner at gillman seafood, which was good and free (sheo's promotion treat, so sweet!) but so wrong (fat! fat! fat!) had to wash it down with peppermint tea. considering the major peranakan feast we had the day before, am so not gonna drop any inch whatsoever in time for damien's wedding. no gain already um-chio (hidden giggle)
hey, who am i kidding? i = fat f-*
gaston went off early which is rare. hmmmm... female suspect.
anyhow, the cysheo machinery and i went over to borders to try see whether anything was worth wasting money on.
when u scan the poetry section, you typically run through everything, mentally cataloguing the interesting and the one you are not interested in. physically it's a sideways thing, so your mind is a little slower than your eye. anyways i was scanning and my mind caught a title called "rhapsody of a singapore muse" right after my eyes registered a bright pink and yellow book. i pulled it out, registered the author, one sim kian kok, and ran my four flip test.
(ok, sidetrack here, four flip test is where i decide whether i like the book by randoming flipping through 4 pages, the first flip is forgivable if the poem wasnt something i like, i start deciding on flip no. 2, flip 3 has be absolutely good, and flip 4 sells me the book. )
boy did this book score on major badness on the first flip. after that, the other flips were for laughs. the blurb behind announces that these poems will "...open the heart and feed the soul" if that sir, is the case, i would rather nail my heart shut, and starve my f-ing soul to death.
much later, after a deliberation on Kunitz's Passing Through, which i love, but have read so many times that if i bought it, it would be just to add it to my collection, i locked my eyes on... "if not, why not?" by vivienne yeo.
hahahahaaahhahhaaahahaha. 1st flip
hahahahahahaahaahhhhhaa, ouch, stomach. 2nd flip
hahahahahaa, you got to see this cyril, hahahahaha. 3rd flip
4th flip? please, i am not that crazy.
i wanna ask why. why publish when it is bad? why publish when you don't have an inkling of a midget little idea what good poetry is supposed to be like. self publishing can be so wrong.
why do this?
sigh.
it is the encounter of such books that makes me wonder how one can take the title "poet" for one self, i mean are these poets or poetry.com-ers? or am i too mean?
btw for evil fun, i placed a copy of cy's Below Absence next to the "rapsody of a singapore muse". hahaah.
had to wash my mind off residue badness with the purchase of two books that did pass my four flip test, Interrogation At Noon by Dana Gioia and Lavinia Greenlaw's Minsk (incidentally, minsk makes lavinia greenlaw my 3rd female poet in my collection, looks like i am softening my stance towards buying female poets)
***
reading: minsk by lavinia greenlaw
listeningto: bob dylan and the band - i will be released
***
well, at least the intentions were there and all was well till about 1 when johnson called to report on the little polycom disaster they had over at symantec's spanking new office at singpost. wasnt a big deal, and jon's not exactly well versed in setting up vc. truth be told, i think polycom's diagnostics and utilities are great but their obsession with passwords is majoro irritatingno.
oh well, no biggie. but it woke me up from nuahness and i dragged me over to the office to download the plans and look over the details for the new project i had to think for. monday morning deadline and i am still taking my time about it. hee. i am the king of procrastination.
anyway gave up at about 4ish (i.e. didnt do much) and went over to cy's to nuah. had a filling crab dinner at gillman seafood, which was good and free (sheo's promotion treat, so sweet!) but so wrong (fat! fat! fat!) had to wash it down with peppermint tea. considering the major peranakan feast we had the day before, am so not gonna drop any inch whatsoever in time for damien's wedding. no gain already um-chio (hidden giggle)
hey, who am i kidding? i = fat f-*
gaston went off early which is rare. hmmmm... female suspect.
anyhow, the cysheo machinery and i went over to borders to try see whether anything was worth wasting money on.
when u scan the poetry section, you typically run through everything, mentally cataloguing the interesting and the one you are not interested in. physically it's a sideways thing, so your mind is a little slower than your eye. anyways i was scanning and my mind caught a title called "rhapsody of a singapore muse" right after my eyes registered a bright pink and yellow book. i pulled it out, registered the author, one sim kian kok, and ran my four flip test.
(ok, sidetrack here, four flip test is where i decide whether i like the book by randoming flipping through 4 pages, the first flip is forgivable if the poem wasnt something i like, i start deciding on flip no. 2, flip 3 has be absolutely good, and flip 4 sells me the book. )
boy did this book score on major badness on the first flip. after that, the other flips were for laughs. the blurb behind announces that these poems will "...open the heart and feed the soul" if that sir, is the case, i would rather nail my heart shut, and starve my f-ing soul to death.
much later, after a deliberation on Kunitz's Passing Through, which i love, but have read so many times that if i bought it, it would be just to add it to my collection, i locked my eyes on... "if not, why not?" by vivienne yeo.
hahahahaaahhahhaaahahaha. 1st flip
hahahahahahaahaahhhhhaa, ouch, stomach. 2nd flip
hahahahahaa, you got to see this cyril,
4th flip? please, i am not that crazy.
i wanna ask why. why publish when it is bad? why publish when you don't have an inkling of a midget little idea what good poetry is supposed to be like. self publishing can be so wrong.
why do this?
sigh.
it is the encounter of such books that makes me wonder how one can take the title "poet" for one self, i mean are these poets or poetry.com-ers? or am i too mean?
btw for evil fun, i placed a copy of cy's Below Absence next to the "rapsody of a singapore muse". hahaah.
had to wash my mind off residue badness with the purchase of two books that did pass my four flip test, Interrogation At Noon by Dana Gioia and Lavinia Greenlaw's Minsk (incidentally, minsk makes lavinia greenlaw my 3rd female poet in my collection, looks like i am softening my stance towards buying female poets)
***
reading: minsk by lavinia greenlaw
listeningto: bob dylan and the band - i will be released
***
Monday, April 10, 2006
spent.
a well spent day.
i just ordered this:
drooled at the latest issue of this:
spent rest of it reading this:
excellent. :)
***
listeningto: elton john: mona lisa and mad hatters
reading: all of us - raymond carver.
i just ordered this:
drooled at the latest issue of this:
spent rest of it reading this:
excellent. :)
***
listeningto: elton john: mona lisa and mad hatters
reading: all of us - raymond carver.
Thursday, April 06, 2006
getting into the mood.
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
eager 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,
but already the guppies are herding
into separate shallow pools.
You can almost swear,
every single one has a ticket and a pencil,
ready to decide
which side to die for.
santa clara review summer '03
***
listening to: stereophonics - maybe tomorrow
reading: george mackay brown - wreck of the archangel
__
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
eager 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,
but already the guppies are herding
into separate shallow pools.
You can almost swear,
every single one has a ticket and a pencil,
ready to decide
which side to die for.
santa clara review summer '03
***
listening to: stereophonics - maybe tomorrow
reading: george mackay brown - wreck of the archangel
__
Friday, March 17, 2006
narcissist.
ah the inner narcissist has overwhelmed my uptight catholic nature once again. sigh. so i am posting here again. while keeping the livejournal one up still.
i am not even asking myself why.
:)
just the other day, a business friend of mine popped by the office. i call him chinafan becoz he is in love with the "sights" of china and assorted mountains. so chinafan came down for kopi, with assorted china-members (other china travellers with similar inclinations) having just returned from a 1 month "gruelling" shanghai trip, which "was physically and mentally taxing" with a smile.
(having done my 4 trips tour of duty in china, i am sufficiently equipped with the knowledge that that meant simply: many women, not enough time.)
anyway, we ordered our rounds of kopi. halfway through exchanging notes on the philosophy of chinese women (major studies) he suddenly turned to me:
chinafan: hey before i flew, there was one day i was driving home listening to lush, vivien tan.
me: ah-huh.. hot chick man. *drink kopi*
chinafan: yeah yeah major hot. anyways, then they suddenly went into poetry, something about candle and candle being blown out, and then suddenly, they said your name.
me: yeah what i write one of course they must say my name ma. *drink kopi*
chinafan and assorted china-members: whoa u write poetry ah?
me: yeah, fuck i told you guys this before.
chinafan and assort china-members: oh, no wonder you gay lo.
me: nabey! * _|_ all round *
***
listeningto: ray by aimee mann
reading: but anthology
***
i am not even asking myself why.
:)
just the other day, a business friend of mine popped by the office. i call him chinafan becoz he is in love with the "sights" of china and assorted mountains. so chinafan came down for kopi, with assorted china-members (other china travellers with similar inclinations) having just returned from a 1 month "gruelling" shanghai trip, which "was physically and mentally taxing" with a smile.
(having done my 4 trips tour of duty in china, i am sufficiently equipped with the knowledge that that meant simply: many women, not enough time.)
anyway, we ordered our rounds of kopi. halfway through exchanging notes on the philosophy of chinese women (major studies) he suddenly turned to me:
chinafan: hey before i flew, there was one day i was driving home listening to lush, vivien tan.
me: ah-huh.. hot chick man. *drink kopi*
chinafan: yeah yeah major hot. anyways, then they suddenly went into poetry, something about candle and candle being blown out, and then suddenly, they said your name.
me: yeah what i write one of course they must say my name ma. *drink kopi*
chinafan and assorted china-members: whoa u write poetry ah?
me: yeah, fuck i told you guys this before.
chinafan and assort china-members: oh, no wonder you gay lo.
me: nabey! * _|_ all round *
***
listeningto: ray by aimee mann
reading: but anthology
***
Friday, March 03, 2006
not.shy.
anyways, from my prev. post, not that it matters, but i am now, more or less, at overtlyshy.livejournal.com
will be back at this space still, but havent really figured livejournal's fun-ness yet, so let me play first, kay?
u know poetry on livejournal just looks so much nicer. but ranting feels better on blogspot and i would like to keep the 2 separate. so we'll see how it goes.
haha, my little article for substation mag. got tomorrow-ed. okok, u know, actually there is a certain vanity that comes with seeing your own name in print, i must admit.
the catholic boy in me just keeps shouting "sin, sin...".
why, i dunno.
am also jealous, because someone i know might give it all up to go back to studying. research. sponsored. on a subject close to my heart too. congrats and good luck and i just wanna say this:
i also wan. :(
but my bluff-people degree definitely not counted loh. so back to school and f-ing basics if i ever wan to get a proper master or something. sigh. i would so love to go back to studying.
anyway as for the article, if u are that bored, here it is.
back in a week or half a month i guess.
will be back at this space still, but havent really figured livejournal's fun-ness yet, so let me play first, kay?
u know poetry on livejournal just looks so much nicer. but ranting feels better on blogspot and i would like to keep the 2 separate. so we'll see how it goes.
haha, my little article for substation mag. got tomorrow-ed. okok, u know, actually there is a certain vanity that comes with seeing your own name in print, i must admit.
the catholic boy in me just keeps shouting "sin, sin...".
why, i dunno.
am also jealous, because someone i know might give it all up to go back to studying. research. sponsored. on a subject close to my heart too. congrats and good luck and i just wanna say this:
i also wan. :(
but my bluff-people degree definitely not counted loh. so back to school and f-ing basics if i ever wan to get a proper master or something. sigh. i would so love to go back to studying.
anyway as for the article, if u are that bored, here it is.
back in a week or half a month i guess.
Monday, February 27, 2006
movement.
oh, eh for no clear reasons, other than a cool looking skin, i am shifting to my livejournal one for the time being.
i'll be back, i think. meanwhile, i'm there. :)
eric
i'll be back, i think. meanwhile, i'm there. :)
eric
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
jump-started.
***
(edited 18/2/06 after some thought and beer and cigarettes and %&*ing my guys at freaking 1.30am this freaking morning, while nursing the %&*ing thought that we have a %&*ing roadshow setup at 1am 19/2/06. %&*s.)
Jumpstart
I got jump-started.
You know the feeling. Waking,
choked from the only kind of sleep
you get on the long ride home.
The type that renders air-conditioning useless
because you wake drenched
regardless where you position the vent and
how empty the bus was.
The seat beside me was vacant,
still warm.
I swore I felt the full weight of
your head resting on my lap.
Heard you whisper softly
all the things I loved hearing
you utter,
over and over again.
I remembered running my fingers
through the entire length of your hair,
then pulling it so hard;
I actually made you cry.
I believe, that
was the exact moment
when I woke.
***
(edited 18/2/06 after some thought and beer and cigarettes and %&*ing my guys at freaking 1.30am this freaking morning, while nursing the %&*ing thought that we have a %&*ing roadshow setup at 1am 19/2/06. %&*s.)
Jumpstart
I got jump-started.
You know the feeling. Waking,
choked from the only kind of sleep
you get on the long ride home.
The type that renders air-conditioning useless
because you wake drenched
regardless where you position the vent and
how empty the bus was.
The seat beside me was vacant,
still warm.
I swore I felt the full weight of
your head resting on my lap.
Heard you whisper softly
all the things I loved hearing
you utter,
over and over again.
I remembered running my fingers
through the entire length of your hair,
then pulling it so hard;
I actually made you cry.
I believe, that
was the exact moment
when I woke.
***
Monday, February 13, 2006
pre-valents.
as you can tell, i am back to the torment that is work. sigh. but every year, on a certain date, work serves to distract me from the larger torment that is, St Valentine's Day. haha. actually, i don't put too much weight on the event, however, my brain tends to be super good at remembering and re-vomiting details of my past on that day, so it is best that i get myself occupied.
naturally, with the b fiasco (i.e. me being banned from her life) still warm (eh, purely becoz i am stroking it in my head) despite the amount of time that has passed, this vday shall be pretty memorable.
and to add a little kick to it all, i just had a most pointless argument with joys. pointless becoz it was done over the net. through email (becoz i refuse to touch messenger), that it changes nothing, and pointless becoz the position of someone else in your own life can only be determined by yourself.
forgive the bitter talk. i get funny during this time.
gaston thinks it will be a day that we will use as resource for good poetry. maybe he might, but on my end, i highly doubt it. i have only ever written one vday poem and it's not even really about it.
here u go.
****
Games
Valentine’s Day and the park with no business
becomes perfect as
a last hiding space.
The neighbours’ children keen to take advantage,
are oblivious, and playing
at being grown-ups again.
Noisy buggers.
Still,
you can’t help but love them,
as they raced on bicycles
tracing circles around me,
and falling once in a while.
Of course they cry -
children are children after all -
but I loved how they picked
themselves up
so easily, and
so quick to laugh
at the adventure of falling.
***
listening to : sixpence none the richer: breathe
reading: some old guy rave about whores. cool book.
naturally, with the b fiasco (i.e. me being banned from her life) still warm (eh, purely becoz i am stroking it in my head) despite the amount of time that has passed, this vday shall be pretty memorable.
and to add a little kick to it all, i just had a most pointless argument with joys. pointless becoz it was done over the net. through email (becoz i refuse to touch messenger), that it changes nothing, and pointless becoz the position of someone else in your own life can only be determined by yourself.
forgive the bitter talk. i get funny during this time.
gaston thinks it will be a day that we will use as resource for good poetry. maybe he might, but on my end, i highly doubt it. i have only ever written one vday poem and it's not even really about it.
here u go.
****
Games
Valentine’s Day and the park with no business
becomes perfect as
a last hiding space.
The neighbours’ children keen to take advantage,
are oblivious, and playing
at being grown-ups again.
Noisy buggers.
Still,
you can’t help but love them,
as they raced on bicycles
tracing circles around me,
and falling once in a while.
Of course they cry -
children are children after all -
but I loved how they picked
themselves up
so easily, and
so quick to laugh
at the adventure of falling.
***
listening to : sixpence none the richer: breathe
reading: some old guy rave about whores. cool book.
Friday, February 03, 2006
subtest.
if u noticed, i am on leave. haha. i.e. happiness setting in. soon to be disrupted by the madhouse events that will be saturday. but i'll take one day at a time.
so the day was spent between purchasing anime. (am big fan) and a soothing massage which in comparsion to what i had in bintan, was definitely way cheaper.
somewhere in the day, decided i would go to the subtext reading for the 1st time in my life. cy was slated to read.
reached there just on time, cy went up, did his thing, q and a, yak yak yak then next reader.
eric something.
mildly autistic guy who suddenly attained some form of enlightenment from watching some programme on the telly, deduced that he could write poetry and decided to print an indulgent 1st book with poetry that he had written within the space of 2 maybe 3 weeks.
man, give the genius a tiger.
hey, i know i'm supposed to be charitable, but poetry is poetry. and what is clearly not, is easily noticeable. i thought subtext would be more than poetry.com. what is the premise for letting the man read? yes, if he's autistic, he is a highly intelligent and very intriguing personality, capable of handling a highly interogative q and a session (which was very entertaining) but he cannot write poetry.
ok, i'll be nice. yet.
the next guy, another self-published, a impromptu thing, went up to read from his collection, (why are so many people turning to poetry like this?) and then this time, i have no excuse to feel guilty for thinking that the poetry was bad.
yes, prior to his reading, he said he didn't know the perimeters of poetry and just printed this. well thats not a f-ing excuse. go learn brother.
very bad. even yong shu hoong thought it was necessary to cut the pain short. hahah.
overall feeling? subtext rulez! haha. i like reading/hearing bad poetry once in a while, thats why i poetry-blog surf so much. (oops have been found out.)
oh, here's an example of what i find most "entertaining"
___
listeningto: sixpence none the richer.
reading: the but anthology.
_
so the day was spent between purchasing anime. (am big fan) and a soothing massage which in comparsion to what i had in bintan, was definitely way cheaper.
somewhere in the day, decided i would go to the subtext reading for the 1st time in my life. cy was slated to read.
reached there just on time, cy went up, did his thing, q and a, yak yak yak then next reader.
eric something.
mildly autistic guy who suddenly attained some form of enlightenment from watching some programme on the telly, deduced that he could write poetry and decided to print an indulgent 1st book with poetry that he had written within the space of 2 maybe 3 weeks.
man, give the genius a tiger.
hey, i know i'm supposed to be charitable, but poetry is poetry. and what is clearly not, is easily noticeable. i thought subtext would be more than poetry.com. what is the premise for letting the man read? yes, if he's autistic, he is a highly intelligent and very intriguing personality, capable of handling a highly interogative q and a session (which was very entertaining) but he cannot write poetry.
ok, i'll be nice. yet.
the next guy, another self-published, a impromptu thing, went up to read from his collection, (why are so many people turning to poetry like this?) and then this time, i have no excuse to feel guilty for thinking that the poetry was bad.
yes, prior to his reading, he said he didn't know the perimeters of poetry and just printed this. well thats not a f-ing excuse. go learn brother.
very bad. even yong shu hoong thought it was necessary to cut the pain short. hahah.
overall feeling? subtext rulez! haha. i like reading/hearing bad poetry once in a while, thats why i poetry-blog surf so much. (oops have been found out.)
oh, here's an example of what i find most "entertaining"
___
listeningto: sixpence none the richer.
reading: the but anthology.
_
Thursday, February 02, 2006
taxi.
anyone who knows me know me as a fervent supporter of cabbies. i'm on a few every single day owing to ;
1. i dunno how to drive
2. my last attempt at trying nearly killed my friends
3. i am self imposed blind on most nights. (in the day, my directional sense is excellent.)
4. and if u do the maths of it, cabbing is cheaper than owning a car, and none of you people have anything close to my daily schedule. :p
5. last and most importantly, i live in sengkang. nuff said.
so i usually keep my peace when the uncles (aunties) start giving their "i eat salt more than u eat rice" philosophy, and that has worked out pretty ok. until last last week, on a friday i think, when i hailed this cab to go meet my friends for a steamboat dinner.
me: uncle, 7th storey hotel please.
uncle: ?
me: it's near beach road.
uncle: ok.
uncle: did u see the new year decor they put at marina? very nice hor?
me: bah, i don't bother about chinese new year. i always leave singapore during chinese new year.
uncle: you chinese right? you sure you chinese? chinese must celebrate chinese new year... blah blah blah (about chinese and chinese customs)
(aside, my family as in my dad's side, don't take too kindly to my sharp tongue. thats why i'm banned from visiting during cny. the last auntie to say: "wow eric, you getting fat ah?" got this reply "haha, auntie, you also not too bad yourself ah?")
me: (steaming) so uncle you have to turn right here.
uncle: here? where this place ah?
me: uncle, you sure you singaporean? you sure you not escape from malaysia or china? how come you dun know 7th storey? my father can bring me here blindfolded. wait, my mother also can.
uncle: i know 7th storey is hotel what. you come to stay here ah? (semi-steaming)
me: wahloa-ah! confirmed you escape from china or malaysia! let me tell you la, people come here eat their famous steamboat, hainanese steamboat ah, uncle, how you pass your taxi license? you cannot make it la. its ok, you can tell me what. let this younger generation guide you lah, wahloa-ah. shame la, taxi-driver dunno where 7th storey is...you must learn you know.. blah blah blah...
boy was he pissed. haha.
1. i dunno how to drive
2. my last attempt at trying nearly killed my friends
3. i am self imposed blind on most nights. (in the day, my directional sense is excellent.)
4. and if u do the maths of it, cabbing is cheaper than owning a car, and none of you people have anything close to my daily schedule. :p
5. last and most importantly, i live in sengkang. nuff said.
so i usually keep my peace when the uncles (aunties) start giving their "i eat salt more than u eat rice" philosophy, and that has worked out pretty ok. until last last week, on a friday i think, when i hailed this cab to go meet my friends for a steamboat dinner.
me: uncle, 7th storey hotel please.
uncle: ?
me: it's near beach road.
uncle: ok.
uncle: did u see the new year decor they put at marina? very nice hor?
me: bah, i don't bother about chinese new year. i always leave singapore during chinese new year.
uncle: you chinese right? you sure you chinese? chinese must celebrate chinese new year... blah blah blah (about chinese and chinese customs)
(aside, my family as in my dad's side, don't take too kindly to my sharp tongue. thats why i'm banned from visiting during cny. the last auntie to say: "wow eric, you getting fat ah?" got this reply "haha, auntie, you also not too bad yourself ah?")
me: (steaming) so uncle you have to turn right here.
uncle: here? where this place ah?
me: uncle, you sure you singaporean? you sure you not escape from malaysia or china? how come you dun know 7th storey? my father can bring me here blindfolded. wait, my mother also can.
uncle: i know 7th storey is hotel what. you come to stay here ah? (semi-steaming)
me: wahloa-ah! confirmed you escape from china or malaysia! let me tell you la, people come here eat their famous steamboat, hainanese steamboat ah, uncle, how you pass your taxi license? you cannot make it la. its ok, you can tell me what. let this younger generation guide you lah, wahloa-ah. shame la, taxi-driver dunno where 7th storey is...you must learn you know.. blah blah blah...
boy was he pissed. haha.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
something for the new year, again. again.
(edited: 22/1/06)
This Year
It is that close to seven.
You, on the eleventh floor;
attempting smoke rings,
snowing ash on people coming home.
Your clocks are lined up to mark the occasion,
one after another.
An unimportant hour
on the first day of the year.
Somewhere outside, there is a woman
yelling, and you imagine tears
leaking from her corners.
A thick male voice replies in shouts.
Then the thud of something heavy.
Somewhere in that house,
the Christmas tree has not been taken down
yet.
Their children keep their focus on the telly,
advertisement-surfing.
Their eldest daughter hopes
that before the night is over,
someone nice would have kissed her.
In her room, the computer screen flickers;
an eager message.
The seconds blade painfully
into your smoke rings.
On the streets, everyone freezes
into the half-hundredth of their last second.
It is like what Carver wrote:
“Any minute now, something will happen.”
Only here,
you wish it would hurry.
Listeningto: wallflowers - one head light
reading: invoices and the year end accounts, sigh...
__
This Year
It is that close to seven.
You, on the eleventh floor;
attempting smoke rings,
snowing ash on people coming home.
Your clocks are lined up to mark the occasion,
one after another.
An unimportant hour
on the first day of the year.
Somewhere outside, there is a woman
yelling, and you imagine tears
leaking from her corners.
A thick male voice replies in shouts.
Then the thud of something heavy.
Somewhere in that house,
the Christmas tree has not been taken down
yet.
Their children keep their focus on the telly,
advertisement-surfing.
Their eldest daughter hopes
that before the night is over,
someone nice would have kissed her.
In her room, the computer screen flickers;
an eager message.
The seconds blade painfully
into your smoke rings.
On the streets, everyone freezes
into the half-hundredth of their last second.
It is like what Carver wrote:
“Any minute now, something will happen.”
Only here,
you wish it would hurry.
Listeningto: wallflowers - one head light
reading: invoices and the year end accounts, sigh...
__
2005, in my opinion.
the first draft of this entry was dedicated to the people i met and detested the last entire year. very long list of mainly clients, (no principals because they withstand my nonsense and they are such sweet buggers) retailers, etc and 1 world famous consulting mnc partner. (to that partner person: i say again, given another go at the system, it will still take me/us 2 weeks from the handover, if you not happy, you can buy over us and i'll be bloody happy to sell.)
then i went out and rented 2 mushy movies (love actually and something else too mushy to mention for fear i be labelled gay aspirant) and remembered something in the midst of all this hate:
i spent the entire year still being very much in love with b. and come to think of it, a year apart from her presence.
sigh.
on hindsight, what a f***ing waste of my 2005, to take things to heart so badly.. that and the meaningless thing i do that the general public term as work.
was just talking to sulyn (friend's pregnant wife, congrats woman!) about tvs when the b episode topic thing came up, and i realised that the whole thing has made me rather heartless.
so resolutions are to:
1. stop bothering about bastard type clients and quote them extremely high prices so even if they want our services, we can withstand their crap knowing that they are paying a high price to belt us.
2. to soften concrete heart. preferrably with new petite sized girl with the manga girl eyes and who is shorter than me (important).
***
maybe i should retire this year-end.
listeningto: more aimee mann
reading: bob hicok
___
then i went out and rented 2 mushy movies (love actually and something else too mushy to mention for fear i be labelled gay aspirant) and remembered something in the midst of all this hate:
i spent the entire year still being very much in love with b. and come to think of it, a year apart from her presence.
sigh.
on hindsight, what a f***ing waste of my 2005, to take things to heart so badly.. that and the meaningless thing i do that the general public term as work.
was just talking to sulyn (friend's pregnant wife, congrats woman!) about tvs when the b episode topic thing came up, and i realised that the whole thing has made me rather heartless.
so resolutions are to:
1. stop bothering about bastard type clients and quote them extremely high prices so even if they want our services, we can withstand their crap knowing that they are paying a high price to belt us.
2. to soften concrete heart. preferrably with new petite sized girl with the manga girl eyes and who is shorter than me (important).
***
maybe i should retire this year-end.
listeningto: more aimee mann
reading: bob hicok
___
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
something for the new year.
a little something i wrote on the first real day of the year. (i.e. the day you go back to work)
***
The New Year
It is that close to seven.
My clocks are arranged to mark the occasion,
one after another.
An unimportant hour
on the first day of the new year.
Somewhere outside, you could hear a woman
shouting, and imagine the tears
leaking from her corners.
Some guy’s hateful reply.
Then the thick thud
of something heavy.
Nothing from the children, mesmerised by the television.
Advertisments.
The eldest daughter hopes
that before the night is over,
someone nice would have kissed her.
Today I am suddenly clairvoyant,
and I know that somewhere in that house,
the Christmas tree has not been taken down.
It is as what Carver said:
“Any minute now, something will happen.”
Except here, you actually wish it would.
***
The New Year
It is that close to seven.
My clocks are arranged to mark the occasion,
one after another.
An unimportant hour
on the first day of the new year.
Somewhere outside, you could hear a woman
shouting, and imagine the tears
leaking from her corners.
Some guy’s hateful reply.
Then the thick thud
of something heavy.
Nothing from the children, mesmerised by the television.
Advertisments.
The eldest daughter hopes
that before the night is over,
someone nice would have kissed her.
Today I am suddenly clairvoyant,
and I know that somewhere in that house,
the Christmas tree has not been taken down.
It is as what Carver said:
“Any minute now, something will happen.”
Except here, you actually wish it would.
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