Rudderless

June 27, 2008

Waiting for something to break
Left my heart out to bake
Nothing there in my glass
Wasn’t air meant to last

All the way down to the lake
Found the lake was wet
How much more could I take
Better yet
Walked back home to my place
Tired of getting high
Guess I don’t wanna die

Hope in my past
Hope in my past
Hope in my past
Hope in my past

Waiting for something to break
Left my hear out to bake
Slipped my mind that I could use my brain
I’ll stay up all night and crash on the plane
Ship without a rudder’s like a
Ship without a rudder

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In awe of e.e. cummings

June 24, 2008

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)


When Vanity kissed Vanity

June 24, 2008

When Vanity kissed Vanity, a hundred happy Junes ago, he
pondered o’er her breathlessly, and, that all men might ever
know, he rhymed her eyes with life and death:

“Thru Time I’ll save my love!” he said . . . yet Beauty
vanished with his breath, and, with her lovers, she was dead . . .

—Ever his wit and not her eyes, ever his art and not her hair:

“Who’d learn a trick in rhyme, be wise and pause before his
sonnet there” . . . So all my words, however true, might sing
you to a thousandth June, and no one ever know that you were
Beauty for an afternoon.


Random food-related ruminations

June 23, 2008

– Our oven exploded last Friday. We were attempting to bake the perfect pork rashers, but its drippings inadvertently ignited a flame which eventually became a fire. Soon enough our flat was filled with choking smoke and we had to douse the oven with water. All this quietly occurred in under ten minutes – no dramas, no panicking, no screaming. Surprisingly, everyone (all seven of us) kept very calm and for a while there it seemed like everyone OD’d on downers. We dealt with the fire in an extremely business-like manner. I thought I was the only retard who was thinking about how we could possibly rescue the meat, but during our post-fire conference it was revealed that all of us were thinking the same thing. The whole episode ended with us still salvaging the burnt rashers and eating them with gusto.

– I have been eating so much meat (pork, to be specific) lately and I am terribly ashamed of myself. Yesterday I had a handful of bacon for brunch and an immoderate amount of roast pork for dinner. Today’s meals were not much different. If this goes on I will surely go to diet hell very soon.

– My appetite is legendary. What girl can out-eat the men in her family? I am also my friends’ designated leftovers-finisher. Food for me is not just a purely physiological thing; I seriously think it should occupy a higher position in Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. Good food makes me sublimely happy. My personal vision of heaven is a place where I can enjoy all the food I want, without getting heart palpitations or puffed-up cheeks.

– Whenever someone would cook for me, I would always get that warm-on-the-insides feeling. I guess it makes you feel adored, somehow, because it is quite rare to have someone willing to go through all the painstaking trouble of making you a lovely home-cooked meal. Two people cooked for me last week. One is a good friend who would get horribly excited at the sight of me stuffing my face with her heavenly cooking. The other person made me a sumptuous Italian dinner. Such a sweet gesture, but a friend argues that men who cook for you tend to harbour hidden agendas. It’s all quid pro quo, he says. He might be partly or wholly right, but my theory is that whoever exerts a significant amount of effort to cook for you would also be capable of wounding you emotionally at a later stage. Isn’t there a saying suggesting that the stomach and the heart are connected somehow?


I wanna ditch the logical

June 18, 2008

So denied so I lied are you the now or never kind
In a day and a day love I’m gonna be gone for good again
Are you willing to be had are you cool with just tonight
Here’s a toast to all those who hear me all too well

Put your name on the line along with place and time
Wanna stay not to go I wanna ditch the logical

All my time is froze in motion
Can’t I stay an hour or two or more
Don’t let me let you go

Here’s to the nights we felt alive
Here’s to the tears you knew you’d cry
Here’s to goodbye
Tomorrow’s gonna come too soon


5:05 AM

June 15, 2008

I woke up in the middle of the night consumed by the cold, a growling stomach and thoughts of someone. As we speak I am aching for human warmth. I am also experiencing a debilitating sort of hunger but I am just too lazy to get up and feed myself.

I’d really give anything to go back to those times when I could just ring someone in the wee small hours of the morning and the soothing voice on the other end of the line would just lull you back to sleep. You might even be sung to sometimes.

Loneliness is such a bitch. And I hate to be reminded of this while you’re cold and starving in the middle of the night in winter. Especially not when you are thinking about someone who doesn’t even give a flying fuck about you, or why you are friggin’ awake at 5:05 AM.


Please please let me get what I want

June 15, 2008

Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad

So for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time


Resolutions for a better me (AKA My Ambitious Self-Improvement Project)

June 13, 2008

I’ve had a fair bit of time lately to reassess my life and I just realised how badly I’ve been living it, so I decided to draw up some self-betterment plans to address this concern. I’m also bidding adios to Sydney in a month or so and I figured I should stop being such a sloth and make the most out of my last remaining days here. A partial list in no particular order:

1. WEAN MYSELF OFF THE NET. I am very much ashamed to tell people how much time I actually spend online on a daily basis. The Internet is my oxygen, yet it is also my kryptonite. I obsessively check Facebook and my email inbox, it’s not even funny. I foresee abysmally low grades for myself this semester on account of this fact. Anyway, from this day on I resolve to decrease my dependence on the net and only spend a maximum of two hours surfing daily. Cognitive-ish stuff like reading the news and intelligent blogs do not count towards the limit.

2. LAY OFF THE KFC. Colonel Sanders, your chicken is the greatest thing since sliced bread, but I’m pretty sure your original recipe of eleven secret herbs and spices includes a generous dash of crack. I am completely addicted to KFC that sometimes it’s all I could think about. Late last year, myself and a friend would eat a Megabucket Meal every week (think 10 pieces of chicken, popcorn chicken, nuggets, chips, mashed potato, the works). With bolgogi and rice. And I would finish all the leftover KFC for the next few days. Before I knew it, my face began to look like a sticky bun in photos.

In the last fifteen hours alone I have demolished more or less ten wicked wings with potato gravy. And chips. And Beard Papa. I am literally digging my grave with my teeth, and this has got to stop. To think I once used to be vegetarian and I’d religiously eat an apple a day and have green tea after every meal. So therefore I resolve to try to go off the KFC for a while, in an attempt to detox myself of all the evil evil food I have been consuming. On second thought, going completely off the KFC sounds highly undoable so maybe I’ll just aim for limiting my intake to once every two weeks. This will be difficult, I know it. The withdrawal symptoms will be nasty.

3. GET SOME EXERCISE. I still think gym is evil and I would rather watch paint dry than go to one, but for this particular resolution walking a bit here and there would do, for the meantime. I’ve been so out of shape that even the slightest uphill climb would leave me tired and panting. To think that I was a pretty mean runner back in the day and I even played football.

4. GO OUT OF MY ROOM. Sounds deceptively simple and easy, but not when you’re surgically attached to the bed, like I am. I plan to venture out more from now on, even to just go to uni and walk down the tree-lined avenues and step on the crunchy leaves strewn all over the campus. I think I need some sunshine as well cos I’m perpetually morose.

5. SEE MORE OF SYDNEY. I have a mental list of things to see and do before I leave. Next plan of action is to actually see and do those things. And take photos. I want to go back to the Art Gallery and look at the sculptures I like again, along with that uber cool Australia vs. England chess set. There’s also the Sydney Observatory, which I’ve been meaning to go to for a long time now. And the Bondi to Cogee walk which I absolutely must do before it gets too cold that I’ll die of hypothermia or something midway. At this point it doesn’t really matter if I could get people to go with me. I mean, the company will be appreciated but if there’s no takers then I’m perfectly cool with going on a date with myself.

6. MOVIES. Uni kept me from watching movies last semester and now I have a serious movie backlog.

7. SPEAK TO PEOPLE MORE. It’s actually strange how I’ve regressed so much in the sense that I used to be a lot more sociable, but now I find myself only engaging in conversation with people I actually know. And this is coming from someone who loves conversations and debates and arguments and stuff. Thus I will now resolve to stop being monosyllabic and start talking to other people more than usual. After all, a stranger’s just a friend you haven’t met.

8. COMMUNICATE WITH PEOPLE OLD-SCHOOL STYLE. Out with online chatting and emailing. I should write letters more, by hand. And use the phone to call people, because last I checked that’s what they’re for. And have more face-to-face conversations, because all this technology-mediated communication, for what it’s worth, still leaves a lot of things unsaid.

9. TAKE IT EASY ON THE ALCOHOL. I can only get plastered once a week, but I will make exceptions for special occasions. Hehe.

10. RECONNECT WITH PEOPLE WHOM I HAVEN’T SEEN IN A WHILE. I have a little more than a month to do this.


I experience epiphanies…

June 5, 2008

…while sitting on my blue thinking chair in the balcony, late at night when the streets are empty. While contemplating the vastness of the sky and the quiet stillness of the night. You really do have to hear yourself think once in a while.

Being the only person awake during the wee small hours of the evening gives me some modicum of happiness and makes me feel special, I just don’t know how, or why. I guess it’s because somehow I can delude myself that I own this entire neighbourhood, even for a mere handful of hours. And I guess I derive joy from not sharing this space with noisy humans, at least until they all wake up and pollute the place again with their meaningless noise.


Severe student’s block

May 29, 2008

At this stage, I’m just going through the motions, really. This is the part where I dread turning up to uni. I have grown to despise every single paper and presentation that I have to work on. Everyday I wake up expecting that it’s already the second week of June, when I can finally have that celebratory drink of vodka. Last week I was suffering from panic attacks and indescribable stress. But now more than ever, I think I’ve already reached the point where I’ve stopped caring about marks and GPAs and things. Well, not really. I’d still sell a kidney to get top marks, but I guess I’ve just lost all energy to try harder. This has been my worst semester (academically speaking) and I have just been turning in such a lackluster performance it’s embarrassing.

I’m reminded of this episode from Steven Spielberg’s Amazing Stories, which I thoroughly enjoyed as a kid. There was this African-American TV series writer who just lost his muse one day and his brains ran dry of funny things to write for his comedies. He fell asleep on the typewriter one night and his potted plant finished the screenplay for him. The plant did a pretty awesome job too, catapulting the ratings of the show. Sigh. Guess it’s time to scour Sydney nurseries for wonderplants like that.