Please read this wonderfully ____ article: (can't find the word)
Clara's century without sex
http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/news/article1790791.ece
My neighbours hired workers to tear off the layer of grass (strange, a layer of grass, but i guess that's what most people have now) in their garden and they might have put back on the old layer (it's now too dark to see) but they now also have a bunch of 2-storey tall plants (those with the vermillion stalks and coconut tree-like leaves) and I wonder how they put them up, too bad I was in school and didn't witness it! I was cycling around my lane and asked one of my little neighbours (he is maybe 4 years old) to race with me on his glorious dark-red Retro Red no-brake bicycle and his family was encouraging him, 'Go, race with Jie Jie!' and he said, 'don't want. so scary.'
I wish cars were more communicative, rather than a horn that is almost always probably taken to be hostile. Why can't there be a horn that goes 'thank you!' or 'stop being such a road bully, you idiotic nincompoop' or plays a short happy tune or blows out sweet-smelling bubbles into the polluted air, or says 'HI' to all the construction workers sitting on the backs of lorries and looking around at the drivers facing them, going past them. Why o why. Maybe if the horn system, buried deep in the bowels of the hot sweaty greasy engine area, were rewired in some way it would be possible.
Poem of the day: The wish of a pottery person
I wish I had an oven
to glaze my clay pots in
Then they would be shiny
Never melt into wet white dust
and I would be able
to make a living out of them
Another poem of the day: The wish of a busker
I wish a beautiful girl would come by
And listen to my music
I wish she would just stand there
And watch
And I could play her songs
For us to fall in love
on the street where I play
Friday, October 10, 2008
Monday, October 06, 2008
train
Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt,
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the freshkilled game,
Soundly falling asleep on the gathered leaves, my dog and gun by my side.
-Song of Myself, Walt Whitman
I eat
red beads
that gleam
and shimmer
to my stomach.
How do fortune tellers read people's faces? When I interviewed the older people for our project they seemed to remember their childhood so clearly, even the rules of the games (ball-throwing game, catching). It comes to me in patches, strange patches of me and my brother, like being in our pajamas and unfinished cold toasted bread with peanut butter and sugar and milo on the table, sprawled on the sofa watching richie rich or dumb and dumber. and one of the best, when i hid outside his room and booed him when he came out so he jumped up and down like he was skipping rope. HA. This December I will live as close to the forest as I have ever gotten when we go on holiday in the australian countryside, though this a definite poo fake thing, as we will be in modern houses designed for tourists except with the forest is our backyard, though nothing can be as magical as gene's more-than-100-year-old wooden house with soft toilet paper, paintings by kirsti around the house, a musky old smell, a forest behind with berries you can pick and eat and soft bottle green grass that made me feel like it was alice in wonderland (which desiree and i sneaked into for a walk when we were supposed to be working at the park). (and Bismak is such a funny name) Actually the forest is metres from my house; the row that faces mine has a forest at the back, with cobras hiding in big straggly bamboo trees and monkeys flying among tree tops eating rambutans. That whole world is less than 100 metres from my house, golly gee. I think I got my ideas about living in the forest mainly from The Dharma Bums. But let's try it someday! We have to. Will I still use my computer when I am an old granny? Time to enter the dream world. Funny a few years ago I remember thinking how sad that the dream world is more exciting than real living...! Seize the day, seize the night, seize it all....! And kill the mosquitoes that plant their proboscis/probiscus in your soft skin. Goodnight stars and sky.
ah choo, somehow i suddenly remembered that night when the park opened till late and something special was happening (or was it?) and it was night and we were at the turbo bungy and there was a pigeon that kept coming and james and robert were running around playing catching and then james came to lie on the trampoline and there was bird shit we were all trying to avoid and we talked about how he neatened his eyebrows and then probably, as usual, we tallied the amount of visitors for the day. squiggly. and the mad dancing bowing couple at white river junction that night with the folk music! hahaha!! she was barefoot and had long flowy hair and big googly specs and he looked like a neat pervert and they were ballroom dancing right in front of us remember? and there was a plump spiky-haired girl in the room, and a brown-haired lady in a red dress with a bandaged eye and sunglasses. i loved the cucumber-green sweet-smelling room with a sink, where you threw away stuff that wouldn't fit. and how we dragged our luggage in the rain to the shabby train station after a breakfast of bagel and cream cheese and strawberry tea. O why am i feeling so strangely nostalgic tonight!
Wandering amazed at my own lightness and glee,
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the freshkilled game,
Soundly falling asleep on the gathered leaves, my dog and gun by my side.
-Song of Myself, Walt Whitman
I eat
red beads
that gleam
and shimmer
to my stomach.
How do fortune tellers read people's faces? When I interviewed the older people for our project they seemed to remember their childhood so clearly, even the rules of the games (ball-throwing game, catching). It comes to me in patches, strange patches of me and my brother, like being in our pajamas and unfinished cold toasted bread with peanut butter and sugar and milo on the table, sprawled on the sofa watching richie rich or dumb and dumber. and one of the best, when i hid outside his room and booed him when he came out so he jumped up and down like he was skipping rope. HA. This December I will live as close to the forest as I have ever gotten when we go on holiday in the australian countryside, though this a definite poo fake thing, as we will be in modern houses designed for tourists except with the forest is our backyard, though nothing can be as magical as gene's more-than-100-year-old wooden house with soft toilet paper, paintings by kirsti around the house, a musky old smell, a forest behind with berries you can pick and eat and soft bottle green grass that made me feel like it was alice in wonderland (which desiree and i sneaked into for a walk when we were supposed to be working at the park). (and Bismak is such a funny name) Actually the forest is metres from my house; the row that faces mine has a forest at the back, with cobras hiding in big straggly bamboo trees and monkeys flying among tree tops eating rambutans. That whole world is less than 100 metres from my house, golly gee. I think I got my ideas about living in the forest mainly from The Dharma Bums. But let's try it someday! We have to. Will I still use my computer when I am an old granny? Time to enter the dream world. Funny a few years ago I remember thinking how sad that the dream world is more exciting than real living...! Seize the day, seize the night, seize it all....! And kill the mosquitoes that plant their proboscis/probiscus in your soft skin. Goodnight stars and sky.
ah choo, somehow i suddenly remembered that night when the park opened till late and something special was happening (or was it?) and it was night and we were at the turbo bungy and there was a pigeon that kept coming and james and robert were running around playing catching and then james came to lie on the trampoline and there was bird shit we were all trying to avoid and we talked about how he neatened his eyebrows and then probably, as usual, we tallied the amount of visitors for the day. squiggly. and the mad dancing bowing couple at white river junction that night with the folk music! hahaha!! she was barefoot and had long flowy hair and big googly specs and he looked like a neat pervert and they were ballroom dancing right in front of us remember? and there was a plump spiky-haired girl in the room, and a brown-haired lady in a red dress with a bandaged eye and sunglasses. i loved the cucumber-green sweet-smelling room with a sink, where you threw away stuff that wouldn't fit. and how we dragged our luggage in the rain to the shabby train station after a breakfast of bagel and cream cheese and strawberry tea. O why am i feeling so strangely nostalgic tonight!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
me and my canary
My canary :-)
It fits into my backpack (though records are too big)
It sounds crackly at times, blary at times; sometimes both. I wish it wouldn't be blary sometimes because I can't hear the loud bits properly but it's portable so the speakers aren't very good. I still love it.
He (Adrian, the gentle man from the shop) said this was from maybe 1967.
Bob Dylan's Blood on the tracks plays best; Elvis' Golden Hits plays worst. Hound Dog is like a piece of messy madness! And the song that plays best of all is...Her Majesty :-D
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
rocket man
Mars ain't the kind of place to raise your kids
Last saturday, as I was walking to my sewing class at the cc, I noticed a few serious adults standing around a long table and on the table there was the sign, Humourous Speech Competition. After my class I popped in (People's Association 5th Humourous Speech Challenge!!!!). It was a small auditorium with a few people in the audience besides the judges and the other contestants. One auntie made a speech about Love, introducing it as the 4-letter word and swaying her hips as she started, 'You must be wondering what 4-letter word I am going to talk about.' She said she asked a little boy what love was and he said, 'Love is when your eyelashes move up and down and stars come out of...you!' (i think she wanted to say 'your mouth' because her hands were gesturing so but the words wouldn't come) and she said someone else said, 'Love is when a girl tells a boy I like your tie, and he wears it every day'
Love is when my grandmother makes sure I have food everytime I want to eat, and when she wakes up at any time of the night to apply her mosquito-bite-soothing wine concoction on me.
My record player is finally ready, I am just waiting for the day to collect it. The day after all these years! My oh my. It also happens to be red, the nice man in the shop randomly pointed at the only portable record player he had left (it sounds contradictory, but that's what it felt like). I wish I had some sort of special place for it in my room. Which is why I can't bear to collect it yet; it needs a special place in my room. Dreams of warm fuzzy crackling record-player songs. Ah Choo, if I go to your place this weekend I could bring it along; it's portable :-) I think the first record I will put on is Bob Dylan's Blood on the tracks, then rubber soul. This is super exciting. I've wanted one since secondary school and now that is is finally happening it feels warm and thrilling. I wonder if having a baby will be like that.
In a corner of my car, Elmo got lost and Bert lies on top of Zoe.
I had Filipino Martial Arts class (Kali Majapahit) tonight; it is awesome. We work with long wooden sticks, a wooden knife, boxing gloves, and empty-hand fighting and self-defence too. It's funny, all these rules that become real in a classroom when everyone puts on the uniform and holds their weapons, techniques and lessons passed down from decades ago, created by filipino villagers I think. We also did some qigong at the start of the class and grabbing energy and pushing and exhaling. I felt dizzy from breathing so well; apparently it takes more of such good breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Breathing is one of the most important and goodly magical but overlooked things. My grandmother breathes and snores very loudly at night then scratches her big stomach with her pink-painted nails and turns.
Lucy let me try a strange, wondrous, bitter (not in taste just in feeling) sweet today. Jujubes.
Last saturday, as I was walking to my sewing class at the cc, I noticed a few serious adults standing around a long table and on the table there was the sign, Humourous Speech Competition. After my class I popped in (People's Association 5th Humourous Speech Challenge!!!!). It was a small auditorium with a few people in the audience besides the judges and the other contestants. One auntie made a speech about Love, introducing it as the 4-letter word and swaying her hips as she started, 'You must be wondering what 4-letter word I am going to talk about.' She said she asked a little boy what love was and he said, 'Love is when your eyelashes move up and down and stars come out of...you!' (i think she wanted to say 'your mouth' because her hands were gesturing so but the words wouldn't come) and she said someone else said, 'Love is when a girl tells a boy I like your tie, and he wears it every day'
Love is when my grandmother makes sure I have food everytime I want to eat, and when she wakes up at any time of the night to apply her mosquito-bite-soothing wine concoction on me.
My record player is finally ready, I am just waiting for the day to collect it. The day after all these years! My oh my. It also happens to be red, the nice man in the shop randomly pointed at the only portable record player he had left (it sounds contradictory, but that's what it felt like). I wish I had some sort of special place for it in my room. Which is why I can't bear to collect it yet; it needs a special place in my room. Dreams of warm fuzzy crackling record-player songs. Ah Choo, if I go to your place this weekend I could bring it along; it's portable :-) I think the first record I will put on is Bob Dylan's Blood on the tracks, then rubber soul. This is super exciting. I've wanted one since secondary school and now that is is finally happening it feels warm and thrilling. I wonder if having a baby will be like that.
In a corner of my car, Elmo got lost and Bert lies on top of Zoe.
I had Filipino Martial Arts class (Kali Majapahit) tonight; it is awesome. We work with long wooden sticks, a wooden knife, boxing gloves, and empty-hand fighting and self-defence too. It's funny, all these rules that become real in a classroom when everyone puts on the uniform and holds their weapons, techniques and lessons passed down from decades ago, created by filipino villagers I think. We also did some qigong at the start of the class and grabbing energy and pushing and exhaling. I felt dizzy from breathing so well; apparently it takes more of such good breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Breathing is one of the most important and goodly magical but overlooked things. My grandmother breathes and snores very loudly at night then scratches her big stomach with her pink-painted nails and turns.
Lucy let me try a strange, wondrous, bitter (not in taste just in feeling) sweet today. Jujubes.
Saturday, September 06, 2008
Thursday, August 28, 2008
teachers day eve eve eve eve
My mother was right. There was a jam going into thomson plaza tonight because everyone was desperately buying presents for teacher's day, which is going to be celebrated tomorrow. There was a stall in the middle of the first floor selling super nonsensical presents like a puffy cloth heart saying HAPPY TEACHER'S DAY and horrible fake flowers. I forced them to steer away. We went to the flower shop. Okay, who do you have to buy for? A male chinese science teacher. Why not a turtle, and tell him he looks like one. Fake flowers abound. A little girl started taking a long glass stalk of rose. Her father asked her to stop and she said, 'But my teacher likes it!!!!' He said, 'No, she doesn't like it.' The father looks very absorbed in trying to choose something as the girl walks around in a white and pink dress. They eventually (i think) choose small bunches of small flowers. A little boy twirls around the shop saying Flower. Flower shop! We go to popular after paying (as we enter I think I hear a boy asking his father where his sister is and he says, put-put!) and so begins the search for cool stationary. Like...post-it flags? Pencil box? Bunch of chops that say GOOD WORK, DYNAMIC, CREATIVE. My sister is the english monitor but doesn't really like her english teacher and doesn't want to buy anything for the teacher, doesn't care really. What about anonymous adult diapers, or bras, or something. My mother eventually finds nice net bags and a cow clip and a teacher's day card that gets her stressed because she can't find its price (and one can't get the exact same thing for teachers, what if they compare?). All over the shop people are desperately hunting for silly presents. One mother (american?) showed her son the pink stuff toy (pig?) she chose for Miss ___. He says, yeah!
All I remember from past teacher's days are desiree staying over to bake chocolate chocolate-chip cookies (pre-mix bought from ntuc), the old kitchen late at night, shifting the drumset away so we could sleep on the blood-red carpet floor of my old room in our old house. Do you remember, ah choo?
I wish there were teachers to bake chocolate chip cookies for in that way, school tables to put your presents on the lower rung under the table, school bells and chalkboards for someone to write happy teachers day on the board between lessons and all the silliest presents in the world.
All I remember from past teacher's days are desiree staying over to bake chocolate chocolate-chip cookies (pre-mix bought from ntuc), the old kitchen late at night, shifting the drumset away so we could sleep on the blood-red carpet floor of my old room in our old house. Do you remember, ah choo?
I wish there were teachers to bake chocolate chip cookies for in that way, school tables to put your presents on the lower rung under the table, school bells and chalkboards for someone to write happy teachers day on the board between lessons and all the silliest presents in the world.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Saturday, August 09, 2008
9th august 2008
don't pass me bydon't make me cry
don't make me blue
cause you know darling
i love only you
you'd never know it could be so
i'd hate to see you go
don't pass me by
don't make me cry
i'm sorry that i doubted you
i was so unfair
you were in a car crash
and you lost your hair
you said that you would be late
about an hour or two
i said that's alright
i'm waiting here,
just waiting to hear from you
-don't pass me by, ringo starr, the white album
Thursday, July 24, 2008
regles
You always were the one
to make us stand out in a crowd
Though every once upon a while
your head was in a cloud
There's nothing you could never do
to ever let me down
Just remember that I'll always love you
-minor incident, badly drawn boy
Hear ye, womenfolk!
Realisations with regard to that excruciatingly slow shedding of that thick nutritious bloody uterus wall
If a lady never has children, then the (48-13) x 12 = 35 x 12 = 420 approximate times she has her period (assuming she has it 12 times a year) will have been for nothing except that wondrous crazy possibility that it might happen someday. And siblings are the only people in the whole history of time, of the universe, of ever to ever have been in that same warm chamber that is the icky placenta womb of their mother, taking turns living in the same home for 9 months.
And my mother said they pump shit out of you before you give birth.
'What if the baby comes out with shit at the same time and there's shit on the baby's head?!'
'Yah, serious! It can happen!'
Yesterday, my first auntie in her late forties went to hospital for an above-related operation and my cousin (whose 6th birthday it was yesterday) called my second auntie and I tricked her that the first auntie was at the hospital to give birth.
'boy or girl? eh i want girl leh!'
'girl lah'
-puts phone aside- 'it's a girl! it's a girl!'
'oh! you have the same birthday as the baby! do you like that?'
-pause- (weirdly and properly) 'uh YES!'
her slightly older brother called later.
'where got so fast got baby one?'
'you see her stomach very fat right?'
'no.'
her big oldest brother called later.
'eh, jk right?'
today when the little one found out the truth.
'next time you tell me the truth i also won't believe you!'
Silly not-so-smug-anymore me.
to make us stand out in a crowd
Though every once upon a while
your head was in a cloud
There's nothing you could never do
to ever let me down
Just remember that I'll always love you
-minor incident, badly drawn boy
Hear ye, womenfolk!
Realisations with regard to that excruciatingly slow shedding of that thick nutritious bloody uterus wall
If a lady never has children, then the (48-13) x 12 = 35 x 12 = 420 approximate times she has her period (assuming she has it 12 times a year) will have been for nothing except that wondrous crazy possibility that it might happen someday. And siblings are the only people in the whole history of time, of the universe, of ever to ever have been in that same warm chamber that is the icky placenta womb of their mother, taking turns living in the same home for 9 months.
And my mother said they pump shit out of you before you give birth.
'What if the baby comes out with shit at the same time and there's shit on the baby's head?!'
'Yah, serious! It can happen!'
Yesterday, my first auntie in her late forties went to hospital for an above-related operation and my cousin (whose 6th birthday it was yesterday) called my second auntie and I tricked her that the first auntie was at the hospital to give birth.
'boy or girl? eh i want girl leh!'
'girl lah'
-puts phone aside- 'it's a girl! it's a girl!'
'oh! you have the same birthday as the baby! do you like that?'
-pause- (weirdly and properly) 'uh YES!'
her slightly older brother called later.
'where got so fast got baby one?'
'you see her stomach very fat right?'
'no.'
her big oldest brother called later.
'eh, jk right?'
today when the little one found out the truth.
'next time you tell me the truth i also won't believe you!'
Silly not-so-smug-anymore me.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
kindergarten birthday
the balloon that flew to the crazy skies
The present from my mother that i saw when i awoke, that shot gloriously (actually horrifyingly) out of the car because the windows were down and the wind was strong. It had hanging stars and polkadots. Goodbye dear beautiful balloon!
But there, that was me on my 21st birthday, which was made wonderful by my bestest trustiest friends. And that my father walked around london (on a work trip) for hours trying to find LUSH for me, even silly-ly going into body shop to ask where LUSH was. Among other things I got a polkadotted swimming costume and a beatles card (with a spider on ringo's face and the rest watching) and a tarot card -Awakening your true self.- among other things in captain sea-ruby's magical bounty from wench lucy, a sweet cherry spice cake and green train pendant from janey, and we sent the ET with his japan luggages to the station, and from ah choo the maddest birthday party (partly due to the adult diapers) where elfie took me to the place blindfolded but when i was alone with the taxi driver for a few seconds i said, 'uncle, zhe bien shi na li?' and he said quickly, 'united square. bu yao jiang..!' (elfie later said he gave the uncle a thumbs-up and the uncle winked back) and blindly walking with elfie holding my hand the way it hasn't been held since i was little. to kindergarten of course where there were 2 tie-wearing lads singing Ring of Fire and I Saw Her Standing There (i think my heart exploded) and a glowing chocolate cake that said All you need is love and free flow of delicious ice cream and seeing everyone i hadn't seen a long time and everyone having ice cream -the bestest children's treat, except alcoholic- in that lovely glowing place where i will go back to thank mister chemistry-teacher-with-lab-glasses (though i wonder if he found out i wrote kimchi=placenta on his flavour board and the icecream scooper gave me a seductive scary 'happy birthday' wink before we left). ah choo wore the checkered dress that i 'made' (teacher did most of it) and we watched the video heartfeltly made by desiree. 'Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love.' Poor conan (thanks for the colouring book and crayons!) burnt his hand trying to light 5 sparklers and zhi ying had magical green lipstick that wears on pink. And just the funny possibility that my stupid brother would turn up though he didn't. But above all i got a new feeling of courage to get better from the nonsensical worries in my head. Thanks for everything. Let's not ever grow up.
Love forever,
Mary Smith
But there, that was me on my 21st birthday, which was made wonderful by my bestest trustiest friends. And that my father walked around london (on a work trip) for hours trying to find LUSH for me, even silly-ly going into body shop to ask where LUSH was. Among other things I got a polkadotted swimming costume and a beatles card (with a spider on ringo's face and the rest watching) and a tarot card -Awakening your true self.- among other things in captain sea-ruby's magical bounty from wench lucy, a sweet cherry spice cake and green train pendant from janey, and we sent the ET with his japan luggages to the station, and from ah choo the maddest birthday party (partly due to the adult diapers) where elfie took me to the place blindfolded but when i was alone with the taxi driver for a few seconds i said, 'uncle, zhe bien shi na li?' and he said quickly, 'united square. bu yao jiang..!' (elfie later said he gave the uncle a thumbs-up and the uncle winked back) and blindly walking with elfie holding my hand the way it hasn't been held since i was little. to kindergarten of course where there were 2 tie-wearing lads singing Ring of Fire and I Saw Her Standing There (i think my heart exploded) and a glowing chocolate cake that said All you need is love and free flow of delicious ice cream and seeing everyone i hadn't seen a long time and everyone having ice cream -the bestest children's treat, except alcoholic- in that lovely glowing place where i will go back to thank mister chemistry-teacher-with-lab-glasses (though i wonder if he found out i wrote kimchi=placenta on his flavour board and the icecream scooper gave me a seductive scary 'happy birthday' wink before we left). ah choo wore the checkered dress that i 'made' (teacher did most of it) and we watched the video heartfeltly made by desiree. 'Let's go get the shit kicked out of us by love.' Poor conan (thanks for the colouring book and crayons!) burnt his hand trying to light 5 sparklers and zhi ying had magical green lipstick that wears on pink. And just the funny possibility that my stupid brother would turn up though he didn't. But above all i got a new feeling of courage to get better from the nonsensical worries in my head. Thanks for everything. Let's not ever grow up.
Love forever,
Mary Smith
Monday, July 07, 2008
richie tenenbaum tennis
A strong draft is blowing through my room and swirling around the neighbourhood. Close your eyes and you are in hogwarts.
A person who is brain dead is truly and unequivocally dead and will never wake up nor regain consciousness again.
Last night i watched tennis for nearly 8 hours straight. I don't really understand this as I've never so much as use a tennis racket to hit a tennis ball. But i first got hooked one day a few years ago, when i turned on the tv on a school night and there was Roddick vs Federer and i watched for 3 hours straight though i had no idea about forehands or backhands or counting score. Now i do a bit more and why does everyone wear white at Wimbledon? And why does Nadal tug at his underwear nearly every time before serving? It was 3 in the morning but I perservered because I HAD TO SEE NADAL WIN. And during the darn rain breaks they showed the 1980 Borg vs McEnroe finals, one of the 'historic matches'. Here are Borg and McEnroe.
*
From the Ministry of Health's booklet on organ transplant:
A person who is brain dead is truly and unequivocally dead and will never wake up nor regain consciousness again.
Brain death occurs when there is total and irreversible cessation of all functions of the brain in a person. When a person is declared brain dead, he will not be able to breathe on his own and will need to be artificially supported by a ventilator. Once the ventilator is switched off, the person's heart will cease to beat as his brain has already stopped functioning.
*
*
Last night i watched tennis for nearly 8 hours straight. I don't really understand this as I've never so much as use a tennis racket to hit a tennis ball. But i first got hooked one day a few years ago, when i turned on the tv on a school night and there was Roddick vs Federer and i watched for 3 hours straight though i had no idea about forehands or backhands or counting score. Now i do a bit more and why does everyone wear white at Wimbledon? And why does Nadal tug at his underwear nearly every time before serving? It was 3 in the morning but I perservered because I HAD TO SEE NADAL WIN. And during the darn rain breaks they showed the 1980 Borg vs McEnroe finals, one of the 'historic matches'. Here are Borg and McEnroe.
How i wish players today wore what they used to wear in the past. Small hard-material white shorts with zips and buttons, stripy cotton shirts, big red headbands (McEnroe). And the funny umpire sits on the same level as everyone and the some people in the crowd are mad women from the 80s with that side parted wave of a fringe and pinky lipstick cheering a bit psychotically, flailing their arms and looking madly self-amused. Watching the old match gave me a cosy feeling. I wish I could've shared the real match with my father but that 1980 match, my father was 20 when he watched it (like me now) and he watched it till his tv emitted smoke and burnt out halfway. He went to sleep (HOW COULD HE) and imagine how he felt the next day when he found out what happened ($!@%&*^%!!!) But I got to watch part of what my father didn't finish then. (Actually it was probably because he watched it halfway that he gave me a quite devastatingly inaccurate description of what happened in the match) When the real match resumed, my grandmother was still snoring loudly as I clutched Johnny and Sharkie, one in each arm. My feet were sweaty and my heart was beating fast. I almost got a seizure when they said '4th championship point'. Finally Nadal won. Johnny, Sharkie and I let out mad silent cheers. VAMOS!!!!!!!
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
theives market
Kan-ni-na!
Me and Mister Sailor went to the sungei road thieves' market today. Here's what i read of it:
More than 30 years old and a fascinating glimpse into Singapore's underbelly. A huge jumble of goods, often sold by grizzled old Chinese "uncles" trying to make the odd 10 bucks from their old record players, battered woks and shirts they wore to a wedding in 1971. There's the occasional amazing find lurking in there somewhere, but even if you don't buy anything, it's an absorbing way to spend an hour or two.
And i found a humongous 'The Magic Faraway Tree' badge, with a big black tree and a splattery colourful background; a 'I'm A SENTOSA Kid' badge (green words on bright yellow background, HA), a beauty and the beast record, and an evil egyptian ring (green crystal on gold band). And i also found a fandi ahmad pencil box, with a striped sharpener enclosed. But i didn't buy it since it's waiting for a fandi ahmad fan to stumble upon it someday and feel like a child discovering something magnificent. And we found old medals, 9 years and under swimming competition at the PA swim club, interschool table-tennis. And bright red jewelled high heels, child-size. Ah Choo, let's go there someday and bargain in hokkien. Siu dua lah. (referring to gargantuan ah-peh rings) And help me choose old chinese records when i get a record player!
If this were ten years ago i might be the child in the story longing for a summer neighbourhood playmate, to sell lemonade with, to go to the swings with, to buy popsicles with, to cycle around the neighbourhood with, to play frisbee at the reservoir with, to run out after dinner with.
When my cousins were on holiday, they came over and we watched cinderella and painted our faces and played pirate and went to the swings. But now, my summer playmate is...my grandmother, we play a game of timing every night. I finish bathing, open the toilet door and she says what she has been waiting to say, 'open the window, let the air in' and i do it, and i quickly adjust the floor mat before she tells me to put it properly. If i do it before she can say it, i win.
Sharpened pencils.
Me and Mister Sailor went to the sungei road thieves' market today. Here's what i read of it:
More than 30 years old and a fascinating glimpse into Singapore's underbelly. A huge jumble of goods, often sold by grizzled old Chinese "uncles" trying to make the odd 10 bucks from their old record players, battered woks and shirts they wore to a wedding in 1971. There's the occasional amazing find lurking in there somewhere, but even if you don't buy anything, it's an absorbing way to spend an hour or two.
And i found a humongous 'The Magic Faraway Tree' badge, with a big black tree and a splattery colourful background; a 'I'm A SENTOSA Kid' badge (green words on bright yellow background, HA), a beauty and the beast record, and an evil egyptian ring (green crystal on gold band). And i also found a fandi ahmad pencil box, with a striped sharpener enclosed. But i didn't buy it since it's waiting for a fandi ahmad fan to stumble upon it someday and feel like a child discovering something magnificent. And we found old medals, 9 years and under swimming competition at the PA swim club, interschool table-tennis. And bright red jewelled high heels, child-size. Ah Choo, let's go there someday and bargain in hokkien. Siu dua lah. (referring to gargantuan ah-peh rings) And help me choose old chinese records when i get a record player!
If this were ten years ago i might be the child in the story longing for a summer neighbourhood playmate, to sell lemonade with, to go to the swings with, to buy popsicles with, to cycle around the neighbourhood with, to play frisbee at the reservoir with, to run out after dinner with.
When my cousins were on holiday, they came over and we watched cinderella and painted our faces and played pirate and went to the swings. But now, my summer playmate is...my grandmother, we play a game of timing every night. I finish bathing, open the toilet door and she says what she has been waiting to say, 'open the window, let the air in' and i do it, and i quickly adjust the floor mat before she tells me to put it properly. If i do it before she can say it, i win.
Sharpened pencils.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
armchair
Why, sit yourself down!.jpg)
This is the armchair you have been waiting for all your life. Like something from a childhood dream though there never was such an armchair when you were tiny. Maybe all chairs felt big and plush and marvellous because you were small and it felt so fine to just lay back with pillows with your feet sticking out, reading a book after dinner with mummy's room lamp. All those adventures in enid blyton books and fizzy roald dahl stories and tiny facts about dinosaurs and colours. Now there are hard wooden chairs and cloth chairs but nothing warm and safe. This armchair has tiny goldy rusty studs and big arms for you to rest books on and if you lie back hard enough a foot rest pops out. If you fall asleep in it on friday the thirteenth you might wake up somewhere else. Buy this and guard it and one day you will be an old person sitting in it, it will be disgusting and mouldy but it will be the bestest chair in the whole wide world.
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This is the armchair you have been waiting for all your life. Like something from a childhood dream though there never was such an armchair when you were tiny. Maybe all chairs felt big and plush and marvellous because you were small and it felt so fine to just lay back with pillows with your feet sticking out, reading a book after dinner with mummy's room lamp. All those adventures in enid blyton books and fizzy roald dahl stories and tiny facts about dinosaurs and colours. Now there are hard wooden chairs and cloth chairs but nothing warm and safe. This armchair has tiny goldy rusty studs and big arms for you to rest books on and if you lie back hard enough a foot rest pops out. If you fall asleep in it on friday the thirteenth you might wake up somewhere else. Buy this and guard it and one day you will be an old person sitting in it, it will be disgusting and mouldy but it will be the bestest chair in the whole wide world.
Saturday, June 07, 2008
bazhang
I tried to wake up at 5 am to film my grandmother making bazhang. This year it occured to me to do that, like growing out of being a child eagerly awaiting, and knowing that this is something precious that might not happen many more times. Anyway, my grandmother's bazhang is my favourite food in the whole wide world. One year I had 7 in a day. When we were young, it was one of the most exciting things that happened only once a year. We'd run down in our pajamas and go into the outside kitchen of our old house (it's still on the same spot of land, but it's not old anymore) and sit at the sticky pseudo-wooden table, but not before wearing slippers because the floor would be oily with bazhang oil, and we would be presented with a bazhang that just came out of the giant tin pot cooking on the glowing charcoal. And when we split it with a fork, steam would flow out and up, and the smell is wonderful! It's a brown bazhang with rice, pork, mushrooms and a big fat chestnut. I remember one year in primary school where my grandfather was in the outside kitchen too, and he was dressed for work with his heavy golden pen and white shirt and black pants, and it was 7 plus am with glowing sunshine, my bazhang just split open, and I felt blissful. My grandmother is an expert at bazhang and it's very hard to make, you have to twist 2 banana leaves in a certain way, scoop and pat rice into it, meat, throw in a chestnut, finish it with rice, twist the leaves, and tie the whole thing to a hanging bunch or bazhangs. Then put it in the giant pot for 2 hours, then fish the bunch out by the strings. This year she made me vegetarian ones, with hae bee hiam (shrimp paste) and strangely they taste nearly like the meat ones. I hope when I'm 64 I'll still remember the taste of her bazhang and sit in my rocking chair looking at my grandchildren but feeling like a child again thinking of the sweet chestnuts and early morning darkness and her knobbly hands patting the rice into the leaves.
Monday, May 26, 2008
ah choo
Bon anniversaire, sorcière folle
Je ne sais pas si tu aimes les moles
Tu as vingt-et-un ans aujourd'hui
Vas sentir les fleurs de la nuit
et quand les fleurs t'enivrent follement
n'oublies pas de manger un bon-bon
appelles-moi quand tu vas accoucher
je peux te preter une bouche pour crier
et quand tu dors sur les fleurs bleus
sous les etoiles et la lune et le feu
j'espere que tu reves à l'amour
et tu respires comme une petite ours
Monday, May 12, 2008
cartwheel
Yahooooo!If I never do real cartwheels at least I can cartwheel in my heart.
Guavas and strawberries!
Friday, May 02, 2008
floaty
"Ah, he is savage, then? I could see it myself. He glows with danger. Most people just shimmer...he looks like a lightning bolt. It's terribly fascinating."
-The Stars My Destination
The summer's just began, it's scorching hot out, and I need a job, to end these daydreamy days, and for money to go to Mongolia or Coney Island or somewhere where I can get that feeling again.
-The Stars My Destination
The summer's just began, it's scorching hot out, and I need a job, to end these daydreamy days, and for money to go to Mongolia or Coney Island or somewhere where I can get that feeling again.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
dust management
Housewife reports: HORMIGAS
I was possessed enough to clean my room this morning. It's a real energiser, after that I even tried cartwheels but was just a leap frog who can't fly. I stopped living in harmony with the ants and went to war with them today. Must've killed hundreds after finding three ant nests. One was in the metal hinge of the back of the wooden photo frame that held the photo of 6 young people dressed as old people under a mango tree; one was under a rattan container with about a hundred scattered items in it; one was, actually Is, inside the back of the at-least-20-year-old James Dean picture from my uncle. Oh and one also inside the about-17-year-old picture of me and my brother at the reservoir when we were a few years old, arms around each other, my hand holding his hand that is on my head. I look peaceful. For the pictures, I just scotch-taped the holes where the ants come out, hopefully they get trapped inside and die of starvation or lack of air. (Can you imagine the crazy labyrinth that might be inside?) The other ants who were crawling along the walls when their homes were sealed/destroyed felt lost and simply froze on the walls for some time not knowing where to go or what to do, along with a few other dead 'uns. It's difficult to reconcile a harmonious acceptance of the tiny wonderful ants with a sudden madness to kill 'em all. I must lie in bed and reflect upon my barbarious behaviour till the next time it takes over me again. And I didn't see no queen ant. I KNOW there is another nest, another route, between the hole in the back of my built-in cupboard (where i uhu-glued the hole but they bit through it anyway) and the darjeeling poster. Possibly another in the jewellery table, another in my cupboard (Auntie Samsyah the knower says that they crawl there and find hiding places), another under the bed. Enough! I found one in the hershey's hot chocolate packet that lucy gave me when i had bronchitis for me to drink when i got well but i forgot, and couldn't bring myself to pry it open for the tiny crawling struggling madness that might've been there. After that as I dusted the remains of tiny dots of cocoa powder off the acid green envelope she stuck it to the smell of chocolate danced in the still suburban air. But from all this I found things for the dollhouse- tiny pictures, cardboard, a plastic egg (this could be a...chair? toilet bowl?), a plastic basket from the lantern festival pig biscuit (a cocoon bed?) It's always mad cleaning your room because you are reminded of everything. All the artefacts from your life, sweet damnation. Damn cultural studies notes, big bird sharpener, panda bear eraser, wisdom teeth x-rays, percussion scores, badge that desiree made for me and where are my chops, the Ariel chop! And efforts at dust management in my room are futile. It is the most dusty antsy room in the house that I shall have to learn to live with the dust or go mad. Does dust have any nutritional value if you eat it? Because that would be the easiest way to get rid of it, just licking it off the tables. Mmm clean sweep. Now I feel all antsy inside and my grandmother stands here and says in chinese, "Jie2 ah, wo3 yun1 le4."
Oui, c'est l'histoire triste de la poussière, des fourmis, et moi.
I was possessed enough to clean my room this morning. It's a real energiser, after that I even tried cartwheels but was just a leap frog who can't fly. I stopped living in harmony with the ants and went to war with them today. Must've killed hundreds after finding three ant nests. One was in the metal hinge of the back of the wooden photo frame that held the photo of 6 young people dressed as old people under a mango tree; one was under a rattan container with about a hundred scattered items in it; one was, actually Is, inside the back of the at-least-20-year-old James Dean picture from my uncle. Oh and one also inside the about-17-year-old picture of me and my brother at the reservoir when we were a few years old, arms around each other, my hand holding his hand that is on my head. I look peaceful. For the pictures, I just scotch-taped the holes where the ants come out, hopefully they get trapped inside and die of starvation or lack of air. (Can you imagine the crazy labyrinth that might be inside?) The other ants who were crawling along the walls when their homes were sealed/destroyed felt lost and simply froze on the walls for some time not knowing where to go or what to do, along with a few other dead 'uns. It's difficult to reconcile a harmonious acceptance of the tiny wonderful ants with a sudden madness to kill 'em all. I must lie in bed and reflect upon my barbarious behaviour till the next time it takes over me again. And I didn't see no queen ant. I KNOW there is another nest, another route, between the hole in the back of my built-in cupboard (where i uhu-glued the hole but they bit through it anyway) and the darjeeling poster. Possibly another in the jewellery table, another in my cupboard (Auntie Samsyah the knower says that they crawl there and find hiding places), another under the bed. Enough! I found one in the hershey's hot chocolate packet that lucy gave me when i had bronchitis for me to drink when i got well but i forgot, and couldn't bring myself to pry it open for the tiny crawling struggling madness that might've been there. After that as I dusted the remains of tiny dots of cocoa powder off the acid green envelope she stuck it to the smell of chocolate danced in the still suburban air. But from all this I found things for the dollhouse- tiny pictures, cardboard, a plastic egg (this could be a...chair? toilet bowl?), a plastic basket from the lantern festival pig biscuit (a cocoon bed?) It's always mad cleaning your room because you are reminded of everything. All the artefacts from your life, sweet damnation. Damn cultural studies notes, big bird sharpener, panda bear eraser, wisdom teeth x-rays, percussion scores, badge that desiree made for me and where are my chops, the Ariel chop! And efforts at dust management in my room are futile. It is the most dusty antsy room in the house that I shall have to learn to live with the dust or go mad. Does dust have any nutritional value if you eat it? Because that would be the easiest way to get rid of it, just licking it off the tables. Mmm clean sweep. Now I feel all antsy inside and my grandmother stands here and says in chinese, "Jie2 ah, wo3 yun1 le4."
Oui, c'est l'histoire triste de la poussière, des fourmis, et moi.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
summer vacation
The Grand Summer Vacation
(you paint the walls red and I'll polkadot them white)
Le Machine à Ecrit que moi et Le Thong ont peint pour le 21eme anniversaire de Sunshower. I hope the waves and light clouds don't make her too pensive while clacking away on it. We also spent too much time making a decoy present of army pants, with careful stitches, and painted Japanese words EAT SHIT and DROP DEAD and Arabic words PEACE BE UPON YOU and CAIRO. Yo-ho-ho!
Vase-painting for my auntie on a sunny afternoon. My favourite part is adding the yellow of the daisies.
I wiped my dollhouse yesterday and it was insanely dirty, filled with cobwebs. The eerie sad cobwebby era is over, now it will be filled with happy curtains and furniture, maybe even a bathtub if i find a tin can and attach legs. Mail me a tiny picture sometime and I'll hang it up. But how do you find little people for a dollhouse?
If I had my own house I'd invite my friends and we'd paint the walls, flowers in the toilet, lion in the living room, dragonflies in the balcony! And for now it's grand -and very lucky- when you get to spend the days like this.
(you paint the walls red and I'll polkadot them white)
Le Machine à Ecrit que moi et Le Thong ont peint pour le 21eme anniversaire de Sunshower. I hope the waves and light clouds don't make her too pensive while clacking away on it. We also spent too much time making a decoy present of army pants, with careful stitches, and painted Japanese words EAT SHIT and DROP DEAD and Arabic words PEACE BE UPON YOU and CAIRO. Yo-ho-ho!
Vase-painting for my auntie on a sunny afternoon. My favourite part is adding the yellow of the daisies.
I wiped my dollhouse yesterday and it was insanely dirty, filled with cobwebs. The eerie sad cobwebby era is over, now it will be filled with happy curtains and furniture, maybe even a bathtub if i find a tin can and attach legs. Mail me a tiny picture sometime and I'll hang it up. But how do you find little people for a dollhouse?
If I had my own house I'd invite my friends and we'd paint the walls, flowers in the toilet, lion in the living room, dragonflies in the balcony! And for now it's grand -and very lucky- when you get to spend the days like this.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
pink tootsie
it was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polkadot bikini
desiree and i spotted this one delirious night some part of clementi after we popped in and out of an ah soh shop with shiny hanging handbags. this car belongs in a summer suburbia movie where there are cat-eye glasses, popcorn, honey, teenagers hanky-panking in the back of the car, and then maybe a big fight at the end of it all.
this one is often parked at the row of shops near my house. electric blue. i think the uncle from the paint shop owns it, he looks like a kind but grumpy walrus who looks at me wearily everytime i ignorantly ask him about paint. isn't a blooming beauty. 
HITLER'S CAR. i saw it once, parked at the lane where i stay, then again on chinese new year. It is shiny black, with a german flag stuck to the side which probably billows silly in the wind when the car moves, and had labels about vintage volkswagons and a german phrase (maybe i imagined this), and inside there are red leather seats, a cream plastic steering wheel with a big velvet rose on the right, and in the centre of the wheel is a golden greek face. maybe in the glove compartment is hitler's girlfriend's lipstick, like in the movie rat race. upon seeing this car, female admirers should grab a handkerchief and wave and wail and wait for hitler to appear then seduce him for a ride. i peeked in, the owner is a clement tan or timothy tan. i spotted him later as i was spying from my big window and he wore black sunglasses, old looking jeans and a big checkered shirt. he sat on an old metal swing in my neighbour's house, the one with 2 pairs of twins. one of the boys from the older pair shouted 'HELLO KO KO!!!!!!' at me when i cycled past that day.
If I ever get one, I'll call her dixie-lou, or call him tom paul. He/she would be turquoise, with a nice horn, bad aircon, cloth seats, boopy-sounding horn, musky smell. When i was young i watched a channel 8 show where Cassandra See talked about her big pink messy space wagon and i thought it was the coolest thing ever. If i have 5 children we'd all paint our big car.
Awesome cars I saw:
1. On the way to school along mandai. a typical old greyish van, except they had stenciled words on the back, band names, randomly everywhere. ACDC, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Black Sabbath. I sped forward to find the company name or anything, but on one side I found neatly, in the middle, a lightning bolt, and 'If you are about to rock and roll, we salute you'.
2. At a carpark in Ang Mo Kio. An old van, with lots and lots of words stenciled everywhere but what i saw first was, in Red, 'THE BLOODY SHIT HUB'. The rest of the words, everywhere, in black, were funny things like 'why got women in men toilet?!' and 'the sweet smell of the toilet' and toilet jokes about flushing and shit. It was a toilet repair company, and i've got the number, ARRRR.
3. Along PIE tuas. One of those big vehicles that didn't have anything attached to it at that time. Usually at the back of the driver's compartment section there might be, in big silver letters, the vehicle brand. But this one had, in gloriously shiny silver letters, 'SHIT U'. And near it, diagonal, red and in some funny font, 'cute la'.
Yoddles crocodiles and pee.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
fresh black grass
My hands are shaking
From carrying this torch
From carrying this torch for you
The end of the fizzy hair adventures
It went from electric blue to light blue to blue-grey, then to inky rich blue, punk blue, dragon purple-blue, magic purple, sweet purple-pink, taffy pink, light pink, to light pink with purple-white and condensed-milk-yellow strands. I cut it all off and now it's fresh black grass. Fresh black grass on a rainy day is marvellous to touch and marvellous to feel. Also, I bought a Belle chop for elysia which leaked pink ink from a grumpy hag who doesn't let people test it and a pack of 56 glow in the dark dinosaur wall stickers which turned out to be 7 dinosaurs and 56-7 stars = 49 stars smaller than a thumbnail. Ants are crawling all over my walls and suddenly I feel like I could be standing at the door of our motel room at Martha's, on a rainy day when we get sent back from work because the go-kart tracks are wet and squeeging them won't help and we're all wet and soggy in our electric blue shirts that have The Great Escape stitched small and white into the left breast and big khaki pants and Desiree is watching The Biggest Loser in the room and I open the door to see that there are people riding the red and yellow Boomerang and screaming their heads off in the white sky in the cold summer rain. Oh please cut my hair again in a bathtub, at least I still have my red raincoat though you threw away your green one dear witch.
P.s. Adding footnotes in microsoft word is AMAZING
From carrying this torch
From carrying this torch for you
The end of the fizzy hair adventures
It went from electric blue to light blue to blue-grey, then to inky rich blue, punk blue, dragon purple-blue, magic purple, sweet purple-pink, taffy pink, light pink, to light pink with purple-white and condensed-milk-yellow strands. I cut it all off and now it's fresh black grass. Fresh black grass on a rainy day is marvellous to touch and marvellous to feel. Also, I bought a Belle chop for elysia which leaked pink ink from a grumpy hag who doesn't let people test it and a pack of 56 glow in the dark dinosaur wall stickers which turned out to be 7 dinosaurs and 56-7 stars = 49 stars smaller than a thumbnail. Ants are crawling all over my walls and suddenly I feel like I could be standing at the door of our motel room at Martha's, on a rainy day when we get sent back from work because the go-kart tracks are wet and squeeging them won't help and we're all wet and soggy in our electric blue shirts that have The Great Escape stitched small and white into the left breast and big khaki pants and Desiree is watching The Biggest Loser in the room and I open the door to see that there are people riding the red and yellow Boomerang and screaming their heads off in the white sky in the cold summer rain. Oh please cut my hair again in a bathtub, at least I still have my red raincoat though you threw away your green one dear witch.
P.s. Adding footnotes in microsoft word is AMAZING
Sunday, March 23, 2008
rainy day women
There is a tree I always notice while driving to and from school. It's between the Choa Chu Kang and Brickland exits and seeing it is always special, at 100km/h, speeding past. Most of the other trees are lush and green but this one is all bare, with its branches twistedly growing out, gnarly and twiggy and mad and gentle and sad. But then the past week I thought it was gone, there were empty spots along the middle section of trees and I thought they had cut off my favourite tree. But then I spotted it again, with less of its main branches left, like a good friend who had a haircut. There's another one, at the exit to the BKE (is that what its called), bare and all its branches and twigs are spreading out and form a hannukah candle kind of shape, all growing upwards. Driving to school and back, with johnny cash, the wind howling, fun foreign workers on the backs of lorries listening to music with pink towels on their heads, sheltering themselves with umbrellas, laughing, looking at me as i look at them. Construction workers with their boots and spades and hats and mud and hands are so cool.
Friday, March 07, 2008
ring of fire
I fell for you like a child
Oh, but the fire went wild
I wish to think of everything at once, remember everything and imagine everything: my grandfather, the beatles, my film script, dinner, my grandmother, what to paint next, james dean, what to write in a letter, french conjugaison, japanese characters, the clouds, the trees, my part for the percussion ensemble, fauvism, futurism, dada, songs, the beach, the cosmos, fairies and forests and circuses. But my mind just thinks of things like Itchy mosquito bite on my leg, or I should probably go pee in a few minutes. And you?
Oh, but the fire went wild
I wish to think of everything at once, remember everything and imagine everything: my grandfather, the beatles, my film script, dinner, my grandmother, what to paint next, james dean, what to write in a letter, french conjugaison, japanese characters, the clouds, the trees, my part for the percussion ensemble, fauvism, futurism, dada, songs, the beach, the cosmos, fairies and forests and circuses. But my mind just thinks of things like Itchy mosquito bite on my leg, or I should probably go pee in a few minutes. And you?
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
wet bendy needles
O I wish I had a river I could skate away on
It finally rained for a long time, in the night, and I missed it while sleeping. It's still raining now, like wet bendy needles or feathertips and I wish it would pour and storm sensationally. Something is wrong with my faithful 6-year-old speakers, so that The Mamas and The Papas sound like they are singing Creeque Alley in an empty room with no happy jangle of guitars. And the horse clip clops of God Only Knows are soft. At least the proclaimers still sound awesome.
In the pictures on my wall, James Dean is always looking at me no matter which part of the room I am at, and Paul is always holding a teacup, looking out the train window, and in another he is at the piano, and Ringo poses in his polkadotted shirt. John is looking out from under an umbrella.
At percussion class yesterday we continued practicing for the little concert exam, and we played pieces related to weather. One is Hurricane (and I'm supposed to play the steel drums except we don't have them so I have to use this malay instrument of heavy golden bells like a mini royal xylophone) and there's the weather movement series, of which we're playing Spring Wind, a light and lovely piece with a jungle feel, and Storm Warning and Dance, an intriguing and rather mad piece. I never really could follow a conductor perfectly. But it's amazing. People standing in front of instruments, with someone leading them all. And out of nothing, they all enter a counting of beats and create a something that came from the mind of someone they've never met imagining how weather or a big happy green field on a summer's day would become music, and mutter '1, 2, 3, 4' under their breaths, and somehow enter this other world, all following nothing but this intangible counting of beats and try to play their loudest when the score reads 'ffff' like someone trying to type a bad word on a typewriter. And I hit a gigantic golden nipple of a gong. And then kiap the big mallet under my armpit like an auntie and grab my drumsticks so I can play the tomtom part coming up very uncoolly. And dainty girls' arms float up and down above the xylophone, marimba, with bouncing red and yellow yarn mallets, playing lovely sounds. Someone else scrapes a suspended cymbal. And I hit the middle of the gigantic golden nipple with all my might.
It finally rained for a long time, in the night, and I missed it while sleeping. It's still raining now, like wet bendy needles or feathertips and I wish it would pour and storm sensationally. Something is wrong with my faithful 6-year-old speakers, so that The Mamas and The Papas sound like they are singing Creeque Alley in an empty room with no happy jangle of guitars. And the horse clip clops of God Only Knows are soft. At least the proclaimers still sound awesome.
In the pictures on my wall, James Dean is always looking at me no matter which part of the room I am at, and Paul is always holding a teacup, looking out the train window, and in another he is at the piano, and Ringo poses in his polkadotted shirt. John is looking out from under an umbrella.
At percussion class yesterday we continued practicing for the little concert exam, and we played pieces related to weather. One is Hurricane (and I'm supposed to play the steel drums except we don't have them so I have to use this malay instrument of heavy golden bells like a mini royal xylophone) and there's the weather movement series, of which we're playing Spring Wind, a light and lovely piece with a jungle feel, and Storm Warning and Dance, an intriguing and rather mad piece. I never really could follow a conductor perfectly. But it's amazing. People standing in front of instruments, with someone leading them all. And out of nothing, they all enter a counting of beats and create a something that came from the mind of someone they've never met imagining how weather or a big happy green field on a summer's day would become music, and mutter '1, 2, 3, 4' under their breaths, and somehow enter this other world, all following nothing but this intangible counting of beats and try to play their loudest when the score reads 'ffff' like someone trying to type a bad word on a typewriter. And I hit a gigantic golden nipple of a gong. And then kiap the big mallet under my armpit like an auntie and grab my drumsticks so I can play the tomtom part coming up very uncoolly. And dainty girls' arms float up and down above the xylophone, marimba, with bouncing red and yellow yarn mallets, playing lovely sounds. Someone else scrapes a suspended cymbal. And I hit the middle of the gigantic golden nipple with all my might.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
evening garden bliss
Do you want to hold johnny or sharkie?
My evening garden bliss is sitting in the mad coloured inflatable swimming pool with mr krabbs, spongebob, plankton, patrick and sandy, with the adults watching tv and eating fruits and chinese new year goodies inside the glowing living room, us outside splashing and shouting and eating ice cream and pretending. Except my grandmother thought leaving the pool on her grass overnight will kill it so she watered the plants and grass immediately. Does shining a torch on glow in the dark stars that aren't bright enough recharge them?
I can't wait for it to rain for days. O please come in the night tonight, howling and mad, till i awake and then fall back deep into sleep with dreams of jungles and smoke and hands and berries and then wake up suddenly in the morn with a deep sigh of madness.
During the christmas sleepover esmonde left his black toiletries bag here. I was following an ant trail from my dustbin with a torchlight when I found his bag under a small wooden table. And a whiff of Nomad soap and shampoo from crabtree and evelyn sent me to heaven. I saw a car bumper sticker that said 'HEAVEN. Don't miss it' with clouds. What does it mean?
I have decided to make peace with the unfathomable amount of ants in my room and feel like they are my friends inhabiting the same space as me, that they enjoy the deep blue and robin-egg blue of the walls like me, that they are happily and hardworkingly living their lives here and i should be happy for that. I simply cannot kill them anymore. Why is that?
And I'd like a pig as a pet! Fresh pink skin and GLORIOUS MUD and poo and grunts. This is like how I'd prefer an ugly chunky looking mashed up cookie or cake to a pretty prissy delicate one anytime. Does anyone else want a pig? We could make our pigs be friends and hang out with each other sometimes. Give them sunglasses and star tattoos and separate them everytime they are on the very verge of mating and then laugh about it. Evil taking over. NO, Olivia, don't worry, you can sleep with me as long as you don't release yer bowels in my grandmother's beautiful king-size bed but as you are a pig no one will blame you.
23rd february is a very special date and today my father got me a rugged blue and brown timberland backpack that will stay with me for years on all future adventures and travels.
When does it rain cold and when does it rain warm?
My evening garden bliss is sitting in the mad coloured inflatable swimming pool with mr krabbs, spongebob, plankton, patrick and sandy, with the adults watching tv and eating fruits and chinese new year goodies inside the glowing living room, us outside splashing and shouting and eating ice cream and pretending. Except my grandmother thought leaving the pool on her grass overnight will kill it so she watered the plants and grass immediately. Does shining a torch on glow in the dark stars that aren't bright enough recharge them?
I can't wait for it to rain for days. O please come in the night tonight, howling and mad, till i awake and then fall back deep into sleep with dreams of jungles and smoke and hands and berries and then wake up suddenly in the morn with a deep sigh of madness.
During the christmas sleepover esmonde left his black toiletries bag here. I was following an ant trail from my dustbin with a torchlight when I found his bag under a small wooden table. And a whiff of Nomad soap and shampoo from crabtree and evelyn sent me to heaven. I saw a car bumper sticker that said 'HEAVEN. Don't miss it' with clouds. What does it mean?
I have decided to make peace with the unfathomable amount of ants in my room and feel like they are my friends inhabiting the same space as me, that they enjoy the deep blue and robin-egg blue of the walls like me, that they are happily and hardworkingly living their lives here and i should be happy for that. I simply cannot kill them anymore. Why is that?
And I'd like a pig as a pet! Fresh pink skin and GLORIOUS MUD and poo and grunts. This is like how I'd prefer an ugly chunky looking mashed up cookie or cake to a pretty prissy delicate one anytime. Does anyone else want a pig? We could make our pigs be friends and hang out with each other sometimes. Give them sunglasses and star tattoos and separate them everytime they are on the very verge of mating and then laugh about it. Evil taking over. NO, Olivia, don't worry, you can sleep with me as long as you don't release yer bowels in my grandmother's beautiful king-size bed but as you are a pig no one will blame you.
23rd february is a very special date and today my father got me a rugged blue and brown timberland backpack that will stay with me for years on all future adventures and travels.
When does it rain cold and when does it rain warm?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
typewriters part 2
We wrote love poems in french class yesterday; tomorrow is the day for 'recitation with feeling'. Ah secret loves and desires.
typewriter tip tip tip
A is for Apple
These are making me very excited
The Remington Portable up there was the one desiree found in the antique shop in glens falls and nearly bought for me for my birthday and when i finally saw it...it was like buttered peas and fresh flowers and strawberry tea in my blooming mind. I think I will get off my arse and do face painting and use the money to buy it. Bumblebee yellow keys melt my heart.
These are making me very excited
The Remington Portable up there was the one desiree found in the antique shop in glens falls and nearly bought for me for my birthday and when i finally saw it...it was like buttered peas and fresh flowers and strawberry tea in my blooming mind. I think I will get off my arse and do face painting and use the money to buy it. Bumblebee yellow keys melt my heart.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
fly free duckies
Suddenly I turned around and she was standing there
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
Lucy Clementine, I am feeling strangely excited about lunch today, because we are having nice clean porridge with warm vegetables and carrots with fried egg and the day is bright and windy. The past few days, we've been having curry and rice and mee siam and prata and sweets and spring rolls and beehoon and chocolates and sugee and help i can't stop my hands from reaching out for another biscuit or nut. But I have been getting better at catching nuts in my mouth.
Adult relatives who come to my room usually stand at the doorway with their arms politely folded behind them, faced with napoleon dynamite and the beatles, they gaze with heads slightly tipped up and nod. And nod. And nod.
TIME FOR LUNCH -jumps up like tasmanian devil-
I ran down the stairs shouting 'PORRIDGE!!!!'
Mother: PORRIDGE?
It turned out we had to finish last night's copious amounts of mee siam and popiah. They had their NJC gathering last night here. For the past 2 decades and more, my parents' NJC friends have been meeting at one guy's house for on Christmas. But last christmas the tradition was broken, and now it's going to be at my house every chinese new year. My parents met in NJC. They were both in council. When their friends meet it's always a jolly time. I spoke to one of them in french about what my father was like then. Il ne change pas. Il est toujours pratique!
Enough with the lunch story, now onto my hair. O the whimsical topics in life. It was inky punk-blue and one morning I awoke to discover that it was mainly blue and purple on top, with a small patch of light purple (turning lavender) at my forehead, and a small patch of light robin-egg blue, with ocean blue across mixed with magic violet, with the sides blue-green with brown and black roots. Wondrous! It's protecting me with magic luck.
This evening if the weather is lovely I shall lounge in the inflatable swimming pool on the fresh garden grass, with my grandmother miles away in china and not able to see that my pool is killing her grass just by Being On It.
Fly free, duckies
With silver bracelets on her wrists and flowers in her hair
Lucy Clementine, I am feeling strangely excited about lunch today, because we are having nice clean porridge with warm vegetables and carrots with fried egg and the day is bright and windy. The past few days, we've been having curry and rice and mee siam and prata and sweets and spring rolls and beehoon and chocolates and sugee and help i can't stop my hands from reaching out for another biscuit or nut. But I have been getting better at catching nuts in my mouth.
Adult relatives who come to my room usually stand at the doorway with their arms politely folded behind them, faced with napoleon dynamite and the beatles, they gaze with heads slightly tipped up and nod. And nod. And nod.
TIME FOR LUNCH -jumps up like tasmanian devil-
I ran down the stairs shouting 'PORRIDGE!!!!'
Mother: PORRIDGE?
It turned out we had to finish last night's copious amounts of mee siam and popiah. They had their NJC gathering last night here. For the past 2 decades and more, my parents' NJC friends have been meeting at one guy's house for on Christmas. But last christmas the tradition was broken, and now it's going to be at my house every chinese new year. My parents met in NJC. They were both in council. When their friends meet it's always a jolly time. I spoke to one of them in french about what my father was like then. Il ne change pas. Il est toujours pratique!
Enough with the lunch story, now onto my hair. O the whimsical topics in life. It was inky punk-blue and one morning I awoke to discover that it was mainly blue and purple on top, with a small patch of light purple (turning lavender) at my forehead, and a small patch of light robin-egg blue, with ocean blue across mixed with magic violet, with the sides blue-green with brown and black roots. Wondrous! It's protecting me with magic luck.
This evening if the weather is lovely I shall lounge in the inflatable swimming pool on the fresh garden grass, with my grandmother miles away in china and not able to see that my pool is killing her grass just by Being On It.
Fly free, duckies
Thursday, January 17, 2008
love him in the noontime
Where are you going to I don't mind
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
But we are not two we are one
Hello friends, and hello void! I feel like doing this again. What are all of you doing and what do you think of just before you fall asleep in bed? I wish we were more connected and lived facing the same forest and can play there everyday, make up plays and burn leaves.
The Darjeeling Limited made me sad at first but now it fills me with a tiny but hopeful pulsating excitement. The music from old indian movies are light, dreamy, pulsating, a little mystical, funny sometimes ("TYPEWRITER TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP").
The Super-Adventure of January (l'aventure super-fantastique de janvier)
Claire, Vivi and I went on the tree tops trail. It was peaceful with lovely green leaves protecting us overhead ('secret affinity with the trees') and I forgot any troubles. Being in nature is so wondrous and easy. We took turns kicking a lump of rock for a few kilometres. When we had a quarter of the way left, when we knew it was going to pour madly soon, my grandmother kept calling in panicked tones and asking me to take a cab home, but we had spent all that time...kicking the lump of pain! Finally we heard a ssshhh sound of the rustling of leaves, or rain chasing, and we ran. Claire first, vivi second and me last. It felt like we had plunged into a children's adventure storybook, twisted and exciting. The trees were all around us and the soil was littered with big elegant orange flowers. It rained so hard we were completely drenched, and ran with madness, I couldn't stop smiling (though also scared that we would die from lightning anytime) and we were all dripping water from our faces and everywhere. We also almost died when we decided to run across an open area with lightning and thunder very near then huddled under my red raincoat (oh yes, i had a raincoat in my bag all that while!) to call a cab and go to my house to dry off with milo and biscuits. YAHOO for this madness which saved me from another kind of madness.
I trust in the secret affinity with the trees.
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die
So I will follow you wherever you go
If your offered hand is still open to me
Strangers on this road we are on
But we are not two we are one
Hello friends, and hello void! I feel like doing this again. What are all of you doing and what do you think of just before you fall asleep in bed? I wish we were more connected and lived facing the same forest and can play there everyday, make up plays and burn leaves.
The Darjeeling Limited made me sad at first but now it fills me with a tiny but hopeful pulsating excitement. The music from old indian movies are light, dreamy, pulsating, a little mystical, funny sometimes ("TYPEWRITER TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP TIP").
The Super-Adventure of January (l'aventure super-fantastique de janvier)
Claire, Vivi and I went on the tree tops trail. It was peaceful with lovely green leaves protecting us overhead ('secret affinity with the trees') and I forgot any troubles. Being in nature is so wondrous and easy. We took turns kicking a lump of rock for a few kilometres. When we had a quarter of the way left, when we knew it was going to pour madly soon, my grandmother kept calling in panicked tones and asking me to take a cab home, but we had spent all that time...kicking the lump of pain! Finally we heard a ssshhh sound of the rustling of leaves, or rain chasing, and we ran. Claire first, vivi second and me last. It felt like we had plunged into a children's adventure storybook, twisted and exciting. The trees were all around us and the soil was littered with big elegant orange flowers. It rained so hard we were completely drenched, and ran with madness, I couldn't stop smiling (though also scared that we would die from lightning anytime) and we were all dripping water from our faces and everywhere. We also almost died when we decided to run across an open area with lightning and thunder very near then huddled under my red raincoat (oh yes, i had a raincoat in my bag all that while!) to call a cab and go to my house to dry off with milo and biscuits. YAHOO for this madness which saved me from another kind of madness.
I trust in the secret affinity with the trees.
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