an authoratative position.

I love being a playwright.

It gives me the power to be in control of people's lives and fashion life as i want it to be. In the reality that i want it to be. I'm in the midst of writing my fourth play now... it's been awhile but from my last play until now i feel like i'm in a better position. Perhaps the delicate balance of power that we call life is something that you have to work for, and we all know that to gain power, one must struggle for it.

The only person that makes me feel powerless is Melissa... I miss her so damn much. she is the epitomy of all that is me, and it is also her. Perhaps she is like the alter ego i am afraid to lose, yet we have been apart for so long that she is at a distance. But that is what makes it beautiful too, when the triviality of life dares not invade upon us. We are the only Romantics in our world left, the only Dreamers of our time. The memories of us together, from childhood to womanhood, it is that quality in us that keeps this eternal. Is it possible that one so cynical in the day is also a dreamer by night? Perhaps you have to be both to understand the nature of either.
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Beautiful Dreamer
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

the machine

I'ts going on and on, the machine in me. No rest, no throughts. The parts of my body go on, weary and wearier still. The sun hurts my eyes right now, i can't sleep even though i've been deprieved of it for days. Instead i've set my mind on trivial things........

i'm looking for something to wear for halloween this weekend. I was thinking going as a guy, something i've wanted to try for ages. I found some damn hot shots of Scarlett Jo and Dita V Tesse!






Yes its rather voyeuristic of me to like this kind of thing but there's just nothing more hot than the subversion of feminity...

the eternal life of oblivion

Oblivion is wonderful when you know how to manipulate it. I am oblivious to the fact that i have not slept for awhile, i am oblivious to the fact that i have work and more work, i am oblivious.

Life can be beautiful when you are living in oblivion, but so lonely and cold too. Such is the nature of Beauty, when we look at her we know that she is completely inaccessible to us. She is beautiful, but she is cold and she will never acknowledge our presence for she is absolute within herself. She is beautiful.

Yet in my life of oblivion, i am not untouched by the gems Beauty has placed in my way. The certainty of friendships and kindness remain firmly etched in the sands of memory.

I recently wrote to Andre who is in Melbourne now, struggling as I am with the choices in life and priorities. Andre and I have been friends for so long, he's always been that older brother in my life never afraid to give me the scolding I need. He reminds me of the frame in my life where i was a teenager. Those days of recklessness and mindlessness, that was when we were really living life because we were not thinking about it. We were bloody living it. We were too busy with the present to stop for anyone or anything.

It's good to know people still care.

Dust

Dust

When the white flame in us is gone,
And we that lost the world's delight
Stiffen in darkness, left alone
To crumble in our separate night;

When your swift hair is quiet in death,
And through the lips corruption thrust
Has stilled the labour of my breath --
When we are dust, when we are dust! --

Not dead, not undesirous yet,
Still sentient, still unsatisfied,
We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit,
Around the places where we died,

And dance as dust before the sun,
And light of foot, and unconfined,
Hurry from road to road, and run
About the errands of the wind.

And every mote, on earth or air,
Will speed and gleam, down later days,
And like a secret pilgrim fare
By eager and invisible ways,

Nor ever rest, nor ever lie,
Till, beyond thinking, out of view,
One mote of all the dust that's I
Shall meet one atom that was you.

Then in some garden hushed from wind,
Warm in a sunset's afterglow,
The lovers in the flowers will find
A sweet and strange unquiet grow

Upon the peace; and, past desiring,
So high a beauty in the air,
And such a light, and such a quiring,
And such a radiant ecstasy there,

They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,
Or out of earth, or in the height,
Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,
Or two that pass, in light, to light,

Out of the garden, higher, higher. . . .
But in that instant they shall learn
The shattering ecstasy of our fire,
And the weak passionless hearts will burn

And faint in that amazing glow,
Until the darkness close above;
And they will know -- poor fools, they'll know! --
One moment, what it is to love.

three ten in the morning

Ever encountered a beautiful moment and felt like crying because you knew that it was about to pass, to be forever lost in wilderness of time? Sometimes, life can seem so far away when these fragments slip from your fingers. I am resigned to it, i have been for years and I dont try to hold on to these moment anymore. Only to live them, then can you enter this other world where i believe, it is the fulcrum of your being.

Life is full of exciting moments...

Love Generation

I am so hooked to this song right now! it just reminds me of everytime I go clubbing because everytime i hear it i start jumping and everyone is smiling and singing along!

Got a paper due in 2 hours and tonight i'm going to catch a hockey game. its crazy how busy i am.


Sushi night with Manu and ALex!

'Cafe Noir'

Je prends mon cafe
Il est encore chaud
Je mords dan l'orange
Je bois un gorgee de cafe noir
Comme le soleil
Je regarde le mer

Tu me manque

Je regarde le mer
Notre reve d'amour
Je'taime

Renaissance of Reminiscence

Sorry for the cheesy title but for some reason I have been stuck with the topic of the Renaissance for 2 of my papers. It's not like i'm particularly interested in the period, but I guess it's pretty interesting how we came to be how we are today because of the past and the Renaissance is such an example. Renaissance means "rebirth" but ironically it was a period of looking back and re-viving traditions of the past, like those of the Greeks and Romans. It was also a time when people looked to the liberal arts for lessons on life, and in that I guess that makes me quite a 'Renaissance' person. I'm always looking into the past too, and trying to reinvent it to understand it in the present. After all, our memories exist in another place far away from the present, so essentially no experience can ever be relived the same way again. I suppose most of the memories that we preserve in our archive are kept in such a way that are acceptable to us. Like if we had a bad memory, to make sense of it , one would have to idealize it anyway to live with it. So maybe thats how i get by, with all the bad memories that i have had of life. But surely once in awhile it just catches up on me. Recently i got a phone call from a voice who comes from that distant land of memory...it felt strange yet familiar at the same time. I teared a little, because of the familiarity but also because the experience was so foreign. I suppose i don't understand, and that is what happens in the present we can never understand it because we are experiencing it. So i affirm that it is alright not to understand sometimes.

On another note, i've also been going out and having fun. The other day I went to Go Go lounge with Manu and had the best martini in the world, it was lychee martini with sake called "hello Kitty". We also went clubbing with the rest at House the other day which was pretty cool because they are such a fun bunch you know.


Manu and me, the Alcoholics.

A dark chariot hidden within.

Perhaps people are not meant to communicate. I'm not sure if people are meant to glide on the surface of reality like two dimensional dolls but sometimes thats how i feel about relations and the way we see it here. Is it because people don't bother or is it because they have no aptitude or ability to? Either way, its a sad case.

I have a friend here whom i really admire, but take him for example. The typical happy go lucky, social and popular. Very wholesome, nice and easy going. The perfect subject for my little experiment on human beings and testing their depths. I've been running this test for ages and if some of you have become unwitting subjects, i apologise, there has never been any malicious intent but just pure curiosity and a desire to understand. He strikes me as a sensitive enough person, but sadly enough, he could not respond to my calls for real connection. A sudden disdain came over me as i realised the shallowness of it all. Like some sort of pool of water, where you think it's deeper than it seems. There was to be no understanding of what it meant when i asked if he had ever been upset or angry. it was just evasion. oh god. thats the worst. self inflicted barriers.

Anyway this situation of human beings depresses me.

just Bach and me.

tried to pull off the cellophane look...



lovely picturesque day (i know, niagara looks superimposed but its not)!

solitude in the law library now listening to Bach's Aria...It's amazing how desperately quiet this place is in the night when in the day it's filled with so much enrvous energy and motivation. I've been spending my evenings freeloading the facilities here (because i dont have a chocie OK) and getting pretty used to it. The world just slips you by whenever you are listening to Bach or Chopin. its as though you were watching a movie clip with an accompanying soundtrack -everything just automatically slows down and may even look beautiful.

spent the day doing trivial stuff... the neverending mundane matters of our world. Don't they ever end? I guess its for a good cause... i've already gotten approval for my semester here.. but it sounds like people back home aren't very happy with it. I suppose they think i'm just going to forget them and never come back altogether, which seems plausible for someone with my personality. But truth be told, i think they are more worried about forgetting me..thats the thing about people, they need those they love around to remind them of their presence. unfortunately for me, i've been cursed with the burden of memory. Contrary to what people think, i actually remember too much. i'm so nostalgic is not funny. i dont remember details but emotional substance which i think is much much worse. i actually need to remind myself to be detached.

Spent the thanksgiving weekend in Niagara and Toronto with the Singaporean bunch. The falls were as impressive as they are rumoured to be but i could'nt help feeling like a ripped off tourist with all the amusement parks and expensive food. i guess that's tourism for you, and that confirms my disdain for all of it. Toronto was another souless city... what more to comment except for the fact that there were so many asians in this western part of the world i actually felt like i was back home in Singapore.

Of beginnings and endings.

How cliche. To start my first entry with this sort of title surely must ring the bells of omnimence for it was merely a month ago when i was writing the exact same thing on my first blog which i have taken away because i just felt it wasn't relevant anymore. Ok, so i have been robbed twice, living out of my suitcase for the last 3 weeks, broke, lost my passport and laptop, experienced a shooting 10 minutes away from me, been to a wedding a funeral and saw a plane land on Mont Royal. It sounds terribly bizarre, but yes, those things did happen to me. I guess, this was a HELL of an experience for me, but i refuse to give up. I'm still enjoying every minute of this thing called life and I'm here to tell you all about it.......

At the Still Point of the Turning World

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where.
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time.
The inner freedom from the practical desire,
The release from action and suffering, release from the inner
And the outer compulsion, yet surrounded
By a grace of sense, a white light still and moving,
Erhebung without motion, concentration
Without elimination, both a new world
And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.
Yet the enchainment of past and future
Woven in the weakness of the changing body,
Protects mankind from heaven and damnation
Which flesh cannot endure.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.