I couldn't let the year slip by without popping in to say hi after a pretty long break from blogging. Some of the gems accompanying me tonight are –
Robert Michael Mapplethorpe was born on Monday, November 4, 1946. Raised in Floral Park, Long Island, the third of six children, he was a mischievous little boy whose carefree youth was delicately tinged with a fascination with beauty. His young eyes stored away each play of light, the sparkle of a jewel, the rich dressing of an altar, the burnish of a gold-toned saxophone or a field of blue stars. He was gracious and shy with a precise nature. He contained, even at an early age, a stirring and the desire to stir.
We're dealing in quarters
a quarter from me
and half from you
my friend told me to try the three-quarter
that I might just be returned a full
one day you flashed me a ear-to-ear
and I suddenly felt whole
Let us toast to songs
with no easily identifiable hook
that doesn't announce itself but
just plod,
so gently, steadfastly along
meandering,
negotiating easily between parts
where the voice falls
and the guitar/violin/drum so
readily picks up
Let us write love letters to songs
we can listen to a few hundred times over
and still be touched by
every single time
How is it possible that this couple can leave me so awed and gutted,
both at the same time?
I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it.
...
Perfectionism means that you try desperately not to leave so much mess to clean up. But clutter and mess show us that life is being lived. Clutter is wonderfully fertile ground - you can still discover new treasures under all those piles, clean things up, edit things out, fix things, get a grip. Tidiness suggests that something is as good as it's going to get. Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation, while writing needs to breath and move.
- Bird By Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Anne Lamott
This should be recommended reading at any OCD anonymous meeting. I'm not sure the first point applies to me, but the second one sure does. It takes writing as lucid as this sometimes to confront you LIKE THAT. I never thought to link perfectionism to how I always felt severely handicapped when it comes to writing in verse, but it all makes sense now. A friend said I once told her something, when we were 13 or 14, that left a deep impression on her to this day. While editing an essay of hers and pointing out the missing full stop at the end of a sentence, I said in a matter-of-fact way, "Do you know why you need a full stop? It stops the words forming a sentence from falling out." Now I don't remember where I picked up this aphorism from, but I blame it for instilling in me a mortal fear of incomplete sentences ever since. Tell me to write a poem and I clam up. I should have seen the warning signs then; a kid who goes around sprouting lines like that clearly harbours a disturbed mind.
The second point also brought to mind Zee, who probably agrees whole-heartedly with everything in that paragraph. She told me recently about a box of beads she spilled on her bedroom floor and left in situ for the next couple of days. I had recoiled in mock horror and outrage hearing that, but somehow, I am envious. I couldn't shake off the image of the beads (I imagine them to be multi-coloured glass), sprawled out undisturbed on the floor, glinting with a sinister sort of beauty, promising pain for any unsuspecting pair of feet that comes their way. That to me is poetry - visual poetry at least.
I've been trying, always been trying to get to the core of a person. And if I like what I see, I'll stay. In for the long haul, or so they say.
This song gave me delicious goosebumps.
I just adore this set of photos from Zee's muji disposable of our crazy weekend at
It's been awhile that I've been away from this blog and it's because I've been busy, busy, busy with a new part-time job and will start on a full-time position at SPH Magazines next week. The past month has been a flurry of interviews. Now that I have not one, but two jobs, both of which I get to do work I enjoy, I'm really glad I found much resonance in this statement I read somewhere,
Ditching the dream because you want immediate gratification is what's known as wimping out
and determined to take life on at my own pace.
I'm working part-time at this awesome vintage and rehabbed furnishings shop and open studio hours are Wednesday 1-8pm and Saturday & Sunday 1-7pm. Check out the site at http://www.likethatone.com and visit the frequently-updated flickr page at http://www.flickr.com/photos/likethatone.
Or just come hang out at Skytech #09-04, 2 Bukit Batok Street 24, Singapore 659480!
In an issue of Frankie some time ago, there was an article about the type of writing that speaks to a reader. The writer of that article says some of the best writing propelled her such:
I want to marry writing like that. I want to put it in a brandy snifter and set fire to it. I want to smash a bottle against it and ride it out to sea.This song and its lyrics, the swell and whine of the violins, fired up the same urge in me.
"End of The Movie" - Stornoway
Six a.m. you left me for the last time
On my doorstep blinking in the sunshine
Blamed and framed I'm frozen in the picture
Hanging in the space you left inside me
Climbed upstairs into the final scene
Waiting for the credits to appear
For all the years that I've been starring
Starring in a film with you and leading
Leading with a star I knew but I'm waking up
In a long beam of light where the dust is dancing
As the music fades
On my way out for the very last time
Off my doorstep straight into the sunshine
Walking west and following the coastline
Looking for a sea change
Oh but you led me here when the world begun
And the breakers shook the moonlit sand
Saw your pale face shining through the spray
And I was blown away
With the feeling I was starring
Starring in a film with you and leading
Leading with a star I knew but I'm waking up
In a long beam of light where the dust is dancing
As the music fades
An exquisite song, Flaws, from Bombay Bicycle Club's upcoming album.
Another acoustic beauty. Lead singer Jack looks and sounds to me like he walked straight out of Waugh's Brideshead Revisited.
Hong Kong Travel Journal - Stanley, Ocean Park
the skies finally cleared the day we were due to visit Stanley and Ocean Park
I loved the (almost) daily ferry rides
bus 700 from Central sped its way around mountains to finally bring us to Stanley
Ocean Park!!
the cable-car ride was awe-inspiring
actually, the view from every vantage point is beautiful
look how the ocean shimmers in the dizzying heat of the afternoon
a ride I love but didn't have time for unfortunately
up in the ferris wheel!
eagles made swooping arcs in the last rays of the setting sun
it was a blast! (and this post concludes my HK journals!)
Hong Kong Travel Journal - Macau
a scenic ride on the local bus brought us to Hac Sa (Black Sand) Beach in Coloane
to prevent further erosion, normal sand has been mixed in with the black sand (I remember our profound disappointment when we first saw the beach)
lunch was at the famous Fernando's
greasy but sooo good!
at the horribly crowded Ruins of St. Paul's - the obligatory tourist spot
we succeeded in getting some shots where everyone in the whole world isn't in the background
still along the tourist stretch but we found some quiet in this gorgeous courtyard
the half-tiled walls are a typical Portugese feature
snaking lines at the ferry terminal to Cheung Chau because it's a public holiday (the Buddha's birthday), and everyone wants to get there for the Bun Festival which falls on the same day
spotting the bun mountains (包山) as the ferry approaches the pier
the island was awash with psychedelic billboards, flags and banners
buns with the Chinese characters 平安 (safety) stamped on them, and that is exactly what they are believed to bring
biting into a custard-filled one
narrow lanes are lined with chairs and stools, and people scramble for prime seats to catch the street procession which will take place in the afternoon
the parade begins and will eventually wind its way to the Pak Tai Temple grounds where the bun mountains are
the parade's hottest draws are these kids, decked out in traditional costumes or as mythical characters, looking as though they are balancing precariously on the tips of swords, vases and columns of fragile items!
look, he's barely standing on the tip of a paper umbrella
and she, on a hoop, spear and lotus bed!
the little boy appears to be holding her aloft with nary an effort
everyone shouts and waves excitedly to get the kids' attention because they are just too darn cute
and the trick behind the illusion: they are perched on steel frames (although I still can't quite figure out exactly how...)
the riot of sounds and colours, plus the physical feats made for a really intense and fantastic experience
after the parade, we went hiking around the island, chilled out at a beach, and queued for hours to catch the bun-snatching race
at midnight, participants climb to the top of the bun mountain and fill their rucksacks with as many buns as they can within a stipulated time
a flurry of limbs and buns flying everywhere (the buns on this mountain are plastic; those on the three mountains behind are real, and are also removed at midnight for distribution the next day)
