| we are such stuff as dreams are made on |
[June 28, 2008] |
squash can go eat grass 'cos tennis is officially my third favourite sport now!!! i think Wimbledon really stands out as a billboard for tennis all around the world. it's thoroughly classic, regal, charming, and very poignantly rich, and centuries down it still appears as a grand affair fit for a monarch. the ball boys are acutely dressed in a saluted navy blue, line umpires sharply dressed with utmost formality and with a royal box in place at centre court (packed with kings and queens past and present) it looks every bit like a proper suit and tie affair
and then you see these nubile sparks dashing wildly on a lawn fit for a lazy summer under the aged british sun. you note that in their regulated attire they look just like those kids tossing around in a school yard. you quickly see a hierarchy overthrown and as the blades of grass sway to each swift serve you realise that history is merely a slave to each becoming generation.
i love that about sports; that time can only characterise and not control, and in each era it is the people that makes the time. sports moves and people move sports - it is human innovation at its most active: this is active creation. for that reason and for hell lot more i really thank God for football. there is so much to appreciate, from the glistening blades of grass to the chalices of illuminated life gliding about, with every touch of the ball being met with grace, every glorious bead lining the cheeks being tears from heaven. even the sun that bakes becomes very benignly nature's warm embrace
this too, is youth, because when you are truly free like that are you truly young, and timelessness is not something bestowed, but the product of our actions and imagination. this is also how we define memory to make us live forever: memory will be what we want to remember and what we choose to forget. i think if we work to be happy we will be effortlessly youthful.
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| SAUDADE |
[June 09, 2008] |
in the spirit of things:
- visit the bermuda triangle and if alive, find out if it's isosceles, equilateral or uh just scalene
- ride the loch ness monster until i get bored
- watch WO HU CHANG LONG and SCHINDLER'S LIST and APOCOLPYSE NOW and THE GODFATHERRR and ZODIAC and ALL JAMES BOND ALLLLL
- plan the perfect murder
- roll around in the oak island money pit
- WHAT THE DEVIL IS SO DAMN CHARMING ABOUT MARILYN MANSON ??????????
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| bulletproof...i wish i was |
[June 04, 2008] |
he leaned over and pinched the air with a sheepish grunt. as the words clambered past the larynx everything began to shatter - the silence made its stage exit, the egos took flight and the little wet film over the pupil began to dry and crumble. i'd tell you i love you if i didn't have a sore throat were the unimpressionable, anticlimactic words that shook nothing and burnt no one.
what he meant to say before she walked away was that she deserved that much more; a proposal beyond language, fluency beyond speech and sounds beyond melody. she deserved the world beyond song and the universe beyond the sun. she deserved the galaxy beyond the furthest star and life beyond the deities. that very moment he turned meek was the moment he realised he could only give one heart, body and soul, and that wouldn't suffice for the girl who wanted to be god.
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| ADELE TEE YOU SUCKKKKK bring me back a baby giraffe please |
[June 01, 2008] |
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| the eleventh hour |
[May 31, 2008] |
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| FIRST LOVE |
[May 13, 2008] |
quite aptly, i sort of lost my ipod today, so on the bus back home i listened to the silence speak and it was pretty damn startling, how one can hear so much from so little. similarly stunning is how one can feel so much for so many, for so damn painfully long:
( AN ENDING FITTING FOR THE START )
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| TAKE THIS SINKING BOAT |
[April 18, 2008] |
LIFE SUCKS, but this was irresistible:
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| THE CITY'S HARD, THE CITY'S FAIR |
[April 12, 2008] |
| [ |
music |
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The Beatles - It's Only Love |
] |
i was running today when what i say was a blue jay flew past my way like a parade on fast-forward, and stole a few happy seconds of my time. two laps later again the blue jay flew the same way waheyyyy like déjà vu in motion and i knew it was mocking the fact that i was running round and round and round and round and round and round, but still i enjoyed the company anyway.
today i have also learnt that i just can't run for the money. sure it's great and the cool $ will go into buying the Across The Universe DVD and then some but it's all nominal (eat this, Mr. B). i used to just go go go on the track and whip my senses with "if you can't breeze through this you sure as shit can't play on the wing", and with that i quite eased through each run, and even as they got longer and longer i felt tougher and tougher but now this carrot is gone so that's that. 2.4 was supposed to be a statement not a question but now that it's all academic this is my solution: enjoy the first 800, get through next, and then just go psycho.
i took a not-quiet bus ride home just now and i noted that the streets redefined red light districts: that under the watchful eyes of signs that say No the many cars whore the streets flashing beams of bright burgundy which turn to a red mist as they zip right pass every souless soul. this is their job and they do what they do because it's what they do and they do this at one pace - haste; and it's all fast and senseless. every night as these machines pull a blanket of red over the roads once graced by a nice raspy silence and it makes me want to do this:
to that and to every-freaking-thing.
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| listen to the music of the moment come and sing with me |
[March 26, 2008] |
| [ |
music |
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ala peaceful melody |
] |
today was a good day! this morning my internal alarm clock rose me from my hazy stupor to roll over to ying's house with rachel to watch for the third time the highly anticipated SHAUN OF THE DEAD, which stands alone as the romzomcom. after contributing to ying's cookie haul by eating as many as i'd made, we dreamed a bit and then xiu and i had lunch where we dreamed even more and then we paid a visit to claire, who i really hope can find some time to dream. and then i headed down to town, quite sunny with dreams, plucked trainspotting from the shelves at borders and sat myself in the music section, which so happened to be reciting the across the universe soundtrack, therefore completely stealing my mind away from the book (but still, this borders routine appeals as something to be repeated). august rush in the evening with yuhui then totally tossed me into into a dream with one of those floating bed things and i feel like i could be drunk forever.
i enjoy dreaming while i still dare to and lately the idea of starting a cafe has been knocking on my door like bob dylan on heaven's, and it is most honestly quite enchanting: i want this cool quaint cafe, charged by music and run by thrilled younglings. it will have this space for live musical expression, it will sell only the freshest bake-ying hottest cookies, it will play the sweetest of songs, it will have a menu that rotates every now and then, it will look at the same time both classy and cordial, it will sell a selection of handpicked albums, it will relive all childhood food-dreams, it will provide friendly neighbourhood bike delivery services, it will have a foosball table in a corner, there will be a wall dedicated to the artwork of the month, there will be mixtapes personally put together on the spot for those who bother to chat over coffee, there will be much laughter and smiles and lovely vibes, it will provide possibilities that end where my dreams do.
tomorrow was supposed to be a good day for me.
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| there is only bravado in a head on collision |
[March 23, 2008] |
| [ |
music |
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there is no lyric for this |
] |
i don't know. i can't think of a way to put an end to this episode that has been nothing short of epic. i earlier practically prophesied that everything would combust in catastrophe or celebration, but it hasn't brought down my world the way an earthquake would - rather it's just like tiny construction workers building in reverse, callously and painstakingly undoing each brick and tile at its seams. it's all one blurry imagery too ethereal to put a finger on, too lively to ignore. so this is it's like to be all blank, just blank.
this is also what it's like to live, love and lose (the dream). it almost feels too much like relocation, like the river of joy that it used to be has become a moat, and this is all a self-imposed spectre but this is the pinch i guess. xiu's right, better to have love and lost than to never have loved at all, but this is never a consolation: you never really let go of something you love.
but this is the proverbial cookie crumble, and one heck of a cookie it was.
Though the fig tree does not bud
and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the Lord,
I will be joyful in God my Saviour
this isn't something i'll look back and laugh, but i guess i have to be grateful that there is something to look back on. without Him there was surely no coming this far in the first place. there's no shame in ending up second best.
(this heart still beating is not one with no direction: it is a heart left with the team that has made it red with the fervour of war paint.)
also, ironically, this heart loves with the greatest grace CHUAH YUHUI and WAN QIANLING, who have been the most genuinely kickass people, and SAMUEL THE LEGEND TAN, who i love shitloads for being the most memorably magnificent big brother.
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| POP |
[March 09, 2008] |
you can never get enough of this.
carrefour has given up on their nineties collection for house music; this means no more boybands and divas, and goodbye to my weekly dosage of nostalgia. this also means that i won't be seeing for a while the guilty recitation of Against All Odds under the breath of the odd patron, though hearing the butcher department hollering to Is It Any Wonder? seems to signal a reformed sort of entertainment in my sunday schedule. i don't know whether to be alarmed or amused, but i sure am glad dead cows don't have ears.
i've been caught between the pointless skirmish between my two loves (marcus, if you had to choose between your music and your football WHICH WOULD YOU TAKE ON A DESERTED ISLAND? i'd take you, thank you) and i'm quite delighted that football is finally staking its dibs on me. i don't remember ever loving the game quite as much as i do now since the days when my battered-down batas and i ruled the roost. it's hard times but it's also a great time to feel like a kid again. as a nine year old you never fear anything. the world was your pride of country erasers, your backyard summer lovin', your fleet of paper planes, your footprints in the mud. football reignites that little spirit in me but the real pressure keeps me seventeen - it's a magical combination that will soon combust either in catastrophe or in celebration.
at this very moment i'm fueled by a fear of the future, which is just about the most ridiculous excuse for a rallying cry. at this very moment i'm being apologetic about having one of those transcendental yearns to be some other seventeen year old, somewhere else, having a picnic, falling in love, wrestling with a pet terrier, having a warm soup in the corner of a prison cell, feeding a family, fighting for a lost cause ----- this is when i explode into anarchy with the revolutionary spirit of a homeless squirrel: if you put numbers in my head i promise i'll throttle you with my digits; if you have to make me care about politics maybe the politics aren't doing enough to care about me; if my heart is made of stone then why does it beat this quickly? history is not a question, nor is it an answer. the future is what will freak us out: the past is what we have come to terms with. today is an achievement, tomorrow is a bonus. THIS IS TEEN AGE and this will scare the living shit out of you.
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| as time clasps my cheeks like tears down a volcano, |
[March 01, 2008] |
| [ |
music |
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Casting Crowns |
] |
be it unto me
according to Your word
according to Your promises
this is how i can stand secure
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| he blew his mind out in a car, he didn't notice that the lights had changed |
[January 13, 2008] |
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to live life: let your hair down, just like you did your mother. let go of the empty spaces stacked around your room, let it go free like the girl you still miss. let your mind be filled with what people think; you live to react, reply, reconsider, regret. let fly the expletives, they'll find their way back somehow. let the music put you to sleep the way your neighbour's dog drives you crazy. emotions are for people who can handle them, so let the song do the crying for you. let the ink flow like an overworked soldier without a cause, let the wind blow and fall as it does. let the ground catch you like a bed of roses; it is the sweetest way to go.
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| BACKFIRE AT THE DISCO |
[January 04, 2008] |
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| Magical Mystery Tour |
[December 30, 2007] |
Speaking on the making of Cirque du Soleil's production of LOVE, Paul McCartney commented that The Beatles' music just keep getting shinier and shinier, and it certainly is getting better all the time. Few things flatter as much as Beatlemania but if there's anything equally rewarding it must be knowing that the same songs that thrilled the nadsats in the 60s are still exciting the youthful almost half a century later.
The Beatles have found their long and winding way to today in ways that delight us, even when we don't realise it. On screen, the music from I Am Sam consists entirely of Beatles' covers, from which featured Rufus Wainwright's popular rendition of Across The Universe. The movie with the same name is surely every fans' dream come true, and if my ears didn't fail me, The Cat In The Hat let fly a Kaiser Chiefs cover of Getting Better. Their songs were already highly accessible in the first place - their knack for making any song regardless of sophistication equally pleasing to the senses not only guaranteed them commercial success but also won over a whole range of listening tastes - but their heavy influences on contemporary icons such as Oasis (food for thought: the ending few seconds of She's Electric is practically a carbon copy of the end of With A Little Help From My Friends), Elliot Smith and The Libertines have essentially crystalised their sound; in this sense they have forged their own timelessness.
And thankfully they have done so. The Beatles have done so much with music and for music it just wouldn't be very prudent to lead a life ignorant of their works. They have spoilt us with such a buffet of emotions it would be considered a deprivation to have not experienced the exuberance of All You Need Is Love, the chastity of I Want To Hold Your Hand, the nostalgia of Yesterday, the elevation of Let It Be, the madness of I Am The Walrus, and the terrace chanting to Yellow Submarine.
Few can pull off what they did, putting up hits while churning army after army of songs without hitting much saturation. Oasis tried following suit but probably knew they were going way off the mark once Be Here Now was released. The Beatles sell their songs with a certain charm, even the most simplest of them. Songs like You've Got To Hide Your Love Away and You Like Me Too Much come across as the run of the mill song not worth a second listen, but still one would be hard pressed to admit that the first hearing didn't soothe and bring a smile.
What makes The Beatles' music so affable is that you'd probably chracterise the foursome with the same adjectives you'd use to describe their music. In many ways their melodies exude a certain gentlemanliness that would be accompanied with that certain tenderness. Even in hippie mood you can feel the drugs shrouding the song, and at their revolutionary best you can feel the let-your-hair-down, helter skelter enthusiasm coupled with willful grit.
But one has to note that these pictures aren't painted simply through the lyrics. You just can't cover The Beatles and expect to have the same effect. The Beatles sound, even in their twenties, starry in this generation's eyes, but this only serves to add reverence to each track. John Lennon's rather nasal sound is endearing and Paul McCartney sounds fatherly, especially so in his address of Julian Lennon. Their harmonisation reminds you of their unity as a group of stars, even when Lennon and McCartney seem to shine the brightest. Their orchestration and use of instruments remind you of their staggering geniuses as technical musicians, which in itself sets them apart from the typical 21st century definition of a Pop Stars as people who manufacture fame with the formula of looks and scandals. The point is, you just can't do a Beatle without being a Beatle.
This is not to say I didn't enjoy Across The Universe; quite the opposite really, I absolutely adored it. But much of the thrill was in the anticipation, and much of the anticipation was in the knowing. The Beatles have magically mysteriously created that attachment of the song to the listener in the kind of way where you feel when a song is going to come. When you see Jude all sad and bad you're thinking Hey Jude, and when you see camaraderie you know it's With A Little Help From My Friends, and when you feel a whole entourage moving for a celebrative climax you're dying to burst into All You Need Is Love. The Beatles have also loaded each and every song with so much detail that having the first couple of notes coursing through the surround sound sets your heart accelerating with recognition. Once these tunes start ringing you disregard the singer and surrender to the song. It's weird in writing but this is how The Beatles have established themselves as classics. I could probably listen to a busker doing a Beatles number and still have the same experience; the very familiarity and recognition will quite literally take a sad song and make it better.
Which is why I'll always welcome covers. I still insist you can't outdo the amount of experimentation they've done to each song, therefore making it difficult for a cover to outdo the original, but the mere thought of another Beatles tune wafting in the airwaves is honestly quite a charming one. I know what I'll be listening to when I wake up tomorrow: the same thing that will entertain my lonely apartment when I'm sixty four.
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| IT WAS JUST LIKE CHRISTMAS, IT WAS JUST LIKE CHRISTMAS |
[December 25, 2007] |
| [ |
music |
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in the sweet mohave rain the boy was on his oooowwwnnnn |
] |
merry merry quite contrary how does your christmas go! for the most enigmatic yet widely accepted seasonal fixture of them all, i Presents some songs. admittedly Love Is Indie Air is a name too irresistibly good to not consider as a title for the christmas mixtape i have attempted and made, but i have abstained! and it unofficially has no name. just know it's not tunes you'd expect to hear decking the malls (here are a few):
Come On! Let's Boogey To The Elf Dance, Sufjan Stevens
Lonely Pup (In A Christmas Shop), Adam Faith
Get Behind Me, Santa!, Sufjan Stevens
Bizzare Christmas Incident, Ben Folds
Ghost of Christmas, Manic Street Preachers
Spotlight on Christmas, Rufus Wainwright
Christmastime, Aimee Mann and Michael Penn
A Christmas Dirge, Nellie McKay
Happy Christmas (War Is Over), Damien Rice
That Was The Worst Christmas Ever!, Sufjan Stevens
Seasons Greetings, Robbers On High Street
Sister Winter, Sufjan Stevens
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Coldplay
***
...and
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| We Have The Facts And We're Voting Yes |
[December 16, 2007] |
Title Track
This won't be the last you'll hear from me: it's just the start. I hope that he keeps you up for weeks like you did to me. I will hold a candle up to you to singe your skin. Brace yourself: I'm bent with bitterness.
When your apologies fail to ring true, (you're) so slick with that sarcastic slew of phrases like 'I thought you knew', while keeping me in hot pursuit.
Tracing the plot finds skin touching skin
(absence follows).
In the end, I win every time as ink remains. Sour tastes prevail as you play back the tape machine.
Company Calls Epilogue
Synapse to synapse: the possibility's thin. I'm dressed up for free drinks and family greetings on your wedding date. The figures in plastic on the wedding cake that I took were so real. And I kept a distance: the complications cloud the postcards and blips through fiberoptics, as the girls with the pigtails were running from little boys wearing bowties their parent bought: "I'll catch you this time!"
Crashing through the parlor doors, what was your first reaction? Screaming, drunk, disorderly: I'll tell you mine. You were the one but I can't spit it out when the date's been set. The white routine to be ingested inaccurately.
Synapse to synapse: the sneaky kids had attached beer cans to the bumper so they could drive up and down the main drag. People would turn to see who's making the racket. It's not the first time. When they lay down the fish will swim upstream and I'll contest but they won't listen when the casualty rate's near 100%, and there isn't a pension for second best or for hardly moving...
Crashing through the parlor doors, what was your first reaction? Screaming, drunk, disorderly: I'll tell you mine. You were the one but I can't spit it out when the date's been set. The white routine to be ingested inaccurately.
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| my dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room |
[December 12, 2007] |
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