Right. So I haven't updated in AAAAAGGEEESSS. I blame the lack of motivation, really. It's like when you wake up particularly late one day like at 12 pm or 1 pm or something; the condition you're in is dramatically different from when you wake up in a decent hour like 6 or 7 or 8 in the morning. You're head is fuzzy, it hurts when you move, you just don't want to get up, you just don't want to acknowledge the existence of the world, you just want to make sweet love with your pillow and make little pillow babies.
...okay, I fucked that analogy up way before it was even written. But that's not for me to displace the fact that yes, it feels so good when you wake up early in the morning regardless of the time you went to sleep the night before, even though the good feeling only lasts like what 10 minutes. It still feels good. And that's the point.
But I digress. Anyway, don't worry folks, the updates are gonna get even more scarce from now on! Dissatisfaction guaranteed!
So yes ladies and gentlemen I'm finally getting my ass off this rock and into university, where I can finally get my life in motion. I hate saying terms like that: "My life..." so and so and "...oh that's life and coconuts have children...". Truth be as it is, my life's not as hugely important as, say, Brad Pitt's or the son of the Duchess of Wales or something. And surely I've only been on this Earth 19 years and a little more, so granted whatever I know of life is completely miniscule compared to the true complexity of it, the true grandeur and scale of it, and so I have no real right in saying anything about life as I know it because hell, I don't really know it. By simply uttering such a statement as "I'm just trying to get my life going" is purely pretentious and it just shows how idiotic I am. But then again, I am idiotic, so...
"Oh, I just can't get wait to get my life going~~~~~"
Ugh. I repulse my own self. This is impossible. ANYWAY!
the beans love you, and so do i.
___________________________________________________________________
Okay, I've waited an hour and the alcohol's wore off. My friends and compatriots and hopefully lack of immediate family members giving patron to this blog, I write you here today as an excited and terribly nervous person. Excited, simply because I'm finally heading off to the states, and nervous, simply because I'm terrified of flying. Don't ask me why, I just hate it. But I do love that strange feeling you get when you stare out the little peephole as you wait for the toilet and you see the clouds and sky below you. You see the expansive land that stretches on from here to forever, and you dream just a little bit how life my be like for one of the blokes down there. And then you get the strange understanding of how small you really are in this big, big world... but I digress.
Anyway, there's actually very little point to me writing a "oh, I want to thank so and so and so" like an awards speech, purely because everybody's already gone to other places, so I'm just going to say a mighty fine
SEE YA SOON, BITCHES!
line to compensate. I'll send wishes from Wesleyan! (Woo!)
PS: I just finished watching Malaysia get raped in the gold medal match for badminton. I swear, it's almost a picture perfect encapsulation of what we normally do: "Oh! We're almost there! There we go, there we go, a little more, a little more.... oo, it's a little hot. Let's turn back."
I swear. If I ever became PM or the Education Minister or something, I'll reform the school system to produce not a society of people who take the easy or safe way out, but a society of DAREDEVILS. HEROES. RECKLESS ABADDONS. SHOOTERS OF THE STARS. And also, chefs. Because we need the food.
SEE YA SOON, BITCHES!
(Currently listening to:- "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" by the Proclaimers)
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Motif of harmful sensation - sounds a lil' erotic, but it ain't
Oh glorious joy of Wikipedia, it provides such knowledge that have completely no use for practical day-to-day life but are completely good batter to be thrown about when you're having dinner with a person for the first time in your lives and you've gone all across the usual topics like where are you studying, what's your favorite color or whether you like using force in bed.
Yes, the wonders of the internet works as such that I no longer have to extend an arm to find out rubbish that otherwise could not be accessed in this country. Ah, technology. It makes things so much more easier and us so much more useless. Can Christian Bale save us from machine damnation? (oo, Terminator 4 reference! so early!)
For some reason I've stumbled on the aforementioned "motif of harmful sensation", a literary device that's also very apparent in various mythology such as that of Greek, Roman and Hindu among others. It's commonly mentioned in texts that common mortals (that's you and me, folks. unless you wanna up yourself or something. feel free to do that in your own time) are not able to really set their eyes on the full-form of a deity, be it a big papa deity like a God like Zeus or something or be it a small fry deity like a vague passing icon entity, like Medusa. Ah, yes, Medusa. Perfect example.
You see her freaky reptilian hair, and not only do you go "whoa mama wtf" but you get stoned. No, not like hee hee haa haa this is good shit stoned but stoned as in you get hard. Man, is there any way to say this that doesn't insinuate some crude form of vulgarity? You turn to stone, okay?
Yeah, so. Wikipedia tells me that it is because it is believed that we as mortals are ill-equiped to fully comprehend the magnifince or sheer divinity of those beings. I mean, most of us when confronted with a page of algebra start drooling ourselves, so we can't possibly comprehend the sheer existence of an ultimate being. So says Wikiwikimen: When Lot's wife defies the order of an angel and sets her eyes on the big G-man (that's God, not government officials) lay the smackdown on a city, she turned into a pillar of salt, as they quote Genesis 19:16-26.
Why she turned into a pillar of salt and not a bunch of bananas I do not know, maybe the Pope or God himself does.
There are several variations to this literary device. Sometimes writers or literary figures or scribes transpose the concept and scale it into a specific section: like Medusa's hair, or like in that Kevin Smith movie Dogma where God (played by Alanis Morisette, appropriately enough) has a voice that is unable to be comprehended by human beings, so she speaks through another medium: another person.
Another variation does not deal with Gods or deities. The only thing I can think of at such an hour is looking so damn fine and beautiful that anybody who lays a finger or even an eye on said person would burst into flames. Gives a new dimension to the term 'flamin' hot', no?
But you know, I don't think that that is entirely a literary device. I mean, if the argument proposing the existence of the G-man or men is still being acceptable by a significant percentage of the human race, and by definition I believe that as long as you give contribution in the form of faith and belief in something therefore making that thing that is being believed real, I pretty much think that someone CAN be so hot that anybody looking at the fella burst into flames.
Yes. I know my mission now. I shall make myself so seksi and hot that I'll make you so finger lickin' good, KFC's gonna wanna sell ya.
Ya mama. You read history begin right here.
(Currently listening to:- Opening Song from Episode 2 (title debatable) from Dr. Horrible's Sing a long Blog)
Yes, the wonders of the internet works as such that I no longer have to extend an arm to find out rubbish that otherwise could not be accessed in this country. Ah, technology. It makes things so much more easier and us so much more useless. Can Christian Bale save us from machine damnation? (oo, Terminator 4 reference! so early!)
For some reason I've stumbled on the aforementioned "motif of harmful sensation", a literary device that's also very apparent in various mythology such as that of Greek, Roman and Hindu among others. It's commonly mentioned in texts that common mortals (that's you and me, folks. unless you wanna up yourself or something. feel free to do that in your own time) are not able to really set their eyes on the full-form of a deity, be it a big papa deity like a God like Zeus or something or be it a small fry deity like a vague passing icon entity, like Medusa. Ah, yes, Medusa. Perfect example.
You see her freaky reptilian hair, and not only do you go "whoa mama wtf" but you get stoned. No, not like hee hee haa haa this is good shit stoned but stoned as in you get hard. Man, is there any way to say this that doesn't insinuate some crude form of vulgarity? You turn to stone, okay?
Yeah, so. Wikipedia tells me that it is because it is believed that we as mortals are ill-equiped to fully comprehend the magnifince or sheer divinity of those beings. I mean, most of us when confronted with a page of algebra start drooling ourselves, so we can't possibly comprehend the sheer existence of an ultimate being. So says Wikiwikimen: When Lot's wife defies the order of an angel and sets her eyes on the big G-man (that's God, not government officials) lay the smackdown on a city, she turned into a pillar of salt, as they quote Genesis 19:16-26.
Why she turned into a pillar of salt and not a bunch of bananas I do not know, maybe the Pope or God himself does.
There are several variations to this literary device. Sometimes writers or literary figures or scribes transpose the concept and scale it into a specific section: like Medusa's hair, or like in that Kevin Smith movie Dogma where God (played by Alanis Morisette, appropriately enough) has a voice that is unable to be comprehended by human beings, so she speaks through another medium: another person.
Another variation does not deal with Gods or deities. The only thing I can think of at such an hour is looking so damn fine and beautiful that anybody who lays a finger or even an eye on said person would burst into flames. Gives a new dimension to the term 'flamin' hot', no?
But you know, I don't think that that is entirely a literary device. I mean, if the argument proposing the existence of the G-man or men is still being acceptable by a significant percentage of the human race, and by definition I believe that as long as you give contribution in the form of faith and belief in something therefore making that thing that is being believed real, I pretty much think that someone CAN be so hot that anybody looking at the fella burst into flames.
Yes. I know my mission now. I shall make myself so seksi and hot that I'll make you so finger lickin' good, KFC's gonna wanna sell ya.
Ya mama. You read history begin right here.
(Currently listening to:- Opening Song from Episode 2 (title debatable) from Dr. Horrible's Sing a long Blog)
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
If Hollywood's taught us anything...
.... it is that sex, guns and explosions make people go woo.
Thinking about it, when big moments happen in big-budget movies like Hollywood fare or poorly-made movies like Hollywood fare and mostly Malaysian fare, you know it's a big moment on the count of the fact that there's the humongous, overblown dramatic musical orchestration with 16-part string sections and stuff like that bloody hell slap into your face the fact that heck, something big is going on right this minute.
Like when a main character dies in the film, more often than not a really moving, sad piece of string-heavy orchestration is inserted to support the sad, anguished looks on the faces of the reacting characters. Or when the male lead finds out from his wife that his wife is actually the daughter of his father and his niece who was conceived by nut-job, in which a big 'dun-duN-DUNN' sound comes in.
You know that big shit is goin' down because, hey, big musical cues tell you. (Also, sometimes these moments are emphasized by subsequent reaction close-up of the character's face, usually trying to extend a sense of 'wtfbbq?' Refer to the following picture:)
Lifted this pic off somewhere at random, but it serves its purpose.
Thinking about it, when big moments happen in big-budget movies like Hollywood fare or poorly-made movies like Hollywood fare and mostly Malaysian fare, you know it's a big moment on the count of the fact that there's the humongous, overblown dramatic musical orchestration with 16-part string sections and stuff like that bloody hell slap into your face the fact that heck, something big is going on right this minute.
Like when a main character dies in the film, more often than not a really moving, sad piece of string-heavy orchestration is inserted to support the sad, anguished looks on the faces of the reacting characters. Or when the male lead finds out from his wife that his wife is actually the daughter of his father and his niece who was conceived by nut-job, in which a big 'dun-duN-DUNN' sound comes in.
You know that big shit is goin' down because, hey, big musical cues tell you. (Also, sometimes these moments are emphasized by subsequent reaction close-up of the character's face, usually trying to extend a sense of 'wtfbbq?' Refer to the following picture:)
Lifted this pic off somewhere at random, but it serves its purpose.
But, you know, when heavy, pivotal moments happen in real life for me, I don't get that same sense of doctored oomph specifically because of exposure to such films. Like when I say goodbye to a close friend who I'm never going to see again for a long, long time, there's no sense of tragic drop or deep tugging of the heart strings. What happens instead is an empty hole that forms in your gut and somewhere in your heart, in which you'd then walk off like one of the undead. Living in shining glory on the physical level, but dead inside. (Which, more often than not, is a good definition of yours truly.)
So what I do instead is that I carry along with an orchestra in my head. So far, it's missed all its appropriate cues, but it can do a pretty good cover of the orchestration from the Casino Royale soundtrack.
Hmm.
(Currently listening to:- "96000" from the In the Heights Original Broadway Cast recording)
So what I do instead is that I carry along with an orchestra in my head. So far, it's missed all its appropriate cues, but it can do a pretty good cover of the orchestration from the Casino Royale soundtrack.
Hmm.
(Currently listening to:- "96000" from the In the Heights Original Broadway Cast recording)
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Suspended, not Suspenders
It's a gentle feeling. A sort of transient, dream-like mood not unlike the subtle caressing high you get when you've had a little too much drink. You know, when you haven't quite hit the hard wall of nausea but when you've gone way past just a little tipsy. Like standing up straight on a sea-borne boat. Like after spinning around in circles. Like waking up in a plane mid-flight. That light, breezy feeling.
Hammocks, such sinful pleasures they bring.
I have never really entrusted myself to a hammock whenever I choose to lie in one. There's too much risk and fear in it; the string could loosen or the material could break and you could injure yourself, you could sway too much that you end up flying to the neighboring state, you could get way too comfortable and realize that you can't pull yourself out, you could.... well. The list goes on and on.
I was being cautious. Careful. Chickenshit. (I suppose, three ways of saying the same thing) I don't quite trust people, so how can I bloody well trust a hammock? How can I trust the might of productive industry? How can I trust gravity? How do I know gravity's not out to kill me? All this complete lack of trust that's in me, no wonder why my shoulders are so tense.
But this afternoon, something changed in the way I connected with the lovely hammock. I climbed into one, shoes and all, pulling both my legs in for the first time and settling my posterior into the very center of the groove. I nestled myself in, and while I was nervous for awhile at first, I just let myself take a breath, and decided that....hey, maybe we're never supposed to be in control of anything after all.
So I closed my eyes, and felt the cold breeze take me. Swaying I was, not too little that I wouldn't feel the light-headed sensation, but not too hard that I would attract attention. And then, for the first time in a long time, I relaxed and let the whole world take over from here.
It was wonderful. It was perfect. Yes, I think it was the happiest I've been in a long time.
And then the clerk told me that testing was not allowed.
____________________________________________________________________
I wonder why the most versatile word in the English language, supposedly the universal and most flexible mode of verbal communication in the world, is a swear word (read: Fuck)?
What does that say about modern civilization?
(Currently listening to:- "I'll be there for you" by The Rembrandts)
Hammocks, such sinful pleasures they bring.
I have never really entrusted myself to a hammock whenever I choose to lie in one. There's too much risk and fear in it; the string could loosen or the material could break and you could injure yourself, you could sway too much that you end up flying to the neighboring state, you could get way too comfortable and realize that you can't pull yourself out, you could.... well. The list goes on and on.
I was being cautious. Careful. Chickenshit. (I suppose, three ways of saying the same thing) I don't quite trust people, so how can I bloody well trust a hammock? How can I trust the might of productive industry? How can I trust gravity? How do I know gravity's not out to kill me? All this complete lack of trust that's in me, no wonder why my shoulders are so tense.
But this afternoon, something changed in the way I connected with the lovely hammock. I climbed into one, shoes and all, pulling both my legs in for the first time and settling my posterior into the very center of the groove. I nestled myself in, and while I was nervous for awhile at first, I just let myself take a breath, and decided that....hey, maybe we're never supposed to be in control of anything after all.
So I closed my eyes, and felt the cold breeze take me. Swaying I was, not too little that I wouldn't feel the light-headed sensation, but not too hard that I would attract attention. And then, for the first time in a long time, I relaxed and let the whole world take over from here.
It was wonderful. It was perfect. Yes, I think it was the happiest I've been in a long time.
And then the clerk told me that testing was not allowed.
____________________________________________________________________
I wonder why the most versatile word in the English language, supposedly the universal and most flexible mode of verbal communication in the world, is a swear word (read: Fuck)?
What does that say about modern civilization?
(Currently listening to:- "I'll be there for you" by The Rembrandts)
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Productivity of Boredom
There's a certain inelegance when one comes face to face with the grim reality of how mundane one's life actually is. While this does not necessarily stand true for everybody (or in fact I'm willing believe, most people), for those whom this predicament is applicable to, I feel your pain.
The scenario is as such: I have another 15 to 16 days before I leave, a fact that squashes any possibility of seeking part-time formal employment to complete non-existence. I'm currently gaining additional income from the source that already supplies my usual income (i.e. my folks) by doing a steady flow of odd jobs, which include but are not limited to: mild accounting, deliveries, house-cleaning, car-washing, agreement-signing, and cooking. I'm usually alone in the condo, what with my dad with his now very hectic work-flow and my self-employed (read: professional housewife and occasional stock-broker) mother somehow having a social life more vibrant and exciting than mine. Most of my acquaintances and hombres are either currently studying overseas, working their own part-time jobs, enjoying their lack of activities more than I do, or dead.
It's a problem, I suspect, that is a derivative of another problem: when it comes to extended periods of vacation and leisure time, I am both confused, unmotivated and compulsive. In other words: I don't know what the hell I want, but I want to do it, but heck, I'll do it later. A trait not altogether beneficial to the institution of the greater good.
I have seen this problem and have grown accustomed to it; and as a direct reaction to overcome such adversity, I have in the past few days embarked on a remarkably pointless task of creating something..... well, something.
The corner of my room is now home to a semi-gigantic tower of empty tin cans (inclusive of soft drink cans, soup cans, cans of beans, etc etc), shaped in the spirit of our very own Petronas twin towers.
You have no idea how proud I am. If only I had a working digital camera, I could share this glory with the world. For now, it shall stand in secret until finally someone notices, and I'm forced to take it down.
:(
(Currently listening to:- "So They Say" from Dr. Horrible's Sing a long Blog)
The scenario is as such: I have another 15 to 16 days before I leave, a fact that squashes any possibility of seeking part-time formal employment to complete non-existence. I'm currently gaining additional income from the source that already supplies my usual income (i.e. my folks) by doing a steady flow of odd jobs, which include but are not limited to: mild accounting, deliveries, house-cleaning, car-washing, agreement-signing, and cooking. I'm usually alone in the condo, what with my dad with his now very hectic work-flow and my self-employed (read: professional housewife and occasional stock-broker) mother somehow having a social life more vibrant and exciting than mine. Most of my acquaintances and hombres are either currently studying overseas, working their own part-time jobs, enjoying their lack of activities more than I do, or dead.
It's a problem, I suspect, that is a derivative of another problem: when it comes to extended periods of vacation and leisure time, I am both confused, unmotivated and compulsive. In other words: I don't know what the hell I want, but I want to do it, but heck, I'll do it later. A trait not altogether beneficial to the institution of the greater good.
I have seen this problem and have grown accustomed to it; and as a direct reaction to overcome such adversity, I have in the past few days embarked on a remarkably pointless task of creating something..... well, something.
The corner of my room is now home to a semi-gigantic tower of empty tin cans (inclusive of soft drink cans, soup cans, cans of beans, etc etc), shaped in the spirit of our very own Petronas twin towers.
You have no idea how proud I am. If only I had a working digital camera, I could share this glory with the world. For now, it shall stand in secret until finally someone notices, and I'm forced to take it down.
:(
(Currently listening to:- "So They Say" from Dr. Horrible's Sing a long Blog)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The Return of the Comeback of the Reemergence of the Coconut Oil
Okay. Right. So.
Here I am, folks. Changed the URL, changed the color scheme (though not by much), changed the blog title, stripped down the content and altered other such things, all in the effort to both pump in a waft of fresh air into this stale, damp place as well as to reduce the number of things I have to deal with. Too lazy to put in a chat-box, too lazy to put in more pictures (this might change in the future though; depends on my highly erratic motivational mood swings), and I'm too lazy to summarize my ramblings to avoid "over-wordiness".
There. That took a lot of energy for me to write. I'm going to go lie down and roll with the bushes now.
(Currently listening to:- "Johanna -3" from Sweeney Todd 2005 Broadway Revival)
Here I am, folks. Changed the URL, changed the color scheme (though not by much), changed the blog title, stripped down the content and altered other such things, all in the effort to both pump in a waft of fresh air into this stale, damp place as well as to reduce the number of things I have to deal with. Too lazy to put in a chat-box, too lazy to put in more pictures (this might change in the future though; depends on my highly erratic motivational mood swings), and I'm too lazy to summarize my ramblings to avoid "over-wordiness".
There. That took a lot of energy for me to write. I'm going to go lie down and roll with the bushes now.
(Currently listening to:- "Johanna -3" from Sweeney Todd 2005 Broadway Revival)
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