60s bollywood a-go-go.

whee what can bring on more funk right now.

 

rehearsals are sucking life out of meeeee ):

and i like this poem



This Room

The room I entered was a dream of this room.
Surely all those feet on the sofa were mine.
The oval portrait
of a dog was me at an early age.
Something shimmers, something is hushed up.

We had macaroni for lunch every day
except Sunday, when a small quail was induced
to be served to us. Why do I tell you these things?
You are not even here.

                                                      John Ashbery

just got positively mindfucked after watching being john malkovich. urgh i feel psychological nausea.

here's something as a little distraction. cute (as we've kinda realised by now)

no fuckin way - they're coming to singapore!!! :D

i never really realised until now that in rainbows was such a magical magical album.

sorry i just had to put this down in writing somewhere. just finished watching high fidelity on vcd (lol ikr what age are we living in hullooo?). the script is amazing at some points:

(after her father's funeral)

Laura: Listen, Rob, would you have sex with me? Because I want to feel something else than this. It either that, or I go home and put my hand in the fire. Unless you want to stub cigarettes out on my arm.

Rob: No. I only have a few left, I've been saving them for later.

Laura: Right. It'll have to be sex, then.

Rob: Right. Right.


many points in fact. you just have to watch it to see how painful and deadpan hilarious it is.

well ok, i've had my rave for today. promos result detonation tomorrow. yawnnn.  

back from the uk and suffering from jetlag ):

i thought this trip was really meaningful in many ways, especially at this point in time. allowed me to step out of the whole system a bit, get a breather after the promo frenzy. and many other things as well, evidently some more deeply personal.

visiting oxford was daunting, and it got me thinking again. i have to confess that the more i learn, the more i actually don't know. i used to think i know. now i just don't and i don't want to get caught up in all that pathetic pining and elbowing each other to get to the top. which is why i might just end up mediocre because i don't see the point. isn't that terrifying? self-fulfilling mediocrity?

i don't want anyone reading this to characterise me as someone crippled by feelings of inadequacy though. i'm not obsessive. i think it's a fear that strikes us all. just that i choose to think about it a whole lot more than others, which is ironic considering i want desperately to consign these thoughts at once to the backburner in my head.

but on to more pressing thoughts, my craving for local food is reaching astronomical levels. waaaaarrrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhh.

hopefully photos will be up soon (:

halfway through compiling earnest notes i followed a link to this.

ohgod it's horribly crass humour and i'm really ashamed for posting this but i was laughing my ass off. no, like seriously.




oh judge me now.

 
on the eve of promos

insecure leon: ahh promos promos!!!

rational leon: why are you stressing out.

asshole leon: relax you're most likely gonna own anyway.

hungry leon: mooncakes! ikea food! D:

insomniac leon: (blogging)

poseur leon: what should i pack for uk?

geek leon: cultural relativism falls into the trappings of a logical paradox by means of its own inherent tenets. when one calls for the acceptance of all moral truths, one essentially postulates a new morality based on tolerance. one universalises this judgment to be a moral truth to be accepted across all societies and ethical paradigms. thus, the relativist perspective runs into internal contradictions in the long term. 

cynical leon: bah, fuck the system.

episode of banal banter #187986714325 

shoot me now. i just did the banalest thing ever out of boredom/curiosity. distracted by the foyle facebook page, i started scrolling through the list of names looking for singaporeans who had won the award before me, and guess what, they are/were all enrolled in high-flying universities (2 from columbia, 1 from oxford, 1 from cambridge, 1 from harvard, 1 from cornell). 

if tenuous extrapolation is anything to go by it means i'll most probably end up in oxbridge or the ivy league just like my predecessors. but having just finished mugging ki tonight, something tells me inductivism is a very uncertain method of doing things ):

grah, i love making myself think such despondent and insecure thoughts on the brink of crucial events (read: promos). hey but who knows i'm even more spurred on to do well now.

ki down, a fuckload of history to go. at least i can still call that progress :D  



ps: my last video embed didn't work. here's the link !

 


the things that keep my days happy.

 
hi chu i miss you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LipClb6N8Dk

AHHHHH FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE FOYLE :D


yucks ok now i'm positively disgusted with myself for being so smug about winning FYP. but whatever, one of the rare moments that actually make me feel spair-shuuul and talented - i shall indulge incessantly in it.

arvon, here i come in february! 

reverie sound revue finally has a new album!!!





the effortless incandescence of lisa lobsinger's voice is simply amazing.


i swear the world needs more singers like her.

sat in purvis' lecture yesterday and had the sinking frustration that language will never be enough. met with such intensity in the book, how exhausting it is to attempt replicating its colossal, tidal, seismic, fearsomely obliterative power. even now as i speak, each adjective is but a deferral, a further refinement towards a conscious and pulsing totality of emotion that cannot be fully birthed on paper.

which makes me angry. not being able to actually write a lit essay that gives weight to the entirety of what i mean. that the head is swarming with so much passion without outlet is a disparaging thought. how our heads are explosively whizzing with so many possibilities, raging rivermouth, torrents of so many infinitely fractal angles of thoughts that no joycean rubbish in two millenia is ever going to do justice to it. funny i've never really thought that till now. are our lips too inadequate for accuracy of the mind? if language cannot bear the abject gravity of our thoughts that what else can?

and I want to play hide-and-seek and give you my clothes and tell you I like your shoes and sit on the steps while you take a bath and massage your neck and kiss your feet and hold your hand and go for a meal and not mind when you eat my food and meet you at Rudy's and talk about the day and type your letters and carry your boxes and laugh at your paranoia and give you tapes you don't listen to and watch great films and watch terrible films and complain about the radio and take pictures of you when you're sleeping and get up to fetch you coffee and bagels and Danish and go to Florent and drink coffee at midnight and have you steal my cigarettes and never be able to find a match and tell you about the the programme I saw the night before and take you to the eye hospital and not laugh at your jokes and want you in the morning but let you sleep for a while and kiss your back and stroke your skin and tell you how much I love your hair your eyes your lips your neck your breasts your arse your-

and sit on the steps smoking till your neighbour comes home and sit on the steps smoking till you come home and worry when you're late and be amazed when you're early and give you sunflowers and go to your party and dance till I'm black and be sorry when I'm wrong and happy when you forgive me and look at your photos and wish I'd known you forever and hear your voice in my ear and feel your skin on my skin and get scared when you're angry and your eye has gone red and the other eye blue and your hair to the left and your face oriental and tell you you're gorgeous and hug you when you're anxious and hold you when you hurt and want you when I smell you and offend you when I touch you and whimper when I'm next to you and whimper when I'm not and dribble on your breast and smother you in the night and get cold when you take the blanket and hot when you don't and melt when you smile and dissolve when you laugh and not understand why you think I'm rejecting you when I'm not rejecting you and wonder how you could think I'd ever reject you and wonder who you are but accept you anyway and tell you about the tree angel enchanted forest boy who flew across the ocean because he loved you and write poems for you and wonder why you don't believe me and have a feeling so deep I can't find words for it and want to buy you a kitten I'd get jealous of because it would get more attention than me and keep you in bed when you have to go and cry like a baby when you finally do and get rid of the roaches and buy you presents you don't want and take them away again and ask you to marry me and you say no again but keep on asking because though you think I don't mean it I do always have from the first time I asked you and wander the city thinking it's empty without you and want want you want and think I'm losing myself but know I'm safe with you and tell you the worst of me and try to give you the best of me because you don't deserve any less and answer your questions when I'd rather not and tell you the truth when I really dont' want to and try to be honest because I know you prefer it and think it's all over but hang on in for just ten more minutes before you throw me out of your life and forget who I am and try to get closer to you because it's a beautiful learning to know you and well worth the effort and speak German to you badly and Hebrew to you worse and make love with you at three in the morning and somehow somehow somehow communicate some of the overwhelming undying overpowering unconditional all-encompassing heart-enriching mind-expanding on-going never-ending love I have for you.



omg my heart is aflutter with thoughts of staging this. please let it happen.

two things to say about this

1) this is what slam should be.
2) i love anyone who makes fucking an art.

everyone loves a good cover. i happen to be crazy about both the coverer and coveree - the immortalised jeff buckley.

cheers and r.i.p.

going through my days like this not knowing i am blessed. unconditionally loving people, amazing environment. i don't complain, yet i don't learn to love and praise either. it's time to, i know, but how, but how to surrender these arms without feeling a loss of yourself, the encroaching insecurity? it will all pass in a single wink, and then comes the merciless devastation to know that no one cares after all. i am broken and at standstill, i am broken and i don't know how i love.


Memory At Last

Memory at last has what it sought.
My mother has been found, my father glimpsed.
I dreamed up for them a table, two chairs. They sat down.
Once more they seemed close, and once more living for me.
With the lamps of their two faces, at twilight,
they suddenly gleamed as if for Rembrandt.

Only now can I relate
the many dreams in which they've wandered, the many throngs
in which I've pulled them out from under wheels,
the many death-throes where they have collapsed into my arms.
Cut off - they would grow back crooked.
Absurdity forced them into masquerade.
Small matter that this could not hurt them outside me
if it hurt them inside me.
The gawking rabble of my dreams heard me calling "mamma"
to something that hopped squealing on a branch.
And they laughed because I had a father with a ribbon in his hair.
I would wake up in shame.
Well, at long last.

On a certain ordinary night,
between a humdrum Friday and Saturday,
they suddenly appeared exactly as I wished them.
Seen in a dream, they yet seemed freed from dreams,
obedient only to themselves and nothing else.
All possibilities vanished from the background of the image,
accidents lacked a finished form.
Only they shone with beauty, for they were like themselves.
They appeared to me a long, long time, and happily.

I woke up. I opened my eyes.
I touched the world as if it were a carved frame.
 
                                    Wislawa Szymborska

waiting for something to happen, waiting so often for the let up, i think we've still got years. i haven't fully comprehended the possibilites, rather, the impossibilities of being stuck in neutral. never knowing, never fully loving the way one should. how difficult is it for the heart to move to the rhythm of normalcy? thinking about how the heart is petulantly abused as nothing more as an empty sketch, thrown into this thrashing world and consigned only to benches, walls and the insides of suffocating tunnels. between 'loving' and 'having loved' there is no weight of the past. yet so dissimilar. how does timelessness factor into all this? haven't you said we got time? 

charming video.