welcome to my book collection

to anyone who still checks this bloody thing:

i ain't updating this no more. (haha why do i sound like FITTY CENT all of a sudden?)

instead, see my personal blog.

that is, if you, for some reason, want to.

i certainly wouldn't!

the end of the semester

Eight (or seven, I'm not sure how you count exactly) posts ago I wrote about the start of the new semester, and now it's time to write about, well, the end of it. It's been quite a relaxed short semester, and in all honesty it's been quite enjoyable. What's not to like, really, about a class that's mostly about writing? Well, a lot, really, if you don't like writing. But I do. Thus, by extension, I liked and enjoyed the class very much. Nice way to close the first "long semester-long semester-short semester" cycle of this degree.

I don't have much to say, really. It's been a good seven weeks or so, in most aspects: university, life, me, friends, my creative exploits and my efforts to deprive myself of as much sleep as possible. I learned quite a bit and got some good feedback throughout the semester in regards to writing, and that's always a good thing, is it not? While I perhaps haven't written as much as I'd like recently (and thus haven't really been able to apply all the stuff that I learned), it's partly because of all the writing I've been doing in class and for the coursework and stuff. Not that it's a bad thing, mind you. Certainly not.

Not much more to say, really, without this post descending into a morass of all-too-personal thoughts and semi-melodrama. And even if that wasn't really a proble, I don't think I'd want to say and touch upon some of the things I want to, not even on my personal blog. Primarily because certain things are best kept to myself . . . and a few friends. Heh.

So yeah. One step closer to the end of the year, one step closer to the end of this degree, one step closer to the end of my life as a student, one step closer to being thrust forcibly—kicking and screaming—into the "real world."

But I'm not worried about that. Let's jump off those cliffs when we come to them, eh?

a photograph

It's somewhere around 7pm on a Monday and the Pasar Seni LRT Station is pretty much full of people. The trains heading in both directions are nearly always totally full of people, and thus few people can actually get on them, which contributes to the large amount of people loitering around. And then there are the people—like me—who've decided to sit down and waste some time doing other things while waiting for emptier trains to arrive. I decide to get my camera out of my bag and affix my 135mm lens onto it, and I begin walking about and snapping photos. As I'm walking about, I see her. She's wearing a dark brown jacket and a white headscarf with floral designs. Her handbag, also something of a dark brown—although most probably black—is slung over her right shoulder. She's sitting down on one of the many benches, looking out onto the tracks, waiting for the next train to arrive, seemingly lost in thought. Beside her, a man in a black-and-white checkered shirt holds his phone up to his right ear and is talking with someone on the other end. I brace myself against a wall, compose the photo, and press the shutter. Another photo in the bag.

postcard poems

"this is the life"
drinking singapore slings
with mescal on the side
much like raoul duke
with a 300 pound samoan lawyer by his side—
sun is shining
water's sparkling
sunlight reflected by the white sand blinds my eyes—
am i sandblind?
that word doesn't exist does it though
no, no it doesnt.

watch a
girl in a
bikini—
a blue bikini—
a very tiny bikini—
jump into the ocean
and make a huge splash.

i am doing nothing of note
i am not doing anything useful—
oh yes
this is the life.

"missed"
last night i sat on the beach
beer bottle in one hand
cigarette in the other
and watched the sun set just out of reach.

i miss you already.

(#1 is poem sent out, #2 is poem recieved)

(also this isn't actually poetry is it?)

a modern-day lament

i understand einstein and da vinci,
quantum physics and the theory of relativity,
but what i can't seem to understand is why
no-one wants to be friends with me.

apparently,
the fact that i can solve complex mathematical equations
doesn't necessarily mean i have any ability
when it comes to social relations.

i've memorized pi to the 34th decimal number
but i'd gladly trade that knowledge
for someone's cell phone number.
maybe hers?

i'm tired of being special
i just want to be normal
i want friends, dammit.
no more numbers!

burn the books, yeah,
maybe that'll make me look cool.

the experience of attending a romantic play, seen from two differing viewpoints of a father and his daughter

The Father

She knows that I have lots of work to do. I told her myself, just last night. But she just had to tell Siti that it was I, not her, that was going to take her to this play. “It's her birthday,” she said, “why don't you take her out? For a change?

“Besides, she really wants to go and, well, you do want to see her happy, right?”

That last phrase of her had a slightly threatening overtone to it, so I agreed, and here I am: dressed to the nines, sitting in a darkened theatre, watching a romantic play with my daughter. I never liked romantic plays, to be honest. They're always so cliche and nearly every character or plot device is either done to death or only a slight (and by slight I mean slight) “twist” to the cliche.

This play isn't an exception. Look at it: you have your star-crossed lovers, you have your ever-present disapproving family, you have your instance of platonic intimacy while watching leaves fall from a tree, it's all just so . . . typical, so common, so overdone. Let's just say there's nothing about this play that I'll remember tomorrow night, that's for sure. I don't know why people keep coming to these plays.

And to think I could be sitting inside my office at home—sipping a mug of Nescafe, no doubt—while finishing up all the work I have yet to do.

But when I turn to look at Siti, I see that she's smiling, engrossed in the tale, and I can see in her eyes that she's enjoying the “spectacle” (to borrow a phrase from the promotional flyer she handed to me), so, well, I guess I could try and survive this. For her.

The Daughter

I'm so happy that I'm going at the play tonight! I'm happy that I'm here with dad, too, because I don't see enough of him sometimes. He's so busy with his PDA and pointing at things with his stylus that sometimes it feels like he doesn't care.

But I know he does, or else why would he bring me here?

I like how he's dressed even more fancily than I am: I'm not used to these kinds of things, so I put on a simple dress and that was that, but dad, well . . . I've been to many weddings and I don't think I've seen anyone dressed up as well as he is! Hahaha. It's funny. I don't think I've ever seen him dressed up this well.

And it's just a play!

Oh well, it's not like it's a bad thing . . .

This really is a great play: I love the storyline and the characters and oh my God, that scene with them sitting under the tree watching the leaves fall was just so, so cute! This whole play feels so magical, so . . . wonderful. Thank God dad brought me here, this is an experience I'll never forget.

I wish there was a boy who'd love me like the boy in the play does. I really do. We'd cuddle together under a tree and do nothing and say nothing, but just sit there and watch the clouds pass over our heads.

But then I catch a glimpse of dad out of the corner of my eye and I realize that I don't really need a boy to love me. At least, not yet. After all, dad's still around, and he loves me.

. . . Right?

attempt to pick a favourite fictional character, an

For me, trying to pick one favourite fictional character from all the books I've read, movies I've seen, comics I've read and videogames I've played (they count too, right?) is like trying to pick one favourite song or riff from an album or a band's discography, or trying to pick a favourite scene from a movie or book. It's tough. Perhaps tougher than it should be.

But I'll try! (Primarily because I'm supposed to write this, but yeah . . .)

I guess, in the interest of making sure I don't have to rack my brains too much, I would have to say that my favourite fictional character of recent times is Raoul Duke from Hunter S. Thompson's novel Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas as well as the film adaptation (where Johnny Depp turned in a brilliant performance . . . and you thought he was good in the Pirates of the Caribbean movies).

Yes, Raoul Duke is primarily based on Hunter S. Thompson himself, but he counts, right, as a fictional character? Anyway . . .

I like him primarily because of his distaste of conventional, conservative culture—primarily, his penchant of getting very twisted on anything from cocaine to mescaline to LSD to ether—and how recklessly he goes about his business—alongside his "300 pound Samoan" attorney—first covering (or attempting to) the Mint 400 race, and then attending a narcotics convention in the same city. There's something to be said about performing a "burn" (in his words) on one hotel in Las Vegas before coolly checking into another hotel to do it all over again.

The way he (and his aforementioned attorney) go about degrading and abusing multiple symbols of American (and, really, worldwide) consumerism and excess is something I really enjoy, and is the main thing I really like about the chararcter. You could say I like his "philosophy," I guess. Notably, I feel this strange affinity towards his philosophy of his (and, I presume, by extension, Hunter S. Thompson's) drug use being primarily to make himself into a mess: instead of the "consciousness expansion" that Tim Leary peddled, Duke considers himself a posterchild for a generation of "permanent cripples" and "failed seekers" (to quote directly from the book), and what's not to love about that sort of cynicism?

I'm a cynical bloke, unfortunately, and I can't help but feel an odd sort of affinity towards that kind of weltanschauung (pretentious +1, yeah), that sort of worldview.

Of course, if you'd asked me a year or so ago I'd have mentioned a different character. If you ask me in a year's time it'll probably be a different character. I have more important things to think about than favourite characters, but for now, this is it:

Raoul Duke.