i so want to write mounds and mounds of words like i used to but nothing comes to mind...

so i shall just mindlessly ramble on until i come to something...

swimming somewhere around my consciousness right now are three unfinished pieces of prose... as much as it puts me to shame to say that one of them i'll probably never get round to finishing, i will have to tell the truth and say...
well, i suppose no one's ever going to find out what happened to Lord Graine the night he was murdered...

how sad.

now let's hope that i can finish the other pieces so that i don't seem to have no backbone whatsoever and that i have no perserverance to finish what i start.

so the past few days have been spent at home, practicing and watching the telly and going out to run errands and all that stuff that seems to be so inconsequential but when you look at the time half the day's gone.. in an hour of boredom today i started folding paper airplanes from a stack of paper that i had meant to throw out and before i knew it i was five again, and indulging in the endless, childish, yet so innocently pleasurable cycle of throwing, watching in amazement, rushing to retrieve the paper, and throwing again.

and it really helped that when looking out of the window i could actually see the sky... all grey and translucent and cloudy, promising even more rain...

that was fun...

i received a call a few days back and the caller asked why i sounded so weary.
hmm. i said i sounded tired because i was.
(that day being the day that i had to go down to get my phone serviced. and i'm one of those people they talk about in the papers who when the phone breaks down they just get depressed because they've developed some reliance on the phone. which is pretty weird cos i don't use the phone much anyway. but then and again maybe i'm secretly, unconsciously afraid of being alone and the phone allows me to, without actually being in contact with anyone, be in touch with the outside world.)
but thinking back upon the last few days it seems that my mood nowadays swings from a victorious and triumphant conviction that i'll succeed in doing what i want and this depressing, nagging feeling that i am going to, after all the trouble, have to go walking, head held tensely up, brow hardened, into NUS, to matriculate like everyone else.

i so do not want to be anyone else.

and surfing around i chanced upon this:
Pronoia: "The delusion that others think well of one, the unreasoning belief that his superiors think him to be indispensable, that his colleagues adore him, and that he is doing brilliantly in his work."
a word coined by Fred Goldner, in an article in Social Problems (1982)

and this so succinctly sums it up.

i swing between pronoia and self-doubt.

and so it seems that rambling along i have come to a reasonable length..
nighty then..

yes very abrupt i know.. but then suddenly the urge to write just dissipates into thin air.

which is a good thing, actually, since these urges to write come mostly when i feel less than perfect...

so life has been terribly busy these days, because amidst preparations for myriad events and performances i also have to make even more important preparations for the future...

but first the performances (which i would be ecstatic should i see some familiar faces):

Saturday, 25th November, 8pm
Raffles Hotel Jubilee Hall
Kim Seng Wind Symphony in Concert
tickets available at $10 each

18th November
Earshot Cafe at the Arts House
(which i shall be an accompanying pianist for the evening's singers)

and i will be flying to prague for over a week following these performances... this next event stresses me out to no end but is at the same time so exciting..

so that's what's up with my life.

and in the middle of all that i have somehow come to decide that i should at least take one long shot at trying to do what i really love doing... there have been countless cycles of vacillating between hormone-induced, adolescent despair and acceptance that life is bleak...
but the status quo now stands at acceptance that the lesser alternatives (which i have already secured) are not at all unbearable, but they are lesser nonetheless, and the chance to heed passion and pursue what i really want makes these lesser alternatives seem a lesser life, pale and muted...

at long last it seems that now that i'm trying my best for myself the angst and despair have melted away, and all i have is a quiet determination, and quite weirdly, peace.

or maybe the paranoia just hasn't set in.

hmm...

shamelessly ripped from leonard, who ripped it from zat...
you can rip it too!
at http://colorquiz.com/


Your Existing Situation

Acts calmly, with the minimum of upset, in order to handle existing relationships. Likes to feel relaxed and at ease with his associates and those close to him.


Your Stress Sources

Feels that life has far more to offer and that there are still important things to be achieved - that life must be experienced to the fullest. As a result, he pursues his objectives with a fierce intensity that will not let go of things. Becomes deeply involved and runs the risk of being unable to view things with sufficient objectivity, or calmly enough; is therefore in danger of becoming agitated and of exhausting his nervous energy. Cannot leave things alone and feels he can only be at peace when he has finally reached his goal.


Your Restrained Characteristics

Feels that he is receiving less than his share and that there is no one on who he can rely for sympathy and understanding. Pent-up emotions make him quick to take offense, but he realizes that he has to make the best of things as they are.

Trying to calm down and unwind after a period of over-agitation which has left him listless and devoid of energy. In need of peace and quiet; becomes irritable if this is denied him.

Feels that things stand in his way, that circumstances are forcing him to compromise and forgo some pleasures for the time being.


Your Desired Objective

In despair and needs relief of some sort. Wants physical ease, a problem free security, and the chance to recover.


Your Actual Problem

The fear that he may be prevented from achieving the things he wants leads him into a relentless search for satisfaction in the pursuit of illusory or meaningless activities.


thank you very much. i sound like a bad case of neurotic anxiety.

My horoscope according to flooble.com

"Pisces cannot live without lies and treachery. They often get so wrapped up in their own tall tales that they can easily forget which of their stories are true and which are not.

A Pisces constantly contradicts himself, and is always trying to wriggle out of a lie somebody has called him on. He will generally not profit from such fruitless tasks, but that's fine by him - he's doing it for the art.

Additionally a Pisces loves nothing more than to stick his nose into someone else's dirty laundry. Pretending to be a self-taught psychoanalyst he will pry into people's secrets, which he will later manipulate and trade through his own self-styled network of spies.

Incapable of working, or for that matter doing anything remotely useful, a Pisces has no interest for aquiring such abilities. Forcing him to do so is nearly impossible - he will simply wriggle out and disappear."

sweet cosmic perfection.

"Your hobby becomes so absorbing that you look for even more ways to make it a part of your regular, workday life. The stars are behind your efforts. This could become another career for you."

thank you leonard for rekindling that spark in me by trying so hard for what you want, and zat for showing me how simple the solution to my problem really is.

it's at times like this the possibilities seem endless, and all of a sudden i'm reminded of how if i just allow myself the courage and nerve, and dare to dream, the whole universe could be rooting for me.

"the heart asks more than life can give because a dream is a wish your heart makes, and dreams are just too big for life that's why they exist only when life stops when we sleep."
-leonard's words of wisdom

I was in my study looking as my butler cleared away my personal effects when the detective walked into the room through the open door, and stood facing my butler’s back as he cleared my table. Receiving no response, Detective Miller cleared his throat, and looked straight at Baddleton with a rather stern expression as the butler turned around.

“Good Lord! There’s been another murder!”

The detective looked rather put out, and raising his hands to display his notebook and pencil, he said, “sorry to disappoint, but for now, all I have are questions, not bodies.”

“Oh,” and Baddleton paused to recompose himself, “fire away then.”

This peaked my interest for I was indeed interested in finding out what information the detective thought I had about the thief to warrant my murder. Sitting in the parlour listening to the detective made me feel an inexplicable sense of unhappiness, that I had been needlessly killed. So sitting myself down on the edge of the table I, well, eavesdropped on the conversation.

“Firstly, do you know anybody who would have wanted your employer dead?”

“No, not really. He was rich and idle, but not really offensive enough to be killed.”

“So you do think that he was killed for the opal.”

“I never thought about it. Now you mention it, I think I can agree with that.”

“Right,” and he paused as he scribbled (I looked over his shoulder) ‘killed for stone’ and underlined that. (I also stepped away in shock when he called my opal a stone, but I shall try to rid myself of such worldly reservations.)

“What’s the history of the stone anyway?”

“Stone?” Baddleton looked almost comical in his look of ignorance, and when it dawned upon him that the detective was referring to the opal he looked ready to wage holy war upon the man who dared insult the riches of the most noble house of Graine. So in cold, ringing tones (that I was very familiar with having received one of his speeches when I tried to renovate the older parts of the mansion) he told the detective how I had come to own the Backworth Opal.

“The Backworth Opal was found by Jason Backworth, Senior, when he was exploring the Australian deserts nine years ago. That expedition, however, was one of the last he was to have, his family fortune being fast dwindled by his young, rash, brutish son, with whom you have already made an acquaintance,” he paused here to think and as much for effect, and the detective was quite furiously scribbling on his notepad.

“The final blow came when Backworth Junior was one day engaged in a drunken brawl with some other fine, young, and most importantly, rich, gentlemen; gentlemen who could afford to place the brute in a cell. So his father had to sell off the opal for a rather low sum to bribe off his son’s accusers, and thus the Backworth Opal landed in Lord Graine’s possession,” he stopped, and then added, as if an afterthought, “and he was rather fond of it, as I recall.”

With a rather large breath the detective finished writing in his notepad and looked up, and said, “that’s a very interesting account. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, detective. I’m afraid that’s about all I can offer. I don’t know anything much more about the theft or the murder.” He fell silent as he looked at my desk, and then he said, “the opal was bought quite some time ago, when we were better off. Now, the Lord Graine has, well, squandered his wealth, and that’s why we’ve had to have them here to auction the opal off. That was rather hard for him to do, sell off his opal. He may have lost his money, but for it he was a changed man.”

“Well thank you once again. And I’ll be on my way then,” the detective made to leave, but stopped and asked, “by the way, what were you doing when I first came in here?”

“Clearing up; this was his study.”

“Clearing up evidence?”

With a dismissive sniff the butler retorted, “no, not really, it’s just the mess that all rich and idle men leave behind. When they fly off for a vacation, when they leave for a cruise, when they die.”

I was rather cross at that.




work-in-progress~Copyright2006TTH~work-in-progress

hello there...

well well...

Brunei was fun... that's about all i can say so far...
as performers for the Sultan's birthday celebrations, we were treated like VIP wherever we went...
that means police escort everywhere we go...
including to the shopping malls...

so there's this one day where we have a roadshow.. like a parade round the streets in a place called Kuala Belait...

the bus ride there's more than an hour.. so i just settle down on the bus and doze off...

and mind you there are 3 countries involved in this particular show in this particular district... and so there's us, and delegates from Indonesia and Jordan...
and that's a grand total of about (i can't remember exactly) 5 trucks, 6 coaches, 3 minivans, 2 cars and 4 police motorcycle escorts...

so.
halfway i get up and i have to pee real bad...
so what do i do...?

i stop the coach and find a place to relieve myself...

and the whole entourage of (i think) 5 trucks, 6 coaches, 3 minivans, 2 cars and 4 police motorcycle escorts...

stops too.

i like to think i was doing us all a favour because when the whole chain of vehicles stopped, everyone unloaded (albeit not as harriedly as me).

well that's a bus ride to remember.

well moving on to other things...

the fireworks used were Japanese Hanabi fireworks...
exceptionally beautiful, not like the stuff you see normally...

apparrently, the stuff that we see here every year may be choreographed and designed by French or goodness-knows-where-else artists, but the gunpowder used all comes form China...

these fireworks, on the other hand, come from Japan...

and they are drop-dead gorgeous...

see here.

there's a lot more... but i think i'll wait for next time...

before leaving for Brunei i picked up something to read while i was there...

"... Cry, the beloved country, for the unborn child that is the inheritor of our fear. Let him not love the earth too deeply. Let him not laugh too gladly when the water runs through his fingers, nor stand too silent when the setting sun makes red the veld with fire. Let him not be too moved then the birds of his land are singing, nor give too much of his heart to a mountain or a valley. For fear will rob him of all if he gives too much."
- Cry, the Beloved Country, by Alan Paton

it's really quite good writing...

next next...

these few days at home have been spent watching Carnivale, a miniseries from HBO...

it's about the two stories of a young man with a gift for healing picked up by a travelling circus and a priest with a dark power as he falls away from his faith...
the first season alone details their stories as they come to realize their individual potential and sets the stage for a cosmic battle between good and evil...

the battle between good and evil part isn't all that new... but the show, with it's plot, all the quirky freakshow characters, layered images, is something really well done...

we'll see if i can get season 2...

well that's about all for this very compressed and strung together glimpse of my life in the past half-a-month or so...

hello all!!

am now sitting in the lobby of the Orchid Garden Hotel where free wireless access has allowed me to blog such...

so...

yar that's about it lar...
more updates to come when i reach back home..

and to anonymous...
thank you very much for your kind support but i haven't found the time nor condition to continue the adventures of the late Lord Graine so well...

heh i'm sorry you'll have to wait a little longer...

i will be away till the 3rd of August...

so i was planning on going to the airport tomorrow by myself... despite my mother's quite intense protests over the last weeks that i needed fetching at that early hour...

which i should add is not really that early...
i have to reach the airport at 7...

and before leaving home last Sunday for camp the debate was still not yet ended... and all that she was willing to concede was a rather tenacious "we'll talk about it on Thursday night"...

and then she pulls out the oldest trick in any mother's book.

guilt.

Plath, give me strength.