Saturday, January 24, 2009

When I think about, all the insecurities and neuroses that I neatly pack away and suppress within my 20 year old self were formed in my secondary school days. EVERYTHING.

Everything about my hair (length, texture oh god), height, weight, clothes, race, boys, everythingggggg!

The worst thing is that it all kind of revolves around one person, which makes working hard on this friendship difficult to say the least. Aside from the long neglect that we both are guilty off, there's this deep-seated resentment that I thought I had let go off, but sometimes, I suppose I haven't. It's nothing personal really, and its definitely my own issues.

Right, three more months before I hit 21 which being the arbitrary mark for adulthood, I might grow up by then! Wouldn't it be great though, if our maturity level was definitely tied to our biological age? That on the day that I officially cannot be called a teenager, all my juvenile issues dissipate into thin air!

Let's call a spade a spade hmm? I've never been the "hot" friend and yeah, this is still pretty much true in my current social circles, except that I'm not bothered by it any more. I think its kind of why my dressing sense is decidedly un-sexy. I don't feel that 'sexy' is any part of my identity lol, and it would just feel weird! I could and would carry off any look except you know, the whole slinky dress and heels deal. I can't see myself that way, and I have NEVER picked anything in that aesthetic when I go shopping. Maybe I find sexy boring, in the sense that it doesn't relate to me or my personality at all.

It's just that I'm seeing my friends around me all growing up and starting to look Dude, my 16 year old sister just bought a very mature looking Aldo PURSE that while very nice, I wouldn't have picked at all. But urgh, the thought of wearing very nice, form-fitting jersey dresses from Victoria's Secret and tops with proper slacks and skirts - how dreary!

I want to be wearing funny shaped skirts and too many layers and things with crazy pleats and pairing amazingly sleek outfits with scruffy $8 sneakers forever! Not very sexy la, but you know, it's me at least.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Am listening to the new Franz Ferdinand album and its a pretty different sound, some of it sounds a bit weird* to me but there are some IMMEDIATELY strong tracks (Ulysses, Turn It On, the electronic half of Lucid Dreams, Twillight Omens)! It took me awhile to realize that I was already mini-dancing in my seat on the first listen, and hey its been some time since any album has gotten me to do that. The sound is even more layered now, which is awesome. Sometimes I also wish they did more soft ballads because the vocals on Katherine Kiss Me is so emotive and coupled with the lyrics, its quite dirtily wistful.


*not too worried about this either - i remember not feeling half of the second album in the beginning but now I love all the tracks.

I've been having increasingly traumatic nightmares three nights in a row man, which really sucks. Its quite emotionally exhausting to wake up in the morning carrying all the leftover fear, panic and anxiety from sleeptime encounters with Anonymous, Invsible, Malignant Forces giving chase and then having to find a place to hide. Or having a psycho stalker who is just so quietly sinister who makes you feel so scared to even leave the house by yourself because she WILL FIND YOU and then you find out that your mother's an impostor and it's actually the stalker AFTER FACIAL-RECONSTRUCTION SURGERY. Then you kill her.

The residual anxiety this morning was so bad I even didn't feel 'safe' leaving the house.

Oh god. I have issues.

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

So what's it like being in art school?

Recently, there's a lot of the novel back-to-school yelling hi! and hey! from one end of the school to the other when a long-lost friend is spotted. There's the mingling at the student cafe where I fiddled with a photography major's $10,000 Hasselblad on loan from the school, feeling downright pissed that I wasn't able to loan it too! Because a graphic design major should totally be entitled to utilizing precious and elite equipment from another department right, ha!

Its missing lunch and eating pistachios instead, because I can't be bothered to waste my already short break trekking up the hill to a very crowded canteen.

Its also eating pistachios in the middle of class, because we're kind of chill that way. Then again, its also running down to the workshop to look for scrap mounting board for a last minute presentation. And then! Finding perfectly good files in the workshop and then bringing the whole lot up to share with friends haha! When we sponge from the school, we do it collectively - that should be our motto I guess.

Its a classmate jokingly telling you that they have an announcement/advice to make to my friend and I: that this semester, they request that we take a break and stop working so damn hard and making them look bad. Which is ridiculous, as I told him so, stop pretending okay, you guys are equally as crazy lor.

But its also facing the relative silence from your teacher when its your turn for your work to be critiqued, which is terrible of course because it means she thinks its boring. Then you struggle with thinking maybe its a) just a conflict in design direction or, b)deciding that my resistance and self-justification against her critique (or non-critique lol) might be gasp, arrogance.

Its also finally being more awake and caffeinated in the second half of your Western Film History lecture and suddenly while watching documentaries on the beginnings of the Hollywood studios, you really do feel the excitement and magic of film-making. My appreciation for film is still somewhat voyeuristic and definitely tinged by a permanent(?) stranger from the outside world perspective, but film is such a fascinating world on its own!

From this class, I watched a bloody 3 hour long silent movie that is said to be the first blockbuster ever (D.W Griffith's Intolerance), and surprised myself by actually liking it and being eventually quite emotionally connected to it. Then I learned that the same director did Birth of a Nation, which, while being a cinematic milestone, was an explicitly racist movie that revolved around the Ku Klux Klan saving the world! How is it that a director who can make a lovely film about LOVE also be the bigoted freak?

Its a strange world. Because this same fella, was also one of the founders of a minor* Hollywood production studio, United Artists. And the aim of United Artists was pretty noble: to return film-making from the clutches of evil commercial-minded producers, to the artists! Which is a cool notion, although I'm not too sure to what extent they managed to implement this.

*minor: Minor not in the sense that they were financially small, just that unlike the major production studios (e.g Paramount), they did not own any cinemas (yet) and were therefore, unable to control the exhibition of the films they produced. The major studios were totally vertically intergrated and controlled all three aspects of film production: production, distribution and exhibition.

The major studios also had this sly practice of forcing cinemas to purchase films in packages that maybe included one fantastic movie along with four clunkers. I honestly thought they still did this, which WOULD explain the crap that fills the cinemas sometimes, but uh apparently not! The practice was outlawed in the 1940s.

Wow see I learned a lot today.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Well if nothing else is to come out from this, at least you've provoked a rather creative bout from me so um, thank you I guess haha. It is quite something, first poem thing in years ha. Sometimes I feel pretty iffy exploiting my own emotions for creative output/benefit, but I suppose that is the whole deal-io.

I carry my affection
for you as a pebble
in my chest.

At times, it slips through the gaps
Between my ribs,
Catching light, smooth and warm in
The sun – I let it linger in my mouth,
Before swallowing it down.

It nestles in my heart, silent
and lukewarm.

I’d slip my hands into your ribs,
Seeking to grasp the pebble I know you keep,
So well.

I would if I could!

Where is it? Does it lie hot
Under your clavicle?
Beat against your sternum?
There it is!
Smothered under your diaphragm.

One day, my pebble will
Melt into a soft spot and then, and then,
Evaporate! Into the arid air.

Then! We will be friends
And nothing more.

Saturday, January 03, 2009


Right, right, time to get a grip.

Hey how about some Egon Schiele? There's a delicacy behind the rawness and brutality that seems relevant my life-mood in general. Life-mood? You know, that constant nugget of ache or feeling or tone of pensiveness that accompanies you in your chest when you're doing nothing, something or anything in particular.

What about a poem?

The mint bed is in
bloom: lavender haze
day. The grass is
more than green and
throws up sharp and
cutting lights to
slice through the
plane tree leaves. And
on the cloudless blue
I scribble your name.
Sunday; James Schuyler

It (the poem, not the naked lady) reminds me a lot of gorgeous sunlit days in campus when I troop out from the computer labs and have a jaunt up the hill for food! and snacks! and sometimes, thoughts of you! Who? No, no one in particular.

Oh let's be honest now, how about this one?

I want you to feel
the unbearable lack of me.
I want your skin
to yearn for the soft lure of mine;
I want those hints of red
on your canvas
to deepen in passion for me:
carmine, burgundy.
I want you to keep stubbing your toe
on the memory of me;
I want your head to be dizzy
and your stomach in a spin;
I want you to hear my voice
in your ear, to trouch your face
imagining it is my hand.
I want your body to shiver and quiver
at the mere idea of mine.
I want you to feel as though
life after me is dull, and pointless,
and very, very aggravating;
that with me you were lifted
on a current you waited all your life to find,
as though you were wading
through a soggy swill of inanity and ugliness
every minute we are apart.
I want you to drive yourself crazy
with the fantasy of me,
and how we will meet again, against all odds,
and there will be tears and flowers,
and the vast relief of not I,
but us.
I am haunting your dreams,
conducting these fevers
from a distance,
a distance that leaves me weeping,
and storming,
and bereft.
Yearn On; Katie Donovan

Not all the lines apply, but enough do.

I'm feeling erratic, only because I came to a very wrong revelation on the first day of the year. Talk about taking several steps back, and not even a step back into 2008! At least last year, I didn't have this unfortunate edge of self-awareness. It all makes sense now, although it scarcely leaves me in a better situation. Fact is, I - 


Bits from a graphic novella. Country singers write wailing love songs, I give boys their own graphic novella man. No, I don't know how to end it yet.