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Better one handful with tranquility than two handfuls with toil and chasing after the wind.
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Thursday, August 31, 2006
If you are what you eat, I am Cinnamon Toast Crunch
The ears are feeding on Of Montreal - Forecast Fascist Future
Something about nothing in particular... but maybe something.
Tee hee. I don't feel like putting up any pictures. And considering how I haven't got any pictures near me right now in the happy plastic world of computers, it's impossible anyway. It's bleak and black and rainy outside and I actually like it. I know I said the other day that overcast isn't my thing because I like blue and chirpy skies, but it's true that it isn't hot when it's overcast. It's always too hot and humid here.
I miss writing irrelevant entries so that's what I'm going to do for a while. I'll give the mouse a break (a lot of clicking has to be done when I upload pictures, you know).
Nothing exciting has happened today. It's only 11:58 am. I woke up at 8:15 and immediately checked that there weren't any dead geckos in the bathroom. Yesterday was quite a scene in my empty house when I found the baby one stuck to the floor. Oh I know something exciting! Besides talking to Val about a few rather pertinent issues in this vast hollow we know as life, I can play some Gregor Samsa song. THERE IS HOPE YET!! I know I gave up on the guitar. And the bass, after... one night. I need to stick with things. I mean, I stick with people. But things... I am a fickle pickle. Anyway, the piano and I have rekindled our love for each other. Even the pedal has stopped its useless squeaking, which always freaked Scallywag out.
Ooh! This just appeared in the inbox:
WANT TO IMPROVE YOUR SINGING SKILLS?
Want to increase your vocal range? Ever wondered why you can't sing in pitch?
Singing success? Who on earth is that man?
He seems a little bit creepy, in that picture. Brett Manning, whoever you are, I hope you like your life. Hmmm... he's going to be teaching at some place near my house, apparently. Fancy. I might scream if I saw him on the street. And not scream in an excited way, maybe in a creeped out way.
And it isn't true that I find everyone creepy. I do not! Just that man next door. And men who appear out of the shadows. And old leering European men in Phuket. Though the latter is a given.
Dinner with brave gecko-picking-Sandy at some hawker will be my Thursday life, because:
---Meg and Jeremy will skip along the streets finding a pretty scrapbook for fond memories,
---Rachel has Physics again,
---Kurt has classes and is doing goodness-knows-what, and
---I have no other friends that are not in school and have school-related things to do.
I quite like this whole melodramatic thing, telling the world that I have no other friends, when really, I do. That technically makes me a liar, but in order to be melodramatic about things, you have to not tell the truth and exaggerate unnecessarily and tragically.
This may be my fluffiest and substanceless (and not in the drugged way) post yet, but that's because I am a creature of shallow depth HAR HAR har... The tricky thing about a public journal sort of thing (you can tell I'm avoiding the dreaded b-word) is that I can't really tell you what I've been thinking about without everything pointing to certain things and then I'll be found out. Gasp.
In my aspiration to be artsy and eco-caring, it will be nice to go to the Biennale thing. I'm confusing myself in my head now because my thoughts hardly ever make sense without careful explanation, and I'm thinking of how it is easy to associate myself with anything art-related but at the same time dissociate myself from it circumstancially and socially. There are pompous art snoots here. There are pompous art snoots everywhere, but Singapore is such a tiny country it makes me wonder what got stuck up their butts to make them think that they're better than everyone else who doesn't look like them (they're all clones) or have apparent "sensibilities" like them. Perhaps I have no business talking about stuff like that, but you sense it nonetheless just being near them. The Untouchables of a different caliber, eh? Anyway, socially ties in with circumstancially, because a community is the backbone of art appreciation. It's a bit hard to appreciate it alone. Art without recognition... Commercialism tends to kill it, I like DIY ethics to a certain extent... Crap, I'm not making any sense. It's like this paragraph came out of nowhere. I mean, it did. Literally. AJKSfhsnmsfdakjg never mind.
Heyyy... Of Montreal can read my mind! I just hope no one is stupid enough to listen to their lyrics and take heed. (It is true after all, that some people can't tell the difference between honest sarcasm and literal intention.)
Art Snob Solutions
What's up directors? Grab your knives!
It's time to take all all of the lives
Of the people who cannot see the somnolent genius of Tarkovsky
Come on authors grab your guns!
It's time to murder everyone who has never heard of Apollinaire
Send them all to hell it's only fair
Cast them all into the flames if they don't know any names
Of the principles of Arte Povera
Or are unfamiliar with le serpent mascara
That's right mascara snake!
Come on painters alive or dead
Give all the cretins a boot to the head
If they don't extol convincingly
Tempered Elan era Kandinsky
Throw them all into a well if they cannot tell
An Arto Parv feast of repitition from a Schoenburg 12 tone composition
Come on artists the day is here
And your mission is very clear
Put an end to the bourgeoisie
And death to everyone who's never heard of me
I think I'm satisfied with this entry about nothing much in particular. Goodbye.
Oh, alright. Here is a reprisal post of the last one I did on MySpace.
11:57
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