wanderlust [entries|friends|calendar] clarissa Journal: info recent friends pictures Other: update control layout © gaffe. [ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ] [ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

[25 Dec 2009|04:24pm] "If you enter this world knowing you are loved and you leave this world knowing the same, then everything that happens in between can be dealt with."   COMMENT

stranger in moscow [06 Jul 2009|11:32pm] I just want things to be special. Be special, for me. READ 1 COMMENT

que sera, sera [04 Jul 2009|08:55pm] "What I'm saying... what I'm trying to say is, well, you're real to me." Snakecharmer by Sylvia Plath Oh, The Bell Jar is horribly depressing So is All the Sad Young Literary Men Men of Honour Honore de Balzac, and Old Goriot's eyebrows curving upwards An up-scale pizzeria Neon plasters Everyone should stop pretending to be Michael Jackson's friend, if you couldn't step up to the plate before he died then karma's going to bite you in the ass for this. Especially that horrid fellow who was the presenter for MJ's official top 40 hits today on MTV, which I stayed in to watch and which he quite completely ruined with anecdotes that seemed so feeble and fabricated. There is nothing you can do to taint the beauty of a man who can sing "you are not alone" with nothing but a glow and the genuine path to enlightenment. The most beautiful person, with the most beautiful soul I can think of, is a man. Ink cartridges are low. Would you like to purchase Epson Ink online? Prodigal daughters Oh at one point there were two people I couldn't live without. But I barely think of them anymore, which should make me stop in my tracks and say "Oh," when I realise this and subsequently drop a pitcher of water on the floor and watch it shatter in slow-motion for added dramatic effect, clutching my chest - but I don't really think of them anymore, it's like the breeze; you like it and it passes. MI-6, Rambo "We hate race-mixing" Dying right there and then, pressed against the hard ground with the weight of the world settled comfortably on my chest, whispering sonnets into my powdered ribs, whistling through my bones like musical chords as the stars smile above, as if they could smile, while thinking of Hello Kitty. If I become an environmentalist, what can I eat? First crush READ 1 COMMENT

it's just the little things [03 Jul 2009|10:19pm] Coupl'a shady metaphors and an aura of being one of the introverted genii and phwoosh! you're a writer. Genii is plural for geniuses. Just made that up, not sure if it exists as a word, doesn't matter. Since I realised that 'zen' is not included in the scrabble dictionary, anything technically English ended for me right there. Broke my heart, it did. Not really no. In other news I was cleaning up my desk when I got home; it's been drowning in proverbial soupy dust for quite some time even though I sit here every day, too slothful to clean up my act (I am so full of puns, I must be in the genii clan as well). Today I was spurred on by a psychadelic crazy light in me that shouted 'clean up your damn table you lazy arse' so I did, and I unearthed quite a few things from a while back. An illustration with drop caps and a once meaningful message, and a sketch of a tiger I saw in a photograph that stuck in my mind like jello. Crouched down on its front paws, staring defiantly at something. Won't let either of us in to see what it's looking at, aiming for, but there's an indignant vibe that shoots its way like an arrow in a kind of 'fuck you' stance. The father of revolutions! And there is nothing left to say about this tiger except to quote William Blake. "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright/in the forests of the night/ What immortal hand or eye/ Could frame thy fearful symmetry?" Yup. So I was dragged very much against my will to watch Ice Age 3 today, the company was great - the movie not so. But I did find the dinosaur world so much more alluring than it should have been, dangerous but so dynamic. Rather than the land above, the Ice Age it's called. So static, so sterile, so safe. Not quite with as much of a sense of adventure I'd like, and I realised that wow, Singapore's the Ice Age and there's that other world waiting for me just over the rainbow to shake me (violently) out of my stupor. I bet when I touchdown for Christmas I'll be kissing the ground thankful for the sheer fact that no one will follow me through dark alleys and wait for me while I do my cash withdrawals at the ATM, among other things. But nothing ventured, nothing gained. This is unrelated to the semi-epiphany but I am getting rather sick of my wordy entries but I have not yet figured out how to use my new camera. I suspect it is spoilt, but maybe I should just read the manual. I feel so defeated when I can't figure out something techy on my own, I've always prided myself on not needing to follow the step-by-step. But another sign, baby steps for babies. 'Til they're full-fledged monsters of their own. Guess I'm still a baby in many respects, and I can't grow until I let that go; it's so nice to be taken care of all the time, though! And I forgot to get the MJ commemorative edition of Time - I don't think subscribers get it, which is very dishonourable. Subscribers are always right. Do not cheat us out of paying homage to MJ or you will face our wrath. And I need it! Need it. (On my cleaning spree my eyes rested on Tee's crane, and I thought, it's just the little things.) READ 2 COMMENT

will you be there? [30 Jun 2009|10:47pm] Sometimes I wish I was badass. Yeah that about sums it up. But I should stop being on the computer and live. Live dammit, live! Live free and streak through the fields with Steppenwolf in mind. But not so - waiting for visa letters, accommodation thingies and a reply from my sister who is extremely arbitrary is a pain in the ass. Also I have been feeling a bit under the weather; the other day the temperature was 36 degrees. Burning in a lake of fire? I feel like my skin is searing off, added to the fact that lhr wenig munchkin has a slight fever. Poo is the word of the day. On the other hand, my driving lessons are coming along better than I expected, every time I'm on the road I imagine I'm Michael Schumacher and the world ain't got nothing on me! I should stop typing like this because it really does become part of regular speech where I am quite a fine fool. But anything to amuse myself. My hormones are in overdrive and I've been laughing and crying like one flew over the cuckoo's nest (I always wanted to watch it, with Jack Nicholson in the old days when he was young). On the other hand, I haven't really been having many epiphanies recently despite the random outbursts of emotion. A couple of months ago I was very clear about what I wanted to do - I had a mission and wrapped my mind about it like a snake. Sure, I had some superficial doubts but they were all gentle undulations, but recently things've been really rocking my boat. But I saw this on someone's MSN nickname, "jump and the net will appear" and I've been listening to Michael Jackson's Will You Be There. Who says the internet is just for porn? Those damn puppets from Avenue Q! OH CORNELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PLEASE LET ME BE WHERE YOU ARE READ 9 COMMENT

vocal solo [29 Jun 2009|08:30pm] I would like a salad with mesclun, alfalfa and a dusting of chilli pepper, with generous slices of avocado and grilled, peppered chunks of chicken breast resting lightly on the top, drizzled in pesto and lovingly garnished with earthy pine nuts. Dressed with the lighest vinaigrette so as to not distract from the faint taste of the chilli flakes honestly coupled with pesto in a perfect marriage only agricultural produce is capable of. All from the earth, very new-age and in the strain of saving Gaia, it feels. And the juice of 10 apples (which is approximately the amount of apples you need to make a glass of pure apple juice, so I've tried - maybe my juicer is making fun of me), shaken not stirred. And then I will prepare matzo-ball soup, and dole out hearty Caribbean-sized portions to anorexic girls and ease them out of their 48-kg desolation, and hand-rolled pasta, flattened into sheets to make ravioli - only a hint of cheese, or it will overpower everything, stilton maybe. Or brie, for fun. And I'll flambe a couple of bananas, and none of that crepe suzette pretentiousness, we'll have it neat like scotch on the rocks which warms the body so much more than simple conversation can, because it reaches right to your heart 'til it burns. And satiated, maybe we'll go for seconds of a ginger and pork broth, or an old-fashioned, traditional clam chowder. And with my signature chocolate cake, or bread-and-butter pudding, take your pick, we'll be happy, especially with buckets of freshly churned ice cream from my pantry, made painstakingly without a machine, vanilla bean and rum ice cream, way better than a knickerbocker glory on a winter's day. COMMENT

drives me wild [28 Jun 2009|09:50pm] I know what I'm doing. I've always been this way - I could pound my way through a brick wall by sheer willpower because I knew I wanted to be on the other side. Now I'm not so sure. In five words I've summed up how I've lost my resolve and admitted to how human I am. Being a dynamo does not last forever, but going places without any direction or intended purpose seems to me like going nowhere. Kicking dirt in my own eyes. And the feeble "We'll see how it goes," I churn out to satiate other people while remaining patiently enigmatic is a complete and total lie, because I don't know how it will go and how I will react to anything going anywhere, really. In a way, I'm trying to convince myself too. It's funny, having no goals anymore that seem remotely achievable. In fact, having no goals at all. It's like my entire existence has been wiped clean and I'm starting on a completely new note. Frightening. Almost as frightening as the fact that I have to return to the real world in under a month. Sweep the dust off my desk and hit the books and settle into a new life that I've never wanted but have been gradually cajoled and forced into until I was on my knees. Resolve means nothing with no money of my own to make my own independent decisions. I keep telling myself, I'll follow my dreams when I'm older. When I've built up the reserves of money to cushion my fall. But the thing about me is that I sometimes settle into a sort of stasis. Feeling like I'm at a plateau, and content there. At least when I reached my previous plateaus, they were my own. Do you hear me? My own. I created them. I've been a Dharma Bum so long I'm out of touch. Saying 'Tee' to the birds outside won't earn me a degree, or aid me on my quest for enlightenment. It won't put food in me and give me socks to warm my feet. Guys, I think we're having a real existential crisis. READ 2 COMMENT

'cause i'm bad, i'm bad, really really bad [26 Jun 2009|11:35pm] I think it's a bit of a cheap show how everyone pours out their grief and condolences now by the fact that they purely feel a little evil, a little guilty, for saying wounding things about a person who's now deceased. Not a very great display of humanity I think, and a little forced such that everything has become scandalised and blown out of proportion. One death overshadowing another when all everyone can think about is the bright city lights, military jackets and moonwalk. Michael Jackson's music was the first I ever bobbed my head to and I was so thrilled when he came to Singapore in '94, but I was only 4 so I wasn't allowed to go, justifiably. But I followed all the news coverage in the big brown chair I sat in in my grandma's sitting room. The Parker Knoll chair that's since been covered with something not quite so warm, cracked, weathered and brown and with suspiciously less character than before... a faint canary yellow faux leather coat to replace the old. I wish there wasn't a need to replace things once they've run their course, or we feel they have, but life goes on that way I suppose. I really, really adored the King of Pop and not just when he was in his prime, and when Mr. Loh used to make jokes about him in Chemistry about his nose, and everyone laughed at the idea of him and Neverland and Bubbles and all his flouncy cotton candy surroundings I took offence and defended him, like you'd defend your own regular idol. Of course there was the 'You like him? Why? He's so weird' but I'd find them bobbing along to Beat it and Bad just like everyone else even when they called me a tool. But even though they probably found the songs Heal the World and Black and White pretty damn inspiring, I don't think they really saw past the lyrics into the meaning of it all. To the fact that everything's weird by our standards... and these perceptions are what we need to change, starting with the Man in the Mirror. The most static revolutionary of all. I won't say RIP or anything cliche like that, because I believe that people who are deceased know of your well wishes such that there isn't a physical need to broadcast them. It just makes me sad, this whole charade it's become. A man died, someone whom people jeered at, called names, made fun of incessantly, ridiculed his appearance, took advantage of, accused of inconceivable crimes, and yet I never heard anything even resembling malice in his voice, not even once. Because when he talked, he seemed so gentle and I'd like to think I saw through it all into one of the nicest, most maligned and possibly martyred men of our generation. Don't fake the affection and the concern; be genuine because your actions are all you're ever going to leave behind in the world. I've been reading again. Revisiting some old books like Summer of my German Soldier. And Friedrich Anton Reiker and Michael Jackson's songs have just very gently nudged me in the right direction again, such that I know I can do no wrong because I will do no wrong. I don't have to prove anything to anybody, but I do have to prove I'm worthy of being somebody who exists, breathes and enjoys this world. If music be the food of love, play on! Play the hell on. READ 2 COMMENT

the crisp cool air and the wind that blows you away [25 Jun 2009|08:09pm] Things on my mind: the vaudeville dance act at the Moulin Rouge, canal cruising in Amsterdam, being blown away by the immense emotion of the Lion of Lucerne, my bleeding womb, Leicester Square at midnight, that nice Bolivian guy, black guys cruising down Rusholme, drug deals in Greater Manchester, the ridiculousness of a failed institution like the UN, deep-seated racism in the older generation, deep-seated racism everywhere, touching a real mohawk, Medicins sans Frontieres is elitist, what dreams do I have left?, opening that ice cream shop when I'm in my 30s with secret flavours that I think of like sparks of inspiration unexpectedly through the day, becoming really becoming ben and jerry (i need to find a jerry), finding a pair of leather boots, I hope I can find a winter coat when I go, I should have bought that Lonsdale puffy, could I watch Joseph again, oh my shoes my dear darling kiddy shoes, running down the Champs-Elysees, Laduree, everyone on the Paris roads wants to kill me, baguette eating while you're walking down the street makes for good eating, give the person you're with a kiss when you go under the bridge and all your wishes will come true, Oxford Street at rush hour, cheers even when there's no beer, man I wish I were going somewhere with the green lights they have in the Oxford libraries, everything is called Oxford something-or-other it's really haunting me, what I would do to be there short of... nothing, Obama is not going to make Iran like him, these glasses are killing me with their dowdiness, when will I take off these damned braces, maybe after my orthodontist milks me of my university fund (that bitch!), my sister's living like a forest shrub all quiet invisible, when you travel everywhere feels like home except home itself. COMMENT

shall we dance? [21 May 2009|01:09am] So I guess I am not gone yet! But soon. As usual, there is the pre-departure drama - the blowouts and the ceaseless debate over what to bring by not so delightful caricatures of people... It makes no difference what shoes I bring! And I do not need a jacket meant for sub-zero temperatures at a range of 9-17. But how am I to reason? It really puts me in my place, being a child. With no common sense (I mean obviously). So I have been very compliant even though I just want to smack everyone's ears and pull a Chuck Norris. Simple things become so overcomplicated by a person so scared of going out to live life - we have the same minutes as everyone else and I'll be damned if I waste them away like this. The night is young! I am young! Leave me be with my purple boots we will do just fine. Bring me out to buy leather boots tomorrow (have fun sourcing them in Singapore) and I'll commend you on your fruitless quest. I have plans of my own as well. Many, in fact! So many that it is hard to wrap my mind around a single one. But I'll pick one out of a hat - I stand by my principles and my boots. Hurrah! (You see, in the end, no one really succeeds with me.) I never realised pineapple could cause such pain. Perhaps I am allergic to pineapple, as I am allergic to nuts and kiwi and a whole assortment of other things! One would wonder why I am so fat, having so many food allergies. But that is just another of the mysteries of the universe. Deep, dark and unfathomable. I'm intending to "walk it off, walk it off" when I get to UK but mostly breaking the arm of the vice-like grip around my neck. Don't get me wrong, I like people (actually I have no basic preference when it comes down to the nitty gritty) but absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps my cruel heart has hardened over the years and the only cure for it is a canoli. But that is a far-off dream. To be realised someday. Someday soon... I open myself to ridicule. Also it grates on me how I keep getting prodded to get a boyfriend. Like they just grow on trees like windfall apples. Pluck me! Pick me! I am fine thank you very much and I am sorry I'm not as (let's be politically correct here for once) forward as you were at my age but such is life. People are commodified so easily. And titled! How endearing to be someone's "girl". It truly brings out the best in you... I am so obnoxious it is a wonder I can exist and breathe my own air without doing a double take and kicking myself in the back of my head. But I'm just keeping life interesting or so I'd like to think. SINGLE AND FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Hot damn my brain has gone to shit. Farewell! READ 1 COMMENT

navigation [ viewing | most recent entries ] [ go | earlier ]