methrowrock: (Sunflower)
2013-03-09 04:57 pm
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Going underground


(lists of anime/shows/fandoms)

Somewhat friends-only. Comment to be added. :)
methrowrock: (Default)
2012-02-05 05:17 pm
Entry tags:

spaced out orbit

So I am sitting here, typing away at the keyboard that is made for gremlins and elves. My thumbs hesitate between the slivers of grey space, wondering about the constellations that they will trace out. I wish I could say that it is a cosmos in my head, but it is not. Black holes and vortexes, maybe, and that is the extent of my know-how of the universe. 

An interesting tweet popped up on the feed today. Apparently, scientists of some sort discovered an Earth-like planet that could support life only 22 light years away! Oh the potential, the functions, the knowledge! But a light year is still so many human years away. What is it about us that we delight in discovering situations similar to our own? We love to see the un-known, the un-real, the un-iverse as a reflection of ourselves, and we would spend hours grinning foolishly at how similar we are, how different you are! We exist as our own points of references: if that is not loneliness, I don't know what is.

The train is exceptionally crowded today. Hulking helices zipping along, filled with people with places to go, people to meet. There is an odd sense of temporality, of duality. The sense that you are there only to be somewhere else- the purpose of the journey. The sense that you are there and you are somewhere else- the process of the journey, plugged into your private sphere of music. The skidding tyres attempt to override the tincan drumming, the conversations of others jostle for your attention and judgments: they forgot that you are an obstinate oaf, so up goes the volume, down with the world. 

And even, within yourself, there are odd contrasts. The air conditioning blows upon my shiny knees, and yet, the backs of them are clammy, having stuck to my thighs for too long. There is a slight stickiness of backs, that disappears where my spine dips into its curve. It is something small, but something discomfiting. Haha it is funny how the tiniest unease is amplified when the sensory faculties are prickled. All of a sudden, your body is not your own, and these flying fat thumbs, who do they belong to!?

So this is me without a thesaurus and self-censorship, huh. There is more, but alas, I have missed my stop. Sigh.
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2012-01-31 04:22 am
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nocturne

Hi. It has been a while. Too long. The words are wedged in my throat, dessicated and scratchy. What a pity: just a week ago, they were stretching and ricocheting about like noisy, messy Catherine wheels. Bah-dah-dum! Insert vague statement about how things change and stay the same. Done. And now what? They say that the best way to distill your heart's purest intentions is to let your fingers gallop forth over the keypads like wild stallions. Who says? I don't know, but they are right. The monitor is darkened, the keypads are illuminated, my fingers are tangoing with the neon-lit skeletons of alphabets. And it is refreshing. Bon Iver is on eternal loop, because don't you know? He has collected the sorrows from aching marrows, turned them into tensile strings to pluck at, and coated them with the viscous ennui that is his voice. His songs are forests pregnant with fog that you dream about on stormy nights. And bah-dah-dum! again, a deluge of adjectives to mask the banality of thoughts.



the road to nowhere begins here )
methrowrock: (Sunflower)
2012-01-17 05:43 am
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it comes like this, it goes like this

Limbo, what an awkward word for an awkward phase. It screams inadaptability, incoherence, inelegance. Limbs akimbo, you are a paper doll splayed flat and trodden upon by the grimy feet of distracted toddlers. It is a weird stage to be in- the feeling of transition. Lost in translation: the phrases come as squiggles, the particles and connectors are missing, eaten up by the starkness of "contentful" words. Telegraphic stage? I have been going for EL lectures heh, and what a whole new wonderful world it is! I was worried about growing intellectually complacent, which, on hindsight, is quite a joke, because I am neither intellectual, nor have anything to be complacent about. Every sentence is a struggle to be understood. Thus, my eyes turn into stars when I witness the sparkling wit of Simon Amstell from Never Mind The Buzzcocks. The sharp ripostes flow ceaselessly from a pellucid spring, or something beautiful like that. It is nice knowing that there are people who are awesome out there. They will be the ones to save us from Armageddon; they will splinter the hurtling comets. I will watch and applaud from the shade under a juniper tree. And that, is the exact opposite of what I am supposed to be striving for. Half a month into the new year, and the resolution list is burning itself up in betrayal. Blarg.

the summers daft and winters long )
methrowrock: (My Neighbour Totoro)
2012-01-08 05:17 am
methrowrock: (Default)
2012-01-02 05:51 am
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2011 in 5 minutes

I missed the countdown to 2012 last night. We had a splendid view of the skyline,- a stippling of chromatic lights upon an inky-black canvas- but we missed it anyway. Sensei Flower was supporting his mother down the stairs, while Ah Da, JJ, and Gus hovered behind unhelpfully. As they tottered gingerly into the room, there was a sudden psychedelic blaze of sparks in the sky. There was a collective gasp of wonderment, mixed in with a little bit of... regret? It IS hard to say goodbye to time, seeing the hours burn up before your very eyes, careening at 360km/h in 360 degrees and disappearing as fast as they had exploded into your consciousness. But that was how 2011 ended: unexpectedly, abruptly, and staring at the backs of people that I had long etched on the back of my eyelids. There was even a whiff of annoyance as I jostled with the rest for a prime viewing spot by the window (all the better to take pictures from. What does it say about my generation that requires our days to end up as photos?) It was unassuming, it was understated, and for that to have been most of my year was something that I really appreciated. From here on: the annual summary of dazed days.

we will see when it gets warm )
methrowrock: (DBSK!)
2011-12-31 02:44 am
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dreaming of lilacs

Reclining against a creaky chair, as the night winds weave around dust-covered figurines and worn shelves, it seems that this is the peace that I have been looking for. Maybe it is the winding down of days, the ripping of sheets from a barely-there and badly-frayed calendar, the trickling of minute minute-sand that is especially visible at the end of the year. People begin to seek closure, attempting to repackage their shapeless days into sizable chunks of meaning and epiphanies. The retrofitted motorcycle emits a syncopated snarl, flaying the silence of the night. Rubber tyres grind gravel, the fan-blades slice through buttery air, the traffic lights take turns to wink: there is a muted and neutral precision that makes it feel that everything that you see, hear, touch, smell, taste is there for you. This world belongs to you. It exists for you. And when you reciprocate by immersing yourself fully in the world, with the world, a palpable calm settles over you, washing away worries and woes. Until, of course, this world that you see cracks and morphs into something else, shuddering from the fractures it had concealed. Self-contentment is a funny little thing, always evaporating just at the point of crystallizing. Ephemeral and fleeting, it lasts as long as, and is as invisible as, the air aspirated for its fricative descriptions. But for now, the hues burnish bright. The surroundings quiver with vibrant surreality. And you breathe, breathe, breathe, filling yourself top-full (not with direst cruelty lolol) with air so crisp that it could adorn your lungs with a thousand paper cuts. Gruesome, but you know what I mean.



there's always time on my mind )
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2011-12-23 05:24 am
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vacant pier

How do you explain two weeks in words, especially after spending the fortnight without them? It has been two weeks of seeing, watching, talking, laughing, listening: mechanical stimulation of the appendages, sensory faculties, and unfortunately, not much else. Sensations have taken over the steering wheel, as Emotions and Thoughts cower in the backseat, queasy at the recklessness. That, my friends, is a horrible and cringe-inducing analogy, hahaha. To paraphrase the words from a forgotten luminary, we do not feel when events are in the process of unfolding. Instead, it is only after the dust has settled when we begin to varnish it with a layer of sepia sentiments. And so, here goes my pitiable attempt to bling the days up.

here comes the sun

dream of a vacant pier, move all your maps to here )
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2011-12-09 03:58 am
Entry tags:

flowers bloom

It is a sign of the holidays when the tendrils of thoughts have grown frail and flaccid. Brainwaves, that used to possess soaring crests you could surf upon endlessly, have become subdued, rolling onto the shore and nibbling at your toes like a meek puppy. Watching Taiwanese dramas, The Office, and the hilarious hijinks of Arashi have been heartening, but deadening. It makes one sit on the prickly fence between self-loathing and self-resignation. Then, once in a while, something like Half Nelson comes along, and finally, you are promoted to being an eating-and-drinking machine, to an eating-and-drinking being. Yay! Temporarily.



Half Nelson )

summary of the summery haze )

Okay, this has been obscenely long. Unfortunately, it is true that I talk better when typing. Training in seven hours, wowhee! No sleep tonight, which means more shows tonight. Haha. This won't do, this won't do. I must wake up my idea soon.
methrowrock: (My Neighbour Totoro)
2011-12-06 06:49 am
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dive for dreams

dive for dreams
or a slogan may topple you
(trees are their roots
and wind is wind)

trust your heart
if the seas catch fire
(and live by love
though the stars walk backward)

honour the past
but welcome the future
(and dance your death
away at this wedding)

never mind a world
with its villains or heroes
(for god likes girls
and tomorrow and the earth)
- E. E. Cummings
methrowrock: (Sunflower)
2011-12-03 06:36 am
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methrowrock: (DBSK!)
2011-11-27 06:50 am
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crouch like a crow

It is in the soporific haze of the early morning that you glimpse the magick of the mundane. Your eyelids weighed down by the desire to close them, your eyes glazed with the luminescence of a million pixels, your mind engorged on the buffet of colours and movements. Blink. The world that appears is a world that conjures the corporeality of hopes and dreams. Inhale. Exhale. Emotions surge into the lungs, the aortas, the reticulated network of vessels and veins. A hulking and undifferentiated mass of a mess. It barrages through the channels, making its presence known like a swaggering overlord. It claims priority; it demands superiority. And in these bleary hours, certainty is certainly something that you desire and cherish. Certainty that your day has not been a waste of time; your month, your year, your decade, your life has not been a waste of time. Certainty that your future will not be a waste of time. Certainty that you are exactly who you are in where you need to be. And in these dreary hours, you give yourself a discount by conflating lived necessities with actualized aspirations. Things are going well, the best that they possibly can, given what you have. You smile. :) Then, the song stops. In the lull between two aural worlds, the one that you had painted with firm brushstrokes disappears. Things accelerate in reverse motion. The certainty curls into itself, the emotions recedes and swirls into a drainpipe on the floor of your imagination. Blink. You are yawning, you have a final in a day's time, you are slouching against a makeshift fortress of pillows with a laptop burning up your thighs. Bleargh. But that's okay, because you will soon sleep and have the sun do the smiling for you. And you will be soothed by the stable dreams you will have later.

PressPausePlay )
methrowrock: (Fandom 2)
2011-11-18 04:35 am
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methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2011-11-12 04:17 pm
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methrowrock: (Fandom 2)
2011-11-07 05:05 am
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light the wick

It was a noisy night, just the way that I had remembered it. There was a palpable boisterousness in the atmosphere. Such days were a dime a dozen before, but when it happens now, it sure is worth its weight in gold. Because when you grow up, you grow taller and begin to see the tens and hundreds of paths sprawling away from your little cottage-house, like lava trails flanking the sunken caldera. You realise how fortuitous it was to be incarnated in this very time, this very place. Maybe it is the internalisation of PAP's policies that posit families as the building blocks of society (that readings love to critique as manipulations by our paternalistic state blah blah), but such nights were meant to be carefully folded in lily-scented handkerchiefs, to be unwrapped and sighed over when the night-time blues swashes in. Prior annoyances at forgoing a nice dinner with a subsequent karaoke session (my only ticket to late nights out, the blasphemy!) quickly dissipated, when it was three of us at the dining table, making fun of each other and comparing the sizes of our bloated bellies. Reigning champion speaking, thank ayou very amuchy. Then, the brother and the parents crowded around, drawn by the hub-bub. We moved on to Catherine, the crazily difficult and mentally exhausting game that Gus loves to play. Efforts at sabotaging, pulling blocks here, cat-fights between the characters there, ostentatious celebrating inyerface everywhere, outsmarting sometimes, doing stupid things other times- it is always nice to laugh to tears and have your stomach hurt and cheeks ache from mirthful vibrations. Moved on to watching shows after, and hence, complementary snacking habits + synchronised swooning over Blaine from Glee + musing about Phil resembling somebody that we know. The sun nearly rose by the time we slept, but anything for old times right? Sunday afternoon, that was when things settled back into its well-worn pattern, so adieu adieu, and tucking away of the hanky into the corner of the warmest pillow. It will be another two months? Hmm. I wonder how next year is going to pan out.

all the seasons start to run )
methrowrock: (My Neighbour Totoro)
2011-11-01 03:48 am
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miss martineau

Which Social Theorist are you?
Harriet Martineau
Congratulations! You are Harriet Martineau. You were raised in England in the first half of the 1800’s. The product of Progressive parents, you developed “radical” views supporting abolition, labor unions, and women's suffrage. You never married but wanted to be called "Mrs." because of the respect denied to a single woman. (From: The Real World, by Kerry Ferris and Jill Stein.)

Caffeine makes one feel as if one was trudging through time in slow-motion. Certain things acquire a weird shade of humour as well. Watch out for your morals, and have some manners, young punk! I do not know why I just typed that. I do know that I am mentally and emotionally drained. There will be better days, should the whimpering ever cease.
methrowrock: (DBSK!)
2011-10-30 05:26 am
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letters to

Late at night, when I cannot sleep, I write letters to you in my head. Dozens and dozens of them, complete with crisp lines and the loose tendrils of drying ink. Fountain pens, with curved golden tips, I imagine that you would like the quaintness of them, and the way the words unreeled from a spool of molten gold. Satiny and persuasive; perhaps, you would feel the cursive of my feelings wrapping around you like morning mist. You would feel a little chilly, but all the more, you should embrace those words, shimmering and shivering like young ghosts. Because without you, they have nowhere else to go, except to haunt attics with whispery echoes and sigh softly whenever the night-winds swirled in with a fancy foxtrot or two. And that is what they have been doing all this time. Why do you think that the wind-chimes murmur so? The leaves rustle with unheard secrets, and wizened from their woe, choose to shrivel up in a fetal contortion (the reverse way as it sprouted, be kind when you rewind) and leave their fates with the wind once more. You would giggle, as they crinkle and crunch right under your unseeing feet. All the better to set the thoughts alight then. You would be warmer that way.
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2011-10-26 12:00 am
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hand-in-hand as the world expands

One of my favourite feelings is to be sitting in a bus while it is raining. The initial hesitant free-fall, the incessant pitter-patter, the rampant rat-a-tat-tat: your personal orchestra right there and then. And then, there is the latticework of rain-streaks on windows that smoothens out the edges of the concrete scenery. There is a delight in knowing that you are sitting there, toasty and unaffected in a capsule of warmth, and passing by the world lashed by surly rain and gusty winds. The tenuous demarcation between the controlled and uncontrollable (the here-versus-there) makes all the difference. It is also nice re-discovering the human subservience to nature. Despite the technological advances, cloud computing and whatnot, we are still at the mercy of those pregnant rainclouds. Waiting at the fringes of shelters, rancid frowns on faces, girlish squeals as school-kids race across the road (green light, of course) in soaked canvas shoes, yeah we are there and doing that every single time. And we are all trying to get home, bobbing from one diaphanous bubble to another.



what we most want is bad for us we know )
methrowrock: (Air Balloon)
2011-10-21 04:45 am
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methrowrock: (My Neighbour Totoro)
2011-10-19 02:17 am
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