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LEAVING
CORNFLAKES
ON
THE
SOFA
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| Jln Ampas |
[Monday, 07/12/10] |
Behind my apartment, a sign shouts
no paking – bloody letters
that refuse to spell.
Gangly streetlamps,
fattened pigeons; a sizzling road,
sun-steamed like coal.
Then the canal.
Slow water trickles, sluicing cracks,
choking algae.
Joggers thud past
as the drizzle begins, young eddies
guarding pin-pricks.
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| 10/07/2010 |
[Saturday, 07/10/10] |
Invisible jets roar overhead,
while yellowed leaves twitch
like dying fish.
Nursing homes recognise
the noise of war, standing silent
even at dinnertime.
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[Saturday, 04/10/10] |
Sal Monella
I started turning green, like fruit
unripening; throat shutting
as my stomach rose and fell.
Bathroom tiles punching my knees
and icy neck, tight ponytail.
Tears dribbling down my cheek.
All night I writhed and moaned,
a tangled eel; dreamt about algebra,
inky mazes, crossword puzzles.
Your arm around my shrinking waist --
tepid water half-spilled, menthol oil
your thumbs rubbed through my belly.
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[Wednesday, 03/24/10] |
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I can't say I've ever felt this happy, yet anguished; eager, but still so terribly frightened.
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[Wednesday, 11/25/09] |
| [ |
music |
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jenny lewis - black sand |
] |
So my dissertation is going to be in bio-ethics. It's laughably ironic considering I've eschewed science all my life, and am now condemning myself to a future of monitoring and scrutinising its developments. Anyway, more specifically, I'll (most likely) be considering various conceptions of human dignity, their coherence, and whether genetic enhancement truly encroaches on them.
I'd say I chose this topic because I strongly believe philosophical thought has to be relevant to society and causally effective, and bio-ethics happens to be one of the most progressive fields I approve of. But in reality I'm tickled by the idea of post-humans marching around in droves, dystopia-style. Even the term "post-human" is deliciously amiss; it makes me cackle. My aim in telling you this? To elucidate my nebulous aspirations, and also to remind everyone (myself included) that I'm still alive and kicking.
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[Monday, 11/09/09] |
1. Had an especially good weekend in Manchester, walking along the Northern Quarter and taking swigs from a carton of soy milk while singing Last Night in the pouring rain. Sherman and I also spontaneously caught An Education in a little cinema with a piano, after I casually mentioned I'd been planning to see it.
2. Scattered thoughts on Continental feminism, which frankly isn't my cup of tea: I disagree with most of what Cixous has to say. I don't think there's a distinctly feminine style of writing and I have no trouble with language being linear and teleological. Next, Irigaray's point about lesbianism being liberating doesn't seem tenable in practice - she'd roll in her grave at the sight of modern-day lesbians rigidly organising themselves along the very lines she eschewed. I've always wondered if it's in our nature to ascribe binary gender roles to ourselves - or whether we're so accustomed to viewing ourselves in that light, that whenever we try to break out of one mould, we leap into another.
When I was with my first girlfriend, our relationship wasn't at all rigidly constructed, but I did detect some telling patterns. Though I was far from getting a crew cut or binding my chest, I relished small, frequent acts of gallantry, and I loved it when I wore jeans and she a dress. I recall a definite element of pleasure in these interactions, as if they made us more complementary - like playing police and thief. In any case, I'm sure there's an entire corpus of literature dedicated to exploring this matter, and I should refrain from ignorant speculation.
3. Last night I dreamt I was hopelessly restless, and wanted to go on an extended road trip, Beat generation-style. In reality I'd lose my way repeatedly, and rant about filthy motel rooms. I also dreamt I was back in secondary school and, to my chagrin, coerced into attending additional Chinese classes every evening. I protested passionately, citing the fact I'd already passed my A Level exam and dedicated my life to ethics. My teacher, stern and curly-haired, was unimpressed.
4. Synth guitars are so cool.
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| The Pixies |
[Wednesday, 09/23/09] |
Out by the box-car waiting
Take me away to nowhere plains
There is a wait so long (so long)
You'll never wait so long
Here comes your man
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[Tuesday, 09/08/09] |
It's September. Referring to my mother's yellowing music scores, I used to play an oversimplified version of Autumn Leaves; melodramatically singing along, embracing the slow tragedy. Back then I'd never been in love - or at least I believe that on hindsight - but I pretended anyway. It's a beautiful song, like most other jazz standards. I wish I had a piano here, just to watch myself struggle through the notes like I've forgotten how to touch.
Saw Eva Hesse's sculptures this afternoon - they were more like ornaments, really. Some were grotesque, resembling shrivelled organs or parts of rare animals, carelessly shed and found in fishing nets - others were exquisite, paper bowls curling naturally at the edges.
Some days I want my life to be simple, only retaining its most essential elements. Like walking into a wardrobe and seeing every shirt in its right place, well-ironed. Throwing out the sizzling fat. Other times I want to fill it with excess, abandonment, pleasure without refinement or regret. I've had this dilemma for as long as I can remember.
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[Monday, 09/07/09] |
There's a song playing on the radio
Sky high in the airwaves on the morning show
And there's a lifeline slipping as the record plays
And as I open the blinds in my mind I'm believing that you could stay
And oh if you stay I'll chase the rainblown fields away
We'll shine like the morning and sin in the sun
Oh if you stay
We'll be the wild ones, running with the dogs today
Watched fireworks on the bridge and loved them, even when my vision was obscured by a bus stop. Lounged around in a pub afterwards and was denied the right to purchase cranberry juice, by a busty waitress with heavily lined eyes, because I lacked my passport. Luke bought me a morbid postcard.
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