Reading makes me sad. Detachment detachment detachment.

Time is a great deadener; 
people forget, get bored, grow old, go away

- jeanette winterson

Sunday morning. I was supposed to be up one and a half hours ago for bread and tuna, but half of me expected to not get up now anyway; i am tired of interaction. Accounting for it would be a tricky part.. Last night was abit of an exception, i was with people that allowed me to sprout nonsense even though some were not close to me. It was fun. Partially regrettably, three hours was spent on our little exchange on a morning during reading week, with crazy amounts of statistics to cover within the span of 4 days.

My dad came over yesterday, we had a great talk about (us)(ourselves)(growth)(growing)(the past)(memory) etc. I just received an email (2:47am) from sarah.

A little better now with some acknowledgement, though it frightens me a little, how the quote above was the first thing that drifted into my half-conscious mind when i woke up. People don't just move on, they forcibly move on, try to make the transition as painless and emotionless and invisible as possible.

My dad told me thinking/trying to rationalize my sadness is futile though it seems like it helps, because the emotions are the ones we have to tackle. True enough. The previous week's attempt at making myself feel better amounted to nothing, and the less-than-a-minute exchange magically resolved something in me. Nonetheless, i am worried for the truth the quote holds - not absolute truth, but what we try to make into a truth.

In the mood for a bit of some.. digital music (?)
I never know how to describe such music. (please don't kill me)
Am not particularly in love with any song or genre right now.



Crystal Castles ft. Robert Smith of the cure - Not in Love


Heartsrevolution - Digital Suicide Lullaby


Also, Sarah recommended this a few days ago:


Passion Pit - Take a walk


And music made with looping gear:


Weish - tick tick
(I do not know how to accurately describe my liking for this)
(God this is so good)

This very strange stage where I can't fully focus on what I'm studying because I am thinking of how much I love [this thing I'm studying]. They say you forget about everything else when you love something, so what do you call this state I am currently in right now? Perhaps I'm just strange cause I can never seem to be able to "live in the moment". There's sort of like, a me, and an emma. I'm always watching emma like how everybody else is watching emma. Of course there are some people who do know 'me', not fully, but to some extent. Anyway, for now, back to reading.

SELF CONTROL.

(writing here just cause I can't bear to let go of my thoughts)

SELF CONTROL AND DISCIPLINE.

YES.

I look so tired as compared to just 9 months ago :(

it's 2:46pm on a Sunday,
the corridor; just tiles and concrete, as usual.

It feels as though I'm the only one in this building.

I want proof that this place is not empty,
that there are people I know.
but i don't want myself to be seen, like this.
I mean honestly I never really did anyway.

Dull.

Don't let yourself slip.

Tristan Prettyman - Glass Jar

isn't really matching up

At times it is tiring to feel too much.

Muse - Madness.


Muse - Unintended.

How else do you explain what makes you keeps you afloat; and how else can you bring wonder back to reality? If memories no longer exist, then projections will pull you back - only to what is real and possible. It's funny how people use the phrase "outta my mind" to describe craziness, when what is most crazy is all in the mind.

i still hold that this consciousness is important.
people rarely know enough.

just can't bear to hurt anyone at all.

The only motivation in doing something is to be able to figure out how to to be better than the rest, a good piece of work.  Can't get started on work otherwise. Haven't been starting on work.

The warmth of the orange light when my lids first part,

but you, nothing, no longer, as always.

Another 4:08am kind of morning, or night. The dread of assignment deadlines in two days, but even more confusion regarding this enveloping of tension and uncertainty, circling ones, piercing twos.

The ones turn into fours, into twos, and threes. Tick.

Marli had an interview with me for 2 hours, not like it felt like an interview at all. It was uplifting in a way that I can describe but can't, only because I have to hand in my assignment at 9 and I have not started. Conversations that bring out sides of you you never knew you had, or at least aren't conscious of, are the best ones ever.

3:38am, I should've have slept 2 hours ago. Whirl.

But I'm afraid to talk about nothing and dissolve into a meaningless existence they would want to hold onto only at this moment in time.

Phil Kaye performs "Repetition"

A friend posted this on facebook.

My mother taught me this trick, if you repeat a word over and over again it loses meaning. This became my favourite game,  it made the sting of words evaporate - "separation, separation, separation, separation, separation" - see, nothing - "apart, apart, apart, apart, apart, apart, - see, nothing. 

Sarah Kay - Worst Poetry (this is meant to be spoken)

The meaning changes a little when translated into another form (from verbal to written), but still good. This is why I don't like being happy all the time (with reasons that are not necessarily attributed to the reasons below), happiness is not productive.

--------

"Without question, you are the worst thing that ever happened to my poetry.

And I’m serious, I’ve heard about writer’s block but this- is ridiculous. My poetic fluidity has dried up faster than a woman hitting menopause to the point where this dry spells got me praying for some inspirational discharge to leak from the folds of grey matter in my brain and…shit! See what I mean?

I’ve been thinking for far too long with my heart instead of my head, and I think people may be starting to notice and I’ve got a reputation to uphold man! And no it’s not my time of the month, so don’t ask. It’s my time of the day, or what used to be, when I could sit down and write a really gritty, angry poem, one that just seething with angst- but now I can’t! Because I’m just TOO DAMN.. happy! Or should I say sappy?

Because I used to watch Face the Nation for international news, then the Daily Show for international hope, turn out great political satire ripe with biting wit and sarcasm… but I can’t do it any more!

You know why? Because I don’t watch those shows any more, because you’ve got me watching the stars- and I don’t mean Brad and Angelina, no- I mean those stars. You’ve got me watching them, thinking about whether you’re watching the same ones as me and- maybe that would make a good poem? And, and, and… this is crap!

Like a slap across the face of my muse who’s had to withstand so much abuse she’s threatened to leave my side, leave my mind! I try to tell her: please, it’s just not a good time, but she leaves me with my please and really bad rhymes and- I can’t do this!

I refuse to let my words sink to such levels of atrocity, refuse to submit to “Roses are red, violets are blue, my poetry sucks and it’s all thanks to you!” But you turn my brain to mush and it’s so hard not to let my thoughts run off in moments of ridiculous romanticism and irrelevant metaphors like- dipping my tongue and hands into the paint can of my mind, I splatter gooey gobs of thought onto the wall, then watching as the rest of the world tries to make sense of my lovesick babble, they come with black sharpies and try to connect the dots, forming man-made constellations from my nonsensical thoughts…

And this has to stop! Because writing in abstract metaphors so that you think I have a more poetic view on the world than you is against my poetic ethics. Which, rhymes with ethnic, which, incidentally is one more poem topic you have rendered useless. Because I’m a hoppa, means I’m of mixed blood, which means I never fit inside the check-mark box, always fall between the cracks, and always writing about finding my culture, where I belong.

But those poems have fallen to the wayside as I find I belong up against your chest, your arms around my back, my head under you chin, eyes closed.

I sit down to write a poem, and the only thing in my head is you- and I don’t understand why you’re the worst thing that every happened to my poetry, if you’re the best that ever happened to me."

-----

Here is the video: 

Feel like an alien in the crowd.

Kazumasa Oda - Love story wa totsuzen ni

We watched shaking Tokyo during blindness class today and I somehow got reminded of this song (I guess you'd consider this a classic?).

The film was about a Hikikomori (social recluses) and I liked it. Especially the scene of his first human contact after 11 years, which led to the addiction to it. Also, where he goes out for the first time, thinking he's one of the few recluses, when in fact the city had turned dead - everybody hiding in their homes, robots doing delivery.

Sigh I love films that are so.. still and silent. And many of the Japanese films I've watched happen to be like that.