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pressure/thunder

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(no subject) [Apr. 2nd, 2013|03:33 pm]
pressure/thunder
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I'm on the train and two primary school boys are sitting across me. One of them took his English textbook out for his friend to look. And I thought of how our pets textbooks have been forcefully replaced by this one called "my pals are here!" And I thought of what children would read in the future. I wondered how I'll teach my kid English (if I have one, which is unlikely). The best way to learn really, is through reading. What will I let my child read? I never read much when I was younger. I only started writing grammatically sound sentences when I turned 15 because of the rigorous writing programme the school put us through which I'm grateful for -- I can't imagine what I'll be doing now if I didn't learn to write properly.

But yes, what will I let my child read? I'm afraid. At 15 I started reading things like pomosexuals, the ethical slut, about anarchism.. And my ideas about these have not changed since. Have I read these when I was too young and impressionable or has the world or myself not changed? I'm fearful of things staying the same. I don't want to change my beliefs (if I can call them that, but maybe better to call them ideas) for the sake of it, but at the same time I can't see beyond them, can't find something more appealing. This is especially frightening since the thesis I'm writing now feels extremely familiar. like what I wrote when I was 17 on poems, some of which I read when I was 17 as well.. I want to break out of this repetition but I know I cannot because it is a human condition to repeat. I guess I can only hope each of this repetition is meaningful... And well, I guess I'm enjoying the process as well..

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(no subject) [Mar. 23rd, 2013|09:33 pm]
pressure/thunder
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I'm out with a group of friends I love dearly. It's been a while since the entire group has been together like this. I treasure it, but I can't help but feel someone is missing or that I don't belong. Or that I don't belong because she's not here to root me down. But I can't do anything about it cause she's not easy to ask out. This is my nothing speaking.

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(no subject) [Mar. 13th, 2013|12:41 am]
pressure/thunder
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After the a&e allergy saga where I almost lost my life I spent most of the next day in bed and only started registering and recalling details on Sunday. Wrote an ultra long post an marked it as a life event on Facebook because I didn't want to ever forget the little details. Categorized it under 'achievements and travel' instead of 'health and well being' because the post was really more about the experience than about my health per se. I guess I haven't learnt much about the importance of life and health through the near death experience.

So I have been on steroids to prevent a possible relapse in case there are still substances in me in allergic to, but it's been causing me insomnia since Sunday. Been sleeping barely 3 hours a day. And yesterday I was just lying in bed thinking, about how I've been writing and talking and there is no reply. And the thoughts expanded from the particular to the general. What is all this I'm writing about for? I felt like I was throwing mere words into an abyss. And therebis no language in the abyss. you can speak and noone listens or maybe the abyss listens but it gives you nothing. everything falls to naught. and the worst part is when you know the abyss knows your tongue but just wouldnt speak.

I shouldn't write expecting someone else other than myself to read but where do I go other than the abyss? And the thing is I mean what I say and things I say may not seem intended but I do. I am very invested in what I write and committed to what I say. Maybe a little too much even but I guess people don't always take me seriously or I sound too nonchalant I don't know what other reasons there are. But for four hours I was staring at the abyss, at an emptiness inside that was eating every part of me. Taking significance from everything I do. I felt like my thesis, something I was so passionate and excited about, was nothing but a sham. It's boring. I couldn't distract myself from this emptiness cause it ate up whatever attention I had for it and reduced it to something boring. I was utterly bored of life I wished so much to die.

A friend told me to think of love but it was difficult. Especially when this whole 'crisis' began with my questioning of investment and commitment to people, about reciprocity. And all that came to mind were instances of everyone close to me and their lopsided loves, their unattainable fantasies, of circumstantial problems. All these came as a ball of issues held together by a very strong locus and I couldn't untangle them or separate them. It was the abyss spitting at me, a stubborn phlegm accumulated through a long time from just breathing this air I'm breathing now. I felt diseased but the disease means nothing because the abyss also took any significance out of diseases. It's amoral and I'm drawn to amorality but it is also horrible. And I questioned my amorality - I always saw it as liberating and unjudgemental - but does it even mean anything? My mind went in circles and I was staring right at the abyss. The attraction to the abyss was strong but it made my optimism stronger as well. And I realised that to be in the abyss would be to be extremely selfindulgent and to be out of it would be a sheer disregard for one's own life because you just go ahead with doing things without weighing the severity of the situation, like how I was so optimistic about not dying a the a&e it almost cost my life. I could have sunk completely into the abyss but I held on to the question that is unanswered that triggered all this. The answer, I believed would have been able to determine if I'd be in the abyss or not, but the unanswered-ness was a promise, or rather a possibility of being out of the abyss and I held on to it. I understand the struggles of an optimist so much now. The struggle of being at an inbetween is the worst because it makes the opposing forces so much stronger. I never felt so much like an optimist, until now that I have to battle against an infinite force that has its allures.

I am writing this because I am a collector and archivist. Maybe also because I invest too much in insignificant things I see value in everything. This also made me toy with the idea of stopping the meds (side effects: depression, mania, psychosis) and saving it for later when I have the luxury of time to be dysfunctional. But I thought again that this is only so intense because I have work to complete.

I put myself to sleep by looping a song that offered me some comfort and control and told me this whole bullshit was meds-induced. It did help to numb out the pull of the abyss a little but I woke up to it anyway.

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(no subject) [Mar. 5th, 2013|10:24 pm]
pressure/thunder
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They always say that death is the ulitmate leveller, the equaliser, that it is the common denominator of all human beings, of animals, of plants, of all things alive. Because no one escapes death, and no one brings anything along with them to death. But they are wrong, because we are all located in time, and time makes it unfair. Upon one's death, the living has to bear the consequences, unless of course, the world or even the universe dies altogether, all together.

I long for ultimate equality that will never be corrupted. I used to long for death because I thought in death I'd finally be on the same level as everyone else. But I also realised how my family and friends have to bear the consequences, pay the outstanding amount of my scholarship bond and so on.. Now I long for an apocalypse. And I also realised that it is in an apocalypse that even the atheists can catch a glimpse of a force that is larger than the human will. It is sublime without having to be divine. The atheists (I'm not one) should be glad for once as they can finally give up their human arrogance that everything can be explained by logic and be hence liberated because an apocalypse (I have not been talking about it in the religious sense btw because I'm not religious) escapes logic..

And someone told me two days ago, optimistically, that an apocalypse would give everyone a common enemy, which we all need for unity. An assuming of course, we would have the ability and apparatus to predict, with a significant amount of certainty, that it is going to come. The apocalypse is almost the only way for governance to dissolve and for us to all fall back, not on governmental institutions but on principles to survive. It is regrettable that not everyone has the capacity to look past the need for governance and that we need to depend on something so dire (but beautiful nonetheless) as an apocalypse for us to unite.. But of course the question comes, a to whose principles we are to fall back on, an we can only hope that there are universals such as kindness that we can rely on, all else which we can agree to disagree.. And I guess unity comes only when we think there is something that can be done against it. Reasonable i think. So I guess I may now have something else to look forward to and hope for other than total annihilation..

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(no subject) [Jan. 15th, 2013|02:39 am]
pressure/thunder
I was just thinking of 2012 and realised I never felt like so much happened in a year. In 2012 I attended a close friend's wedding (first wedding party that I actually care about), travelled more than I ever have/will within 6 months (with so many people), took on adult responsibilities, got my first C+, no longer found myself emotionally inert.. In fact, I was still feeling hollow emotionally until august when I came back. But somehow, in the last few months, I guess coupled with stress from everywhere, I felt intensely for others and myself.. My heart was utilised more than ever.

I ended the year, unintentionally, with an apt re-examintion of my values, interpersonal relationships, and how I deal with the interpersonal. It was nice, it was useful, it felt right. But I dont find the "solution" appealing at all. It calls for too much taking care of my self before others' and I can't like that. I love fairness but I tend to ignore the selfishness inherent in being fair.

Anyway, 2012 was terrible. It wore me down and aged me. I feel myself leaving 2012 as a completely different person, and this is something significant for a static and achingly stagnant person. Let's hope 2013 will be better for all of us.


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maybe in another life if we get another life maybe in that life i could learn to love you [Jan. 14th, 2013|11:23 am]
pressure/thunder


fucking in love with this song now
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(no subject) [Jan. 11th, 2013|06:43 pm]
pressure/thunder
I always knew I had a problem with the question "why are we still alive" but today I know what the question should be - "why are we not dead?"


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(no subject) [Dec. 15th, 2012|06:35 pm]
pressure/thunder
Living in singapore with its all year summer is like living on weed everyday. The mind isn't so clear about time and memory doesn't work so well. Having had the experience of being away for six months (unfortunately only six) my body and mind are aching to synchronise with seasonal changes. The shorter days in winter and the longer days in summer, ironically, makes my sense of time less screwed up, and my mind works better that way.

The seasonal changes (erratic or not) are discomforting but sobering. The body never forgets its presence as it is constantly trying to adapt. The chapping lips and affected sleep cycle calls for a better taking care of one's self. The lack of change in an all year humid summer is uncomfortable and numbing. The persistent consistency of the weather in singapore makes one forget that we even live in a season. Days and years pass as they do every other day. The mind loses itself and forgets what it is doing and where in time it is. It is easy to forget why I'm doing what I'm doing. I work repetitively, aimlessly, purposelessly. I'm constantly on the move but I'm paralysed. Distance grows but displacement is 0. It's like when you're high and your mind works very quickly but the head is in loop loop loop loop - it's actually just paranoia, seconding thoughts every second, making no real progress.

I need the cold to sober me up. I need it to help me locate myself in time. I need to be able to say, "oh yes, that happened last summer," and have it actually mean something instead of just thinking of time as dislocated, rootless numbers. I need to feel like my body's being constantly challenged, actually see my skin peel and regenerate every now and then instead of having warmth plastered to my skin sticky from the humidity.

Maybe this is why I always wondered what it's like for people who are always high on alcohol/the same drug everyday, and why they choose to do so. When being high is the norm, what is sobriety? How is time experienced and how does memory work? Maybe time and memory isn't important to them the way it is to me. Perhaps I am too much of a control freak to be able to comprehend. I'm the kind of arsonist dustin hoffman would say that sets fires that only I can extinguish.


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(no subject) [Nov. 18th, 2012|01:41 am]
pressure/thunder
prof phillips put into words why i hate the practice (not the field or the study) of psychology that i never knew. the practice of psychology promises happiness, or rather well-adjustedness, all for the ends of being a functional person so that one's productivity in this capitalist world is maximised. so that the system efficiently uses its human labour. why why why do we have to be functional and productive. why should unproductivity be conceived as a psychological defect...? so many things are diagnosed as psychological illness because it hinders a person's efficiency and productivity. for instance, was homosexuality thought to be a psychological illness because it is not (re)productive and doesn't help in sustaining the system? and im wondering if this whole practice is really helpful and not misleading us, in some way or another, away from human-ness, towards being mere resource? isnt psychology an invention of modernity?

but of course im also taking this a bit too lightly. psychology has helped many cope with problems (that may not have been caused by modern life?).. but i guess that's also why i am attracted to people/characters who abuse psychological practice.
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(no subject) [Nov. 11th, 2012|11:33 pm]
pressure/thunder
the past few days, i've been extremely inspired and excited. i was so happy i'd smile or giggle for no reason - no reason at all. i could write and write and write non-stop and discover. writing (when it's about something i'm interested in) is probably what i love the most. been writing about silences and the ineffable. the beauty in ambivalence and enigma, feeling and empathising (instead of comprehending). the failure of language. and how ambivalence in art lies outside of consumption/production because ambivalence it cannot be fetishised or digested. it exists only because there are things unsaid - it is a form of unproduction.

the pleasure is intense and it makes me so happy and excited at times i need to take breaks only because my heart is beating way too fast and i need to calm down. at times when i think too much about the powerful and beautiful emptiness and ambivalence, i feel myself sink into an abyss, the chora, and i am consumed.

at the party yesterday, i met all the people i wanted to meet, all at once. watched the film that so many of my friends were involved in, talked and laughed so hard with them. it was the best night i've had since i came back (or since i left).

and then i dreamt of you slouching on the chair that you were sitting on earlier, with your right knee bent and the left limb stretched out. you were smoking a cigarette. you had on a slight frown. the expression was familiar but it also reminded me of someone else i always believed you resembled. you gestured at me with your crooked fingers that were holding the cigarette and said "i'd fuck you." and my immediate question was "are you saying you'd fuck me (as in im fuck-able in general) or you want to fuck me?" i'm always paralysed when i don't know what exactly the person means. i don't and i can't respond intuitively.

i love ambivalence in aesthetics, but it seems like i can't deal with it in real life. i could aestheticise it and enjoy it, but i couldn't deal with it. it seems like even in dreams, it's always about the certainty of intention, always about the precision in meaning.
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