ok so submission is done with and over.

after that, took a break and went to vivocity where i ended up watching the covenant. this has to be the most accurate and hilarious review of the movie so far, courtesy New York Times:

“Hey, what’s up? I tried calling you last night.”

“I know. I was at a movie.”

“What’d you see?”

“ ‘The Covenant.’ ”

“What’s that again?”

“It’s that movie about these guys who are witches, and they go to this creepy school, and there’s this new kid — Sebastian Stan — who’s, like, the bad witch, and they fight and stuff. It’s super lame.”

“Are they cute at least?”

“Totally. The main guy, Caleb — Steven Strait — has, like, these big lips and sexy eyes, and he drives a Mustang, and everything. And he’s friends with this crazy, like, blond dude, who looks kind of gay, and this motorcycle guy with long hair and some other guy. Actually, the whole thing is kind of gay. I mean, they’re on the swim team, right? And there’s this scene where they’re all in Speedos and everything.”

“Awesome. I think I saw the commercial. That’s the one with a car that explodes and gets put back together by magic, right?”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the coolest part. The effects are super cheesy. Like at the end, when Caleb is fighting the evil transfer student, they fly around a barn and throw magic Jell-O at each other. I’m totally serious.”

“Is it scary, at least?”

“There’s this one part, where these spiders crawl all over this girl and go in her nose and stuff.”

“Ew.”

“Super ew.”

-

seriously. those guys are hot.

day blurring into night and night melting into day.

hello all. am rushing a design project for a theater, deadline - 35 hours left. tick tock.

its kinda embarassing but the theme song of the moment is... Paris "Thats Hot" Hilton.

Clutching at straws that never were there. Sipping from empty glasses that never were filled.

We're past critical mass, hurled into hyperspace hardcore.

at-choo

The Squid and The Whale, "if you know what I'm talking about".

Because its better to be a whale than a squid. Whales inspire major novels.

This time last year I was in New York. This time this year I'm in my basement wishing I was in New York. This time next year, perhaps I'll be in New York wishing I was back in New York, "if you know what I'm talking about".

Because New York isn't really New York unless you're not there.

Perhaps no-where, or -body, really is unless one is without.

(Belafonte/The Whale/Jacques-Yves Costeau/Calypso)

so a guy wants to cross a distance. lets call that distance X.

But before he can cross that, he has to cross half of that. makes sense, right? but extrapolate that. before he crosses that half, he has to cross half of that half. and prior to that, half of that half of that half. half of half of half of half of half. before crossing each half he has to cross the half of that half. it goes on toward infinity. forget your preconceptions and think of it purely within this theoretical boundary. by this logic, it is impossible for him to cross the length of X because before that he has to cross an infinity of halfs which he is unable to do because he is unable to cross the half before that half he has to cross. (its called -somethings- paradox. what -something- is, i forget.)

it makes sense on paper but in real life we know he just has to take a first step. but i think this introduces the concept of the infinity. maybe it is also a metaphor about how absolute conception of the inifinite within our finite perception is absolutely paralysing.

can we wrap our heads around infinity? i dare not. but in thinking about it, i wonder- is infinity linear or is it a loop? taking it in the context of time, if it were an infinite loop, i think it has two depressing conclusions we can draw from our limited understanding of it.

1) we are doomed (or blessed) to repeat ourselves. you will read this again.

2) if we are doomed to repeat ourselves, it means what will happen has happened. and i have serious personal grievances with the notion that we have no control over our future.

if it were linear. well. that be easier to accept but harder to understand.

i don't know. i don't even know why im writing this, but i feel compelled. its been on the back of my mind for the past few days and i've been chasing my own tail.

what do you think?

softcore days hardcore nights
high house of cards
hardcore days hardcore nights
come off that high horse
everything- flaccid like jelly

(translucent too)

jon, your cd compilation is like a lozange to frazzled nerves. exquisite.

midas touch, golden bullet.

(bang bang you're dead)

the object of memory/the memory of objects

concept_

Objects come loaded with a personal and shared history. Upon these peels of memories we spin further layers, mixing them into a chauldron of nightmare dreams and pony fantasies.

Many of these memories are buried in our subconscious, ferreted there through the proxy of our 5 senses. The limited scope of our sensory capabilities means that overlaps can and do occur. When this happens, like click of little red shoes, one is transported to within the labyrinth of our mind- a kansas tinted deja vu. The object is thus, as the agent of remembering, layered upon the memory of that memory, while at the same time weaving a unique memory of its own.

An object without a memory has not been experienced and thus does not exist.

concept in 3D_


A paper frieze built upon the image of steel trusses- when unfolded, it snakes around, forming a tangible "memory labyrinth", where the participant must physically peruse through the different panels, slowly revealing the peels of memory imprinted upon that structure. LIke the nature of memory, there is no coherent system of arrangement within the whole, though there are parts that relate. Through my execution I arrived at the conclusion of 3 distinct layers of memory - the memory of the past (memory of memory), the memory of the immediate (memory of experience), and the memory of the process (memory of action/reaction).



When done, the labyrinth folds back into itself. The memories scurry to hide behind the image of the steel truss.

After all, memory is a shy creature - "There is a secret bond between slowness and memory... the degree of slowness is directly proportional to the intensity of memory." (Milan Kundera. Thank you Colin/Mr. Seah for that lecture.)

The use of the frieze also ties in with the notion that the structure studied is a product of mass production. It is supported at regular intervals by these steel trusses, so imagine- it is infinitely expandable. It streches for as long as the supports allow. (how many do you want to cut out? its easy, really.)

snippets from the Memory Labyrinth_

_on the memory of experience


"Smell is the mute sense, the one without words. Lacking a vocabulary, we are left tongue-tied, groping for words i na sea of inarticulate pleasure and exaltation." - The History of the Senses.

Smell is the rawest of our senses, one I can never remember, only recognize.

_on the memory of action/reaction


Sitting atop Mount Emily, the structure has the quality of being within but not part of the city. One experiences a transition from the white noise chaos of the city to one of peace and the serene nature of nature, like the ripples when a pebble ploumps into water.

_on the memory of memory



The memory of a memory is mostly one of sepia-tinted childhood which ripens like wine. Sweet nostalgia given to the forgetful blur of time, letting us build a proverbial house of memories with the white porch, low picket fence and a dog in the yard.

the smoking gun, gleaming metal. a samurai blade down hot buttered roads. yellow bullet, bang bang, you're dead.

I think i've figured it out-

I've reconcilled my seeming polar opinions on things. Its because I like to rationally pursue romantic notions!

Down in Albion, we're black and blue- but shhh we don't talk about that.

Are you from Albion? Oh, hello! how do you do? Come lets talk about that. Over gin in teacups, of violet passions and yellowing classics (the colour of our teeth cracked in smiles)- its okay we're all from Albion.

But if you're looking for a cheap sunset or a trinket story its in false anticipation. I'll be waiting in the photo booth (its a neoprint station). If you'll smile I'll smile and print a memory we'll never remember.

do you think thinking burns calories?

i think so. that would explain my weight loss in sec 3/4 and my good O level results, the subsequent weight gain in JC and the poor results, the flab from office life (its not the physical inactivity that gets you- its the mental void) and finally now i am getting gaunt of cheeks.

smoking has the illusion of you doing something when, in all reality, you really aren't.

it has the same effect as when somewhat asks "what're you doing" and one replies "just chillin'".

you aren't doing anything. and by you i might mean me.

ajax hijack. we die of broken glass. pat boone hats on our grave and a tap dancer. baa ta dam daa tammm ba dammm da pamm. clickety clack. borrowed limos, whores filled to the rim of the glass, ladders instead of pretty paper umbrellas. tippety tappety tap.

in reference to my previous post, because you see i'm like that- I write letters that have postscripts and post-postscripts and so on so forth. BUT i digress.

so as i was saying, in reference to my previous post, (consider this a pt. 2), theres something devilishly nasty, (in an impish manner), about drinking liquor out of an innocent coffee cup. its like having sex in your parents bed (i've never done that) or stealing chocolate (nope, never done that either). but you know what i mean.

"when i speak, no one believes me. when i write it down, people know its true."

to too many last cigarettes smoked and nights spent clubbing for the final time. if i can't be disciplined i can at least be honest because my personal hypocracy is a joke.

so i raise this glass and say, "da".

when i speak of romance and romantics i dont mean to someone. we are all narcissists married to the ball and chain of our ego. i declare a romance to the self. what better way is there to be happy with everything and content with nothing?

Lennard with a sigh, a grin and a shrug.

if you want to be happy, you have to be a romantic. but if you never want to be sad, then you must be dull.

relationships are the most futile pursuits but nothing feels as good. on the same note nothing feels as bad either.

sadly enough, i am only human.

 

take a bow and tie me up hello i am home