I : Well-Worn Shoe | The Foundations of Truth

It was rather accommodating, though it tends to get dirtier in one of these nights than any other, and every time, I’d scorn as if I never understood. Often in this light I’d be awake starring out in the dark. And it is darker in one of these nights than any other and every time, I’d wail just a little, just enough to shed a little of its weight. It is often vague, and when I’m lucky, it reflects vivid light and reveals an image. I’d stare as if I’ve seen it before. The familiarity is unmistakable, although I cannot begin to fathom the reflections of what it is; supposedly real. I’m only guessing.

Towers raising still and solid above the earthly rock, thunder blares and streaks followed by rains pouring in bucketfuls. Many nights since then have become a ritual of guessing, a million riveting thoughts penetrating its wall, eventually feeling unsatisfied, confounded. It is extremely easy to be confined by everything that is beyond us, taunted by a shadow of cosmic proportions. A wronged journey could send towers crumbling from above the earthly rock, imminently shattering every foundations of truth, revealing the barren ground it once stood.

There, your figure emerged behind the pillars, standing at the edge of the top of your tower, so high it vanishes into the clouds, swallowed by the moonless sky, and yet your shadow, dark against dark, outlined only by intermittent strikes of lighting. But you, your hands clad in silver lining that glows and sparkles, rested firmly on the pillars, stood still and proud looking down, smirk on your face, unshaken by the blares and flames of neighboring towers, crashing down, burnt to ashes and red hot glowing rocks.

I wish I were you, I wish I were exactly like you, so I could penetrate your thick mind, so I could read everything that’s hidden so well in the basement of your thoughts. I wish we traded shoes, just so you could feel the ground underneath your feet, stumble and fall because of the untied lace, hurt and bleed, just so I could understand how hard it must have been to walk tall and proud, all alone, dismissing the most innocent gaze, even, even hidden underneath that shield.

Your foundations are of immaculate artistry, however strong yet brittle, never fails, even under the enormous weight it held upon, constructed upon layers of confidence, perpetuates a truth that lies, to fill a void with gaps, defiance of sanctity, everything imagined.

My well worn shoes, they brought me close, so close to you – just like the first thing we saw for the very first time, far, far away.

Just a glimpse, it was strangely reassuring.

Album Review: The Antlers - Hospice [2009]

The Antlers || Hospice
Frenchkiss | 2009 | Indie
Release date | 18 August 2009

It sends me weeping underneath the covers, lights off, my feet went cold. For the past three weeks, I tried letting Hospice put me to sleep, but I find myself staying up, hours after hours, losing myself in it's sheer weight. It's a very dense and heavy album, and it's not an easy record to sleep to. It helps to learn the back story of the production itself - where the intensity of Hospice is a product of Peter Silberman's months of self-exile upon arriving in New York City - beautifully channeling the idea of sealed; confinement and loneliness.

Hospice is a beautifully crafted, story-driven conceptual album that draw it's peripheral lines around the relationship between an abusive terminally ill patient and it's care-taker. Inevitably, Hospice exudes sense of morbidity, sadness permeates in it's lush atmospheric arrangement. "Prologue" serves as grandeur entry to the album - the uncomfortable, crushing drone-scape, almost dreamy, tethering the idea of morbidity throughout the album. "Kettering" opens with a haunting piano rift and the yearning of Silberman's performance precisely framed a beginning of an beautiful agony. I wished that I had known in the first minute we met / the unpayable debt that I owed you / Because you've been abused by the bone that refused you / and you hired me to make up for that /. "Sylvia" renders a frustrating conversation, using large reference to the Sylvia Plate incident to juxtapose the painful experience of being helpless at watching the patient facing death. Sylvia, get your head out of the oven / Go back to screaming and cursing / remind me again how everyone betrayed you / Sylvia, get your head out of the covers / Let me take your temperature / You can throw the thermometer right back at me / If that's what you want to do okay? /



It's not hard to miss the lyrical brilliance of Silberman was one of the reason that Hospice shine. His almost surrealist poetic writings masterfully captures every essence of melancholy bittersweet. It's character forms a perpetual presence, so real like I have never felt before and the air smells of medication. The lyrics are executed in such a way that one events unfolds after another, but all connected under a singular occurrence. And this is the strength of the album. While there are standout tracks, Hospice works best in its entirely. It's structure was meant to be appreciated as a single piece of work that demands continuous plays.

It's obvious that Hospice in some way manifest itself as some sort of memoir for Silberman. That said, it's not entirely an accessible album by its own right. It's sole purpose is to tell a story - profound snippets about the painful journey, both physically and emotionally dealing with loss. It works almost in an ambiguous way . It does not seek to relate but it evokes sense of empathy. It challenges one to feel the very essence of life, and the frailty of it all. It's a beautifully crafted piece of music that is painfully mesmerizing - like an experience that forever changed your life.

It was only meant to be.

I think my blog is a rather accurate indication of just how busy my life gets. Amidst my unbelievably hectic working schedule, I’m here blogging because when I say I’m back, I really mean I’m back. But to be fair, I just nailed the Shell’s renovation project and “Bintulu Waterfront shoplots” project – YAWN, so I think it’s safe for me to murmur a very soft sigh of relieve that it’s finally over. There, I just said the ill-fated word. It’s not like I haven’t learnt the fact that it’s never over, I might as well just chill while I can. Though, I know I’m about to piss people off. There’s still so much work ahead of me. By the way, I’m really trying to hard sell myself these days, because I’m thinking about taking a leap of faith. Ahem. I don’t anything know yet, but I just might. I think it’s probably about time.

I think the shop-lots are just plain dumb and people are getting clever with the names these days – “Open malls”, “Outdoor Mall” , “Shopping Village”. How fucking lame is that. The thing is no matter how interesting people try to name these shop-lots, it’s not going to make the concept any more exciting than it already is. The problem I have with these shop-lots is that the planning itself is a waste of space. It creates too much useless in-between spaces that will inevitably turn into smelly back alleys in the long run and finally when the whole place eventually runs down it creates another slum block in the city. If anything, it just doesn’t provide an otherwise appealing shopping environment at all. “Shopping Village” apparently. Are you fucking kidding me?

I was on my routine surfing today and I came across a rather interesting piece of article - 17 Jobs That Are Guaranteed to Get You Laid . Apparently - Architects are on the top of the list. Now I really don’t know what to make of it, but I do love the idea that architects are sexy beings. Take that, other jobs chronic masturbators!

* * * * * *

I was given two fish tanks couple of weeks ago, and it’s still lying around the car porch. I’m yet to clean it – and it’s so dirty it’s shameful. Then I will have to fill it with water and start all over the new-tank-cycle process before I can put any fish in. Longer story short – it’s a long process, and I have no time for it. - It sucks.

I was thinking of just leaving the tank outside, so I don’t have to move anything inside the house just to accommodate the new tank. Too much work. Mom said if I were to place the tank on that particular spot I picked, I’d have to paint the wall first; otherwise, I’d have to move the tank again if we decided to paint it just right before Chinese New Year, which would suck even more because people get cranky during spring cleaning. And I’m not about to move the fucking tank anywhere once it’s up and running because moving a 4 feet tank takes some real muscles and I ain’t got that. So really, the only viable option I can think of is really just leave the tank outside at the car porch and move my fish there. The good thing about this is that I won’t have to worry about the fish splashing water all over the place when she throws a tantrum every now and then. But again, since I don’t live in a posh neighborhood, people here have the tendency to steal things – pets included so it’s not entirely that safe to have the tank outside. I can’t decide.

By the way, I’ve committed a sin so big - I could never look myself in the mirror again, I’m ashamed of myself. Yesterday after dinner, mom told me there are cakes in the fridge and asked if I wanted any. So I asked what kind of cake. And she went on and dropped the shameful bomb at me – that her girlfriends at work bought her those delicious cakes because it was her birthday the day before.

and I was like SHIT !!!

I guess there’s no point I bitch and moan about how sorry I am right now. I’ll make it up to her, and when I say I will, damn right I will.

In the mean time – I’m off to get laid.

The architect’s style.

Damn right I am.

I Haze U

I was going to be just a tad insightful tonight but I decided not to because the haze is so bad that my sight is compromised. So much for my attempt at making funnies. No. This has nothing to do with the haze, yuck, although I must say the air taste a little horrible these days. Yes, the haze is so dense it’s literally tangible and chocking up my lungs. It’s not exactly the kind of air I’d want to breathe all day. Oh, think about the people around me. They have been thinking exactly the same thing for years. Isn’t it great now that everyone’s a second hand smoker? People really should stop whining about those who smoke. But I digress.

I don’t get much work done these days. It’s funny because I’m literally swamped at work it’s driving me bonkers and yet I don’t get much done. When I say done, I meant getting things completed without having the hassle of following up at another time. Seriously, I do a lot, more than I ever had in my entire career. Like WHOA. But apparently, not enough to complete, and I am eminently depressed by it. It seemed like I’m engaging in some desultory tasks, one minute I’m doing this, just one step away from completing it, I get thrown another that requires immediate attention. I stopped, and I move on, then I get thrown another one, then some time during that, I’d have to go back and catch up with the earlier projects.

It’s confusing I know, and seriously, if one task takes at least a day to complete, three tasks would then require at least three days to complete, and that made me wonder just how many tomorrow can one have in one day because I get asked to do three different things in a day that is needed tomorrow. And if one would put a little effort in using common sense, they’d probably realize that it’s entirely impossible unless I have three tomorrows at a same time. Very interesting theory (Inner inner monologue). Some people really love to push it. That’s some world class stupid right there.

Oh, just forget everything. I’m one cranky bitch fighting off the mid-life crisis, and I’m only 25. Ever wonder why they call it premature?

Enough already.

Filler

I hate posting all pictures posts, but here it is, some recent renderings I did for work. Whatever it takes to keep this thing goin'.

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Harder, Harder, Hard Times.

Hard times indeed.

I'm back again. Oh the irony.

I’ve done it too many times, I’ve had enough really. No, I meant the come back posts.

Isn't it sort of official that I have period every two or three months? I'd think so. I stopped blogging completely, in which normally I would just write something on draft every now and then, I was off every single IM's that I was on, I was off Facebook and Flickr, and I don't know why, I just did.

Just the other day, I was thinking about writing up a final piece, an exit statement that I'm finally shutting down this blog. I contemplated, and it was fascinating to me that I've been writing quite a significant amount of insignificant shit on and off for the past four years, so I've receded to the fact that indeed I do love blogging, very much, and that I should give it another shot, only because I know better that I’d get this itch to blog every now and then, when life gets a little too much. Hell to the no. Yes. I'm that sentimental. Go figure.

I've been doing a lot, at the same time felt incredibly insipid at achieving nothing. Yes, I was lost, not anymore, because I pretty much live in lost now. That's funny. I moved to a new office recently. Exciting, though secretly I was hoping that I moved to a new job instead. That would be heaven. No really, the new office ain’t that shabby at all, the place is nicely renovated, it's close to a shopping mall, and the idea of being able to just walk downstairs and grab a nice cup of coffee while enjoying my cigarette sounds just fine to me. Sadly, all this has nothing to do with work, I know. Isn't it so obvious now that work has been so dreadful that I'm practically inert to what is actually happening around me. I get orders, I get my job done. I can't remember exactly which part about architecture that I enjoyed so much to begin with. Gosh, I miss uni days.

Things seemed to have gone through a rapid change lately, so it seems, my life anyways. My best friend finally got the job and moved to KL a month ago, and that seemed to change how things would otherwise roll around here. Then, Bin moved to Kuching and is probably living happily ever after. I was sick most of the time in the last two months; I've been to the dentist, in which he decided I should get one of my molars crowned. Gosh, jealous yet? I got my molar crowned! I totally feel like a royalty now. It burned a hole in my pocket to get crowned, mind you. Shortly after that, my lower left eyelid got infected. My eyelid was swollen and the only way to fix that is to make a small incision to drain out the abscess. It was traumatizing and I'm trying very hard to forget that very incident looking at the tip of the needle approaching my eye while my head being held forcefully by the horrible old nurse to keep me from moving. All I can say is I never let the doctor finish his job because the pain was simply too overwhelming. And to my defense, it was done without any painkiller nor anesthesia. Thank god it's healing now, just a tiny little spot left, only visible to the narcissistic self, otherwise, it's barely noticeable. Eventually, I blame all mishaps on karma. No, it has nothing to do with me taking care of my health, it's all karma.

And so here it is, a clean slate, a fresh start - the blog and hopefully my miserable life.

No. Actually, I just got very lazy.

Curtin Graduation '09

Hello elites.

Congratulations guys.

April Fools'

Happy April Fools'.

Oh well,

In my attempt to dauntingly keep this blog going with insignificant nonsense, I am going to confess that I was kinda hoping that perhaps someone would pull a prank on me today so I can totally brag about just how exciting April Fools' has been for me, because when people have every intention to pull out a joke on you, it is either you have really close friends that think about you, and just can't wait to have fun with you on this supposedly fun day or that people really hate you and they just can't wait to have a good laugh at your expense, always the two extremes. But disappointingly, I have none of those, and there wasn't anything too out of the ordinary, considering playing Left-4-Dead's Airport finale on Impossible and getting so close to winning was ever so fucking nerve racking, I'm just not convinced if there's anything worthy I should write about.


But, on the other side, it's always nice to expect friends that just came back from vacation overseas, all that stories to tell, all that souvenirs I'm getting. And right now, I'm just bewildered, and not entirely sure if this is an April Fools' prank but I do find I rather amusing. So brother Wei who just came back from his in-search-of-manhood trip in Australia and New Zealand brought Adrian and me a gift, (and to brother Wei's justice, at least it's what he told us, it was Jeffery's idea) guess what he got us - Two fucking Maxi BIC Lighter. Not that I am complaining, I mean I am more than delighted when someone bought me souvenirs, but come on, BIC Lighters? Cibai U Jeff. A million things in Australia and you recommended Alan to buy BIC Lighter ? and in which it's not even an Australian product. BIC belongs to New Zealand. At least he got me another nice Tee, so, again, I am not complaining. Just amused, is all.

And that was my pityful April Fools'.

I guess my social life isn't that exciting after all.