Cataclysmically Clustercaustic
Of Snowglobes & Small Settlements



Heh admittdly this isn't a picture of mine, but I couldn't help but use it here. It's really an amazing piece, seeing in how everytime you look at it you draw out a different emotion. When I first chanced upon this little wonder, I also happened to notice numerous posts about how cute it looked, and I readily agreed. It brings to mind snowglobes and lego houses, towns and worlds that mimic our very own, except in miniature form, and with hefty pricetags. The thing about holding a world mimicking yours in the palm of your hand is how awe-filled (no, not awe-ful ho ho) you become. "So this it what our world would look like from a God-eyed view. Except maybe a whole lot less lifelike." Snowglobes and their worlds within our world fill us with mindfunk, and the ability to make it snow in their world in the middle of our heat-strikenly, globally warmed and equatorially challenged Singaporean summer is really nothing to be scoffed at. Who can't like snowglobes when you look at it that way?

But that's just one thing the picture brings to mind.

Strangely enough, the very picture that instills awe and wonder, also happens to impart some really negative micro-waves of emotion to the viewer. The viewer picks up these contrasting emotions like how a man would a five cent coin on the road; his hope rising from what appears to be promises of gold, or possibly even a whole dollar (whoa!), but what turns out to be merely disappointment. Though some may find that five cent find a stroke of obscenely good luck, at this point of time I really feel like being negative, so I'll stick that whole false hopes idea.

But I digress! That was one really extended analogy, but at least that's over. Now back to the picture. Recently when I looked at it, I began to wonder something other than the usual wonder. Sure, snowglobes and cute little village-town-planet things look cute and all, but there's something really disturbing about it all. Snowglobes encase little worlds within them, which people view and enjoy everyday, and even write extensive blog posts on. Yet, the beef with snowglobes is exactly that - they encase stuff. The glass wall that seems to preserve this little world is exactly the same glass wall that prohibits it. Ever seen the show Lonely Planet? Well, I haven't (though I'm quite sure it isn't about solitary planets being sore about their solitude), but I must say this is exactly what comes to mind. A world trying to find it's place in our world, and being unable to because the inhabitants of the world we live in insist on keeping these little worlds stuck in little glass globes, and sitting on our display cases of houses.

At this point of time, I must apologise for going all philosophical and serving up plates of Plato, or whatever other famous philosopher you care to name, but I'm in a really ranty mood today.

The tree in the picture pokes its head out of the forest of houses that surround it, and while drawing all the attention of the viewer to it, still seems to scream a sense of detachment. The little floating planet's surrounded with houses of every detail, but the irony of it all lies in how the barren tree, which one would normally pass over, seems to clash with the buildings of that world, yet also holds the entire composition of the picture together.

Yeah, detachment. Lately my head's been one massive mess, and I'm just... floating along. I can't seem to put any order to anything, and the I'm walking around in a daze. Stuff happen, and stuff don't. Stuff, stuff, and more stuff. It's great just shelving stuff when you can't put any sense to anything, just like how someone's messy room would look like. I think my brain and conciousness kind of decided that school holidays extended to them too, and ended up taking self-proclaimed leave. They're probably somewhere in Europe now even as you read this ramble. Maybe I should get down to doing some school work. That always helps pin stuff down. Afterall, what are we if we don't have work? Savages.

A really poor reference there signals that I should stop and spare you the misery of reading further. It's a rare occasion that aimless and floaty posts like these surface from the murky depths of this writing space, and I can assure you I'll try to keep these to a minimum. I guess writing crap down does help get some order going, and maybe soon enough the snowglobes can get off the floor in their ruddy mess and at least onto the shelves, looking pleasant and just like little worlds worth marvelling at, and start filling me with awe once again.

viewed from here,
2'2"

Of Reflections And Pots Of Gold



It's a strange thing how we only pause for thought when some sort of trouble comes our way. Man somehow works like the ultimate troubleshooter, churning up huge amounts of delay, lag and frustration not too unlike the Mac-Afee sort whenever some threat pops up. Problems always seem so much easier to mull over, while you know what they say about fleeting joys and the like. As I continue to write, this post begins to degenerate, slight testament to how that good feeling comes and goes way too quickly to grab hold of, kind of like really great cheesecake. Maybe I should get down to the point of this post.

The night 23rd of November was not your typical night, considering how far from being dark and stormy it was. Quite on the contrary, it was a night with cloudless skies and a moon that looked like it got exported straight from some manga character's eyes: Really. Big. And not to mention pretty damn bright too. There it sat in its lofty abode in the eleven fifteen twilight sky, and basking in its almost 3D-esque grandeur it implored people worldwide to abandon their mortal ways and embark on a path of werewolfhood.

Or in simple terms, the moon damn nice today seh.

A sight this stunning was begging for a photo capture, but as I whipped out my trusty handphone, I could only languish in how the moon looked like a sorely mispositioned glob of blanko on the dark canvas of my phone screen. Oh well, it was worth a try. Nevertheless, it was enough for me to stand there for the whole part of five minutes, staring at the moon as it stared at our world; the staring match of the century, which the moon inevitably won, granted through underhand methods though; such as by burning a hole in the back of my retina. (I'm still getting the hang of this semicolon business. Damn you strange punctuation mark, damn you!)

Sadly, such scenes come as often as good bands to singapore, and go quicker than we run to the toilet at the call of nature. Reality strikes back, and the weight of the world falls off the canopy of the sky and onto your shoulders, and you can't help but hunch. The post began with the hopes of pudding in the bread and butter, but it appears that it only had false promises of pudding (facebook is bad for you that way), and a positive conclusion is hard enough to dig up. At any rate, we can always look forward to these punctuations of peace and possibly even joy, like the commas, colons, semicolons and periods that litter our sentences, and that hopefully perforate our world with.

viewed from here,
2'2"

Time Is Running Out



Lucky him. I, on the other hand, was running home. Quite the contrary to running out really.
It's not often I post about the happenings of my day, since most of the time there really isn't much to write about anyway. But this time, writing this post is some way of cooling down, and it beats pacing up and down my room or trying to perform various positions of yoga.

Today was not the best of days. Sleeping at two in the morning and waking up at six in the morning happens to have several strange effects on your mind and body, not too unlike that of heavy LSD overdosage. Nevertheless, I made a valiant attempt to survive my day on my winnowing sleep reserves. It's too bad that valiant attempts almost never work. This happened to take the form of a sixteen hour day. If you do the mathematical studies there, you realise that that's four times the amount of sleep I got. Being the ever-resourceful and ever-lethargic singaporean citizen that I was, I decided to take the opportunity to fall asleep in just about every corner I decided to relac in, as well as every bus that decided to grant me seating pastures. Call me antisocial, but it seemed to have worked. Here I am, online at twelve in the morning, writing some inane post. Ironically, I wouldn't BE writing this post if not for the fact that buses can get so damn comfortable when you get used to them.

So, on with the story. After much brainstorming of katrinic proportions, we decided that we really should let the unfortunate workers at Gelare go home. Then came the semi-elucidated mrt trip, and the trip-hop to the bus stop (hoho that rhymes) to grab my bus back, kanye telling me something about being harder, better, faster and stronger all this while. Could have been one of the reasons why I even made it to the bus stop without collapsing down the stairs. The bus was taking forever to come, and when it DID come, it decided to pass by and go do that thing all buses do when they don't stop at the freaking bus interchange, whatever that is. So then my bus does come! And by this time Justice is being served in copious amounts, remixes aplenty. All is looking and sounding good. Good enough for me to get comfortable and fall into some deep slumber only usually rendered possible by some shinylooking apple.

Usually there's this thing called the biological clock which saves your life and wakes you up when you need it. It woke me up pretty fine, just about three bus stops before my stop. Sadly, my biological clock caved in to a simple chemistry of physics, where the up-down motion of the bus soon led to a nett down movement of my eyelids and a converse up movement of audio levels in the snore department.

By the time I could figure out the science of what was happening, I was just about three bus stops away from my house. I jump up of my seat, jump out of the bus, and jump start my terry fox back home. It happens that the skies decide to mourn and cry over my sorry situation, and their tears of rain descend upon me as I make the first run of mine in a really, really long time. Wait. 'Why not take the bus?' you ask. Considering that I'd already spent just about three dollars on bus and mrt fare with a concession card for the day, I really didn't want to incur more weight loss on my already anorexic wallet. Inspired partially by the fact that I was getting severely wet, the fact that I wanted to get home as quick as possible so i get finally get some rest, as well as the fact that I was about to get royally floorwiped by my parents for getting back so late the fifteenth time in a row, I decided to run.

By the time I entered the dairy farm stretch, I realised that a subtle, serene scene lay before me. The street lights emitted soft pinkish-purple glows, which reflected delicately off the falling crystal droplets of water, and the overall effect brought to mind images of picturesque fantasy, a la Stardust (Which is a really great movie by the way). Nevertheless, it's hard to appreciate such things when you begin to feel like you just swam with your clothes on, so I popped the key into the door and ducked into the cover of my starkly boring kitchen, only to end up here. On hindsight, it seems that the pink picture of perfection was probably not exactly some miracle of nature, but rather the blood rushing into my head at breakneck speeds, sans the neck breaking. And then again, a break from the shit of reality never hurt though.

Oh if you were wondering, I found this chapter off a book by Northrop Frye, and I decided to associate my blog with some famous guy. Ha. This also goes to show that contrary to my online msn status, I actually have been trying to do something for EE! And yet, the very fact that here I am writing a sodding blog post sheds some light on the reality of affairs. Oh am I screwed.

I shall end my rant now. I hope this makes up for a really long dry period of lack of postings

the view from here,
2'2"