Guangzhou Asian Games 2010

Just now starting to tune into the Asian Games which are happening in Guangzhou at the moment. Amazing to catch sight every once in a while, of mankind's greatest physical achievements, where men and women perform at peak fitness level.
The 16th Asian Games held in Guangzhou is a great chance for Guangzhou (and for China) to present itself to the rest of the world, promoting current-day essentials such as a low-carbon lifestyle. I love the way events like these raise world standards just a little bit!

http://www.gz2010.cn/en

Baoji, China

Bi Lour Tqun – An impressive kind of tea, made from the leaves of some terrestrial plant, but also of an animal from the sea, quite possibly the sea cucumber. Long and black and knobbly-shaped, the sea cucumber is ground into this mixture of sea and earth, to give the tea a slightly bitter, slightly magnetic, and very pleasing meaty strength. A taste much worth savouring, for my time here in Baoji!

The Dispossessed - Ursula Le Guin

"Yeah baby hop right in between the pages and sniff these sci-fi goods of... to  be   continued."

I am currently reading 'The Dispossessed' by Ursula Le Guin, and, having said that I am reading it, I endeavour to do so more, for I am not yet a quarter of the way through and it is a little bit intriguing. It tickles the bases that people say science fiction is meant to address - the parallel social issues, the euphemisms for race between two tribes of 'aliens', and I can tell, as it is Ursula Le Guin and because I am familiar with her ways of speech and lifestyle, that it is going to touch more on possibilties of gender co-ordination in society. I am one of those people (if this category exists) who really really likes the idea of science fiction, but as yet, has mainly just read theoretical interpretations, and snippets of snippets of examples... I have liked the sound of Ursula Le Guin, and I adore the adoration which Fredric Jameson seems to bestow upon a wide variety of awesome-sounding science-fictions in his monster of a gem "Utopia: Archaeologies of the future and other science fictions", because from the sounds of it, we can appreciate humanity from the golden perspective of its follies and inconsistencies, its changing radical nature, and its ubiquitous diversity of morals, reasoning, in ever-changing flux.... all in the name of hyphenated half-words: sci-fi.

"There is a wall and on each side of this particular wall are two lots of people with communication difficulties on account of their differing syntax."

Padang

People live side by side they sleep side by side they share bread and motorcycles and nasi. There is no space which exists by itself without others there to claim a part. You enter this city, you crave the people of this city, it absorbs you, it claims you. yOU don't own yourself, you don't own your skin, which becomes a thing, an attraction, a point of the conversation - kulit putih! cantik sekali! saya mau sy mau sy mau... - and like that we are spent we are not tourists but the spaces to be toured. Eye for an eye. Sharing breath and sweat and smoke and dua-ribu rupiah. Back of an angkot our hearts become one with the pulse of a loud and dirty tune or an Indonesian favourite. The heat cannot be deciphered as that arising from humidity or bodily warmth. People are the centre of gravity. The masses of them tell the story to be so. Our downfall. Our POTENTIAL. Our wishes to reach the highest point exists through people.
This is the crux.

The more taxed, the more used up, the more depleted, the more sapped of energy I am,
for sure,
for living here,
 ~ but  ~
the more I live,
the stronger I become,
the more I shall thrive, and
laugh at the end,
biting lip and
crazy like that with a
hardened shell of an eye
still soft on the inside.
Because
the more stressed, the more frustrated, more hindered, the greater the cage, the
greater the
b r e a k
from
this.
Suck all you want. :-)
(I'll just do something else.)

we and i, me and my. (quips on the symbology of fever)

Fever. Feverish. Sweating profusely. Feeling a hotness of the skin yet it remains white with denial, or maybe green in counteraction, as the fever takes over. A possession takes place. Makes us appear livid as the fight within begins. A struggle for identity - are we human or are we virus? Delirium ensues and the feverish can never be sure . . .
Any thoughts?

methinks tis time to recycle Adrian and... do away with him completely.

So instead I should like to introduce to you Paddy. She's a she, this time, now that sociology has got me hooked on blaming other people for the way some things in life just don't seem right or fair (wawawaaa, bitching about my race or sex or poo. again.) Anyway, her name is Paddy Malon, emphasis on the 'lon'. She's a little like a plant, roots uprooted to feel the breeze just before they begin to dry out, she is reckless, flitting about and tottering on erstwhile feet and a near-broken heart, mouth almost wrecked like it has been smashed in the past by a demolition ball. She abandons old self to enter a new one in a new strange land filled with other-mother milk, reverse-parents, money (not hers), stares, and a whole heap of people lapsing into incomprehension even though they speak the same sets of words.
There exists a little something called religion... and yet even within the one person will be an array of inconsistent remarks and changing breathing dynamic ideas in a state of constant revision yet who would ask for anything else??? least of all Paddy MaLON. Is it true that every body in this P-town is longing for what we in the West would call a white-picket fence and a dog that won't shut up...? (And a pet dog too?) Well sex on the sly doesn't sell, unless you want to feel like an artist, whereupon names are forgotten. Ah, give me a shit-whistle. Stay tuned to discover more tunes from Paddy Cake and what she ended up jamming like after this. . .
So together we will venture into a new era of creative processing, before I end up in a dark room, voluntarily, listening to Daniel Johns, Julian Lennon, and Enya, spewing words into a little black notebook Arabic-style, right-to-left. again.
Great!
After all, Indonesian Mama calls me keras kepala and I think she's onto the truth, as all mothers tend to be.
Peace out! - He:Di

"abstinence is purity..."

I run from mother. My skin in the saturating rain is ever-more translucent. It loses its substance, and is no longer a thick, opaque white but now a faint, purple and blue revealing the blood vessels beneath like the skin and flesh of a snail. It is saturated, like paper, turning clear in the light and the rain, blending with the elements. Wind shakes the trees, making the gums slant like slashes on a manuscript, like people whose bodies are diminishing, above the sanded banks breaking and slipping. My reality is disintegrating. There is something else more real out there than me, and it is in the form of the huge sound of wind and storm.

Less is more. Abstinence is purity abstinence is purity. The memory of the personal doctrine ringing in the mind, the mind which is turning into a gradual pulp of mush and a slug-like thought. Mental constipation; the mind is clogged, or else no longer has the energy to push out thought. Nor does the rest of the body and yet I run.

She runs from mother. She runs from the hearty meals of meat dripping in oil, oil soaking the meat, its muscle-fibres, its bones, because she knows, she knows so well, you are what you eat. She knew she was addicted to the marrow, its hard-setting, blood-celled fats. The frontal lobes of the brain ached, they screamed, for nourishment, they wanted to think, they ached for it, and all they could think about was the ache for food and nothing more. It does not take alot to propel her light skeletal form. For some dilapidated reason she enjoys likening herself to a ghost... while suppressing, bitterly, that soon perhaps she will be one. Can't have it all, she spits, to herself. And she runs.

The muscles work, the blood is squeezed, pumped around the body to those places which are greying, greying from lack of oxygen, from lack of energy. It feels like a massage. The pressure of the wind squeezes her body as well, wringing her out. It feels good, this feeling of existence.

Nature crashes all around her; water is spitting from the sky. Leaves, knocked out of their branches by the splash, drop like pins to the road, on which she runs and runs.

It is so beautiful. The cool whip of air. The strength of wind. It returns her face to a substantive white, and widens her eyes to its wonder. Wind tears at the edges of her eyes and its coldness produces a thin line of lacrymal liquid. Beautiful wind. Beautiful trees. Beautiful and poisonous hunger. It is so beautiful she feels like screaming.

"Dissertation on the..." (I've forgotten)

While they are having some kind of party downstairs at Casa Subang, Heidi is having quite a bit of trouble sleeping, but then, she isn't trying to, anyway. Upon deciding that learning French while trying to study Marguerite Duras - that outlandish, yet oddly familiar thinker - for the exam on Monday, she discovers that there is a kind of... 'pointlessness', to be experienced, for sure, with any regimented study such as this. It is not because it is a University study program, no not at all, certainly not... it is because the program is now tapering at the end towards a specific outcome of learning, which, if it might be added, has been learnt and learnt before to the point of tedium. So what does little Heidelbergensis do at this crucial hour, prior to the exams?
She studies astrology. Not from the sky. Nothing as interesting as that. She studies it off the internet. She learns about what it means to be born in the year of the dragon, in the month designated for virgo, that illustrious and deceptive 'virgin' (pff!), and the characteristics which arise due to being ruled by the planet Mercury, and the element 'Earth'. See, these are all self-absorbed areas of interest, and she does not like to come across often as being prone to such narcissism, but, you see, there has arisen withion the past few months a series of 'identity crises'. She has either entirely lost what she once considered to be the essence of herself, or she has been expanded outward, to merge with her environment, to the point of self-loss. In any case, that pompous and self-interested wench, got down and dirty to some much-needed soul-searching... well, if she is to be any good for this upcoming internship, she needs to take care of herself after all. And, furthermore, the identity does tend to flail when one has been grabbed recently on the brassiere by a sexed-up pre-teen in her local neighbourhood. (Not to mention two-years'-worth of postmodern theories being rammed up the arse and anywhere else they will try to fit.) So she read up on herself, as it is indicated by the stars and/or suns (she didn't read that far into it) of the solar system, and she got to thinking that all people are, all they amount to, is a series of pre-determined hormone-combinations, which have delineated all forms of life according to moon-phases, planetary rotations, and probably the weather, since the beginning of life itself!
Then she wrote this. Her 'dissertation' (on Pluto-knows-what):
I want to be an English cavalier. I want to approach the world with a 'snooty' and pompous air, thus concealing my overbearing love for the world. (!)
I want to trammel my perfect leather boots through other people's shit, and then gasp, feigning abhorrence, while I am spat on.
I want to lapse into mock outrage, decidedly indignant upon having my pride burst. I want to revel in my own superciliousness, and use the word, without looking it up in the dictionary first...
and feign shock at others' hatred for me. I want to be simultaneously loved, and hated, as I make my militant way through daily situations. I want to declare my love for people with a 'natural' British accent.
I want to show outlandish facial expressions! I want to pretend that I care! I want to be consulted on artistic and literary matters as though i am some kind of expert! I need! (Alot. Of attention.)
I care about you, and me, and the state of the biosphere!
I want to be part of a group and possess it, through being the joker, the singer, the sweet sweet entertainer.
i want to delight in perfectionism the angst that is me, and narcissism.
I want the rotations of the world, the planets around the sun, the mood of the solar system, to MOVE ME! I have decided to forego for now the plucking of the hairs on my legs, in favour of self-control, and assertiveness because I am a 'modern woman'. (And because I have other, better things to do.) I have chosen to not change, to never change, because it is senseless trying to bend always to others' wills, and to others' wants. I wish to cease all desire for learning, and in that sense, achieve more and learn, absolutely, more, for that is where confidence and leadership becomes a part of the person. To try to learn is to assume that the world is unknown, and that nothing, not any thing in this world, can be incorporated into the mind to cultivate it. Trying to learn is the inhibiting factor, the breaker of the spirit of the being who tries to learn, for how is effective takeoff possible without a platform?
And thus, Heidelus becomes inaugurated into the world, once again, as an actual being with an identity. This time, it's chosen. This time... it's personal.
(12:13 AM, November 31st, 2009.)

rain is an illusion

The rain is just an illusion that we can't go out, can't escape. It rains and we feel silently positive. Hopeful that we may have a defense for our erstwhile lack of activity, lack of participation in the rest of the world.
We want rest. Sometimes. It is the foreshadow of a more positive acceptance of death.

If we are caught out in the rain, we come close to finding affinity with 'the negative', and convert it from negaitve to something entirely else. We accept our fate - getting saturated - and so, unhurriedly, continue to make our way. We silently rejoice the fact that the rain came upon us suddenly, unexpectedly, to teach us this simple message about life: that it doesn't matter whether you struggle or not, because if it is so, then it will be.

Rain can be smelt. Rain can be felt. When it comes on, we attune to our primal selves, and momentarily forget our prejudices, consumer 'needs', and otherwise ever-present daily stresses. It is for this reason that the fact of rain is like a drug. We choose to see it for what it is - a miracle.

new hot text!

Hey, if you want to see something new and straight from the head, check out transignifier, a hypertext novel, fresh, virginal, just out of grade school and puckering up for the break-in into the real world of scratch and sniff wrestling. It's on me. Click here to be directed to the homepage, from where you can navigate your path through transuniversal topics. Oh, and there's PictureS.

AIESEC in Malaysia » Go Exchange!

AIESEC in Malaysia » Go Exchange!

Opportunities exist and present themselves, every now and then. I believe in fate, destiny, whatever you want to call it... Being able to have the chance to go to another country with AIESEC, learn about the culture, the people, what motivates people, and the ways in which I can help communities, is incredibly valuable. If there is a higher purpose, then a greater personal connection with it, should encourage the individual to pursue that path which pokes out and presents itself as the one which is right for them. I feel the meaning rushing into life, and understand that this journey is my own. Here's to the internship - the next chapter of my experience in a fantastic world. =)

the here for the there

This was composed in my little purple journal quite some months ago... the purple one sure did replace the brown one quick and in a fervour of writerly excitement (or should that be 'excrement'?), but has now relaxed, opting instead to be filled at a snail's pace, while i rejuvenate for exams. (Or as much as rejuvenation during exams is possible, which is close to nil. How about, while I 'bludge' for exams.) It is about the splitting of identities when one has two different homes, and when one finds it hard to choose between the places. Enjoy!

To cry from a distance. To pine at a song.
To dream from a hope. To ache in the body.
To shake from the cold. To quiver, down to nothing.
To spare the somniloquy. To retch at sentiment.
To expand beyond the self. To abandon bodily confines, while reaching out, and with mind-fibres, touching another place.
To weep without knowing.
To be mesmerised by pulsing stripes. To let the tiger go.
To know a question, and to hold it. To craft a response that in the end cannot be real, can it? To pass it off. To wait for later. To shock oneself.
To needlessly fight! To paint barriers as cold as winter, but without the rage, without the passion of the wind up the valley.
To set sail. To set sail with things still to do on the mainland.
To fly (and then some). To crap on about a home.
To be away from you. To leave you again.
To forget.

At the moment, I am reading Eckhart Tolle's 'The Power of Now'. Like a regular (*cough) 'self-help book' (hey at least I admit it. And that I'm reading one...), this book tells you all that you already know. However, there is one simple difference: it tells you that you are reading over things you already know. Which is, in its own 'self-help' way, commendable. (I'd give it a home-made certificate for that little fact.)

So it tells us all that we know, while openly declaring it. (It is with great restraint that I don't add 'so frickin what?!') This is part of a larger scheme to replant the notion that truth actually is attainable. Words cannot lead to truth, indeed they are not-the-kinds-of-things-which-can-be-true; what words can do, is Point One To The Truth. Having lost my faith in Truth (capital 't') countless times during my almost-complete university degree - having to learn postmodern theories over and over again to the point of heartbreak - I now have a source to fall back on, to win arguments for human validity. (In the affirmative.) Truly inspiring.

'blood and qi'

from the mountains to the sea, and everything in between. The individual gathers strength, no matter what, with the incorporation of the masculine with the feminine, in a perfect form of beingness.

trough of a dark enlightenment

protector eyes

Protector Eyes. To be worn if one is in danger of being looked at too much, should they be particularly attractive. Intended to thwart bad luck. Each bead has two small protrusions, spaced apart to resemble eyes.

This bracelet was given to me by a friend, after their return from their home country, Uzbekistan.

Peptides get confused; the decay of the stomach rises in belches and just plain gas. It mingles with the breath, informing it of 'the problem'; a dialogue procuring a strong smell, a dying smell.
And meanwhile? The ingestion of yet-another artificially sweetened coke, takes place. Corrosion of the villi is imminent. Celiacs is glimpsed through the cracks of my deteriorating gut. And i will persist to harm my self... even with a pathetic hypochondriacal prophecy.

///A search is underway.

How stupid to think we'd found.

Time moves in fast circles, repeating itself, repeating itself, repeating itself.

i deigned to think of an answer, and come up with a
shiner of a lie,
locked between teeth and thick as leather and with the
same taste.
Nostalgic cramp to think it could all just be a
bodily
experience.
(y e a h f u c k i n g r i g h t)
skin it feels so old after a week: mine.
And in a mentalistic void that is a self-fulfilling prophecy,
you coughed up my blood and became my illness,
a cynical fart clouding the air and
this,
is it;

How stupid to think we'd found,

HOW STUpid TO THINK we'd found.
///