War Photographer. I think this is the best documentary I've seen from the Film Fest so far, even outdoing Bowling for Columbine. Was looking for the black and white still shot over the top of a bald little boy but couldn't find it.

Kindness is in our power, even when fondness is not.
- Samuel Johnson

Sometimes I have this crazy idea that Wordsmith chooses quotes just for me.

You described me as a kite cos you're never sure if the kite will lift off and soar, or lie flat on the ground. You can't tell if a strong gust of wind will snap the kite off, so all you could do is feel the tension in the string and slowly play it out.

Another 2B2B (Too Busy To Blog) phase. I'm having film fatigue even before I finish with the Film Fest. Trying to fit gym and meeting up with friends in the little pockets of time around film screenings. Haven't read in a while. Discovered that besides white noise, there is also something else called pink noise which b12 uses to tune his turntable (and pink noise LPs don't come cheap). Also discovered that I'm healthy but have a cholestrol level bordering on dangerous, so need to review the junk I've been consuming, sigh. All that running foiled by my inability to eat properly.

On top of all this, I've picked up on emailing again with intelligent funny interesting folks. So things I might have blogged I actually email away instead and got replies. Which is a good thing isn't it?

Today I couldn't find a CD or a thermometer to buy, not that these 2 have any connections. I'm always trawling for CDs (no, having an ipod doesn't make a difference); the thermometer bit is cos I'm getting paranoid with everyone round me knowing their exact temperature round the clock. Anyway, thermometers have sold out so I guess I'll need to feel my forehead the primitive way.

Who is you? lol. Everyone who's not me is you.

There was a scene in the movie where the screen faded to total white for a while. I gave a little laugh and you asked me why I thought it's funny. I said it's cos people were forced to concentrate on the music instead.

I just watched Mexican director Carlos Reygadas' debut film called Japon. Japon means Japan, but nowhere in the film is there any reference to this place. Why? "I find film titles tend to be too descriptive" is his only explanation. The premise is simple: an unnamed man goes to a desolate canyon to kill himself (for reasons unexplained), and along the way rediscovers life. The pace is deliberately slow while in certain scenes, music is brought to the foreground to depict the lead character's state of mind while everything else sinks to the background. I especially like these lazy shots cos most of the time this is how I view the world too.

My favourite scene is a travelling panning shot at the end. A single camera moves slowly down the railway tracks, making slow reeling 360 degree turns and picking up signs of an accident's aftermath. Like a victim who stepped out of a vehicle in a crash, dazed and unfocused, weaving round till reality sinks in. And all this is set to match perfectly with Arvo Part's slow haunting Cantus in memory of Benjamin Britten. Heartbreaking.

For me, there are 4 types of songs:
those I don't care about,
those I like but not enough to buy,
those I like enough to buy,
those I can dance/ run to.

I'm most particular about songs I can run to cos I put them on auto-repeat for long periods of time, and also use them to gauge distance. There's no set pattern.. I've run to all sorts of music spanning rap, indie, pop, rock, drum&bass, chinese, jazz, bossa nova etc. I just know instinctively if I can run to it.

So it was with trepidation that I found I've brought your CD in my Discman to gym. Music you thought I'd like, but which I'd categorise as like but not enough to buy. Anyway, it seemed better to run to music than in silence, so I put a song on auto-repeat and ran. It's not that I didn't finish my usual 6km cos I did. My body is so atuned to running that distance that it was almost on auto-pilot. And the song I put on auto-repeat is exactly 12 minutes long, making it much easier to gauge timing. However, I didn't smile at all through the entire run. It was as if my head was running, not my heart.

The fist clenched round my heart
loosens a little, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? But this has moved
past love to mania. This has the strong
clench of the madman, this is gripping the ledge of
unreason before
plunging howling into the abyss.
Hold hard then, heart.
This way at least you live.
- Derek Walcott, The Fist

I wish to live but there's no fist round my heart.

Been neglecting other activities to download songs: it's been more than 50 songs today and counting. Feels therapeutic.

Recently, I was asked where I inherited my love of music from: mum or dad? All along, my bro and I are convinced we got dad's brains and mum's neurotic ways. But undeniably, it's from mum that I've inherited this intense interest for music and movies.

Today I demo'd my ipod to mum by sticking a earplug in each of our ears, and playing music for her. While listening to Tatu's cover of the Smiths' How Soon is Now, it struck me as surreal that mum is listening to a Russian girl pop duo singing a song by one of my favourite bands. I looked over and asked her if she liked the music, and she nodded yes. So we just sat there quietly, having a mother-daughter bonding session of sorts.

Picture this:
mp3s from internet must be downloaded to laptop first before being transferred to ipod.
10GB harddisk space on old laptop.
20GB harddisk space on new ipod.
Greedy owner.
Upset laptop chokes and keels over.
Repentant owner mass deletes files and tries to defragment laptop harddisk.
Defragmentation hits error.
Panicky owner scans laptop harddisk.
Scandisk hits error.

Lesson learnt: Empty stomach before eating.

Though I didn't transfer the mp3s of songs which I've already got on CDs to my ipod, I still ended up transferring 285 songs. And that's only my home laptop... wait till I start on the one in my office! b12 says I set the benchmark in testing normality. Muahahaha.

I just bought this 20GB baby. :)
Why? Cos music is not an option.

Suffice to say Britney Spears will never be my idol or role model. An ex-colleague used to have Britney Spears' Hit Me Baby One More Time as her mobile phone dialtone, and I'd absolutely cringe everytime her mobile phone rang. And then, da mouse passed me a CD with Fountains of Wayne's rendition of this song. Sigh.

Suddenly, I found I like this song. A LOT. I've put it on auto-repeat on my Discman throughout the day, and I'd positively beam while lipsynching to the whole song. Even on the treadmill. Even as I'm typing this. Yes, believe it or not, the so-so lyrics have now been branded on my brain. URGH. And I realise that people have been trying to lip-read me while I lipsynched, and "Hit me baby one more time" wasn't too hard a line to guess. What if they think I've been lipsynching to Britney's version instead, and labelled me a teeny bopper?! omg.

Anyway, what I've (re)learnt is this: every song deserves a second chance. Just like people.

Oh God, it's raining
But I'm not complaining
It's filling me up
With new life

The stars in the sky
Bring tears to my eyes
They're lighting my way
Tonight

And I haven't felt so alive
In years

Just for a day
On a day like today
I'll get away from
This constant debauchery

The wind in my hair
Makes me so aware
How good it is to live
Tonight

And I haven't felt so alive
In years

The moon
Is shining in the sky
Reminding me
Of so many other nights
But they're not like tonight

Oh God, it's raining
And I'm not containing
My pleasure at being
So wet
Here on my own
All on my own
How good it feels to be alone
Tonight

And I haven't felt so alive
In years

The moon
Is shining in the sky
Reminding me
Of so many other nights
When my eyes have been so red
I've been mistaken for dead
But not tonight
- Depeche Mode, But not tonight

I'm a delirious woman cos of the avalanche of music CDs over the past 2 days, namely:
Traci Lords' 1000 Fires.
An old album by a porn star turned dance musician which I've picked up from the Tower Records sale. On it, there's a song entitled Father's Field recounting a child rape incident (probably autobiographical) which speaks volumes.

Bob Mould's Black Sheets of Rain.
Another old album from the sale cos I like Bob Mould's song Can't Fight It best on an old No Alternatives AIDS tribute compilation. Think I will be disappointed though.

Pressure Drop's Elusive.
From the HMV sale cos I've got their latest album previously, and it's a steal at $4.95.

Uncut's May 2003 CD.
Already have the Tom McRae song though.

Mixmag's April 2003 CD.
A worthy find at Borders since HMV doesn't stock the CD along with the magazine for this issue (due to possible copyright infringements outside the UK). But what does this say about Borders? Hmm.

Double-whammy CDs of da mouse's gig and e-pop.
Thank you thank you thank you! :) I'm so happy I could nearly not blog what you said about being too old to sit on the floor for the Film Fest fringe screening.

Why I know I don't deal well with boredom is: this strange clothing in my wardrobe bought impulsively while waiting for US travelmate to turn up. It's a sleeveless blue pseudo-turtleneck (pseudo cos it's like a half-hearted turtleneck, not enough to fold) top, with 2 cartoon characters in white outline, and "Milk Cookie" emblazoned merrily under them.

And I'm not a Milk Cookie kinda girl. lol.

The idiotic fashion of carrying one's clock on the most restless part of the body, exposed to the most extreme temperature variations, on a bracelet, will, one hopes, soon disappear.
- Professor H. Bock (in 1917, when wrist watches started to overtake pocket watches)

Of course, it's possible to love a human being - if you don't know them too well.
- Charles Bukowski

The obvious truth about the Internet is that it's not especially important... if the Internet collapsed tomorrow, most Americans would go on with their lives in a way that would not be true if, say, they could no longer drive their cars.
- Robert Samuelson, columnist, Washington Post and Newsweek

Nah.

2 users on my project team have resigned and are now in ecstatic countdown mode. One will hide in our project room even though she's no longer working on the project, so to avoid being arrowed for other tasks. Then when phone calls come for her, she'll gesture for me to screen the calls. Not only that, the project room has also become a gossip chatroom with no holds barred. All sorts of folks will drop by to bitch about work regardless of my presence. I seem to be made of glass as far as they're concerned. It's quite funny actually.

Somehow the way you're asking me about music seemed all wrong. It's like a teetotaller seeing someone drinking vodka orange and asking how it tastes like, "is it better if you use natural orange juice or will orange concentrate do as well?". But the orange juice isn't the point. And when the teetotaller finally gets his first sip, he'll over-analyse and go, "It tastes a bit underwhelming till the vodka kicks in and I can feel the tip of my tastebuds responding to.." etc. This isn't the point either.

Just listen. Either you Feel it or you don't. I don't know what else to tell you.

Because DJ Shadow can't come to us, we shall go to DJ Shadow.

Coversation with a random stranger in my favourite music store while sampling music.
You sampled Tom McRae's album and replaced it. I sampled it and bought it.
I told you David Gray's Century Ends is nothing like his White Ladder so maybe you won't really like it. You tried 2 tracks and were determined to buy it.
You also wanted to buy Chris Botti whom I've never heard. From the cover, he looks like a teen idol though and I pulled a wry face.
You were holding The Very Best of Stone Roses in your hands and I mentioned that I just bought this on Sunday for nostalgic reasons. "Nostalgia?" you asked quizzically. And I laughed cos you were probably too young to have heard them the first time round.
I commended you for picking up the VCD/ DVD for Amores Perros and The Colour of Paradise, and I didn't feel the urge to tell you the ending.

No, I'm not suicidal. It's that I just bought Tom McRae's latest album Just Like Blood, titled after Simon Armitage's poem. Frankly I've never thought of suicide; in fact, you can say I'm fiercely pro-life. I know more worthy people have died. Younger people too. I know sometimes the going gets tough and unbearable. And I'm probably not going to do great things and make a heck of a difference either. But at least I can honour this life by trying to know as much as I can. And being happy.

Anyone here had a go at themselves
for a laugh? Anyone opened their wrists
with a blade in the bath? Those in the dark
at the back, listen hard. Those at the front
in the know, those of us who have, hands up,
let's show that inch of lacerated skin
between the forearm and the fist. Let's tell it
like it is: strong drink, a crimson tidemark
round the tub, a yard of lint, white towels
washed a dozen times, still pink. Tough luck.
A passion then for watches, bangles, cuffs.
A likely story: you were lashed by brambles
picking berries from the woods. Come clean, come good,
repeat with me the punch line 'Just like blood'
when those at the back rush forward to say
how a little love goes a long long long way.
- Simon Armitage's poem I Say I Say I Say

Just had more than 9 hours of deep uninterrupted sleep. Can't ask for much more than this!

I don't know if this is a test, but though normally accomodating, there is a stubborn streak in me that doesn't deal well with this. I am liable to walk away and in fact, I already have.

When they were introduced, he made a witticism, hoping to be liked. She laughed extremely hard, hoping to be liked. Then each drove home alone, staring straight ahead, with the very same twist to their faces.
The man who'd introduced them didn't much like either of them, though he acted as if he did, anxious as he was to preserve good relations at all times. One never knew, after all, now did one now did one now did one.
- the entire short story by David Foster Wallace titled A Radically Condensed History of Postindustrial Life

I'm going to kill myself. I should go to Paris and jump off the Eiffel Tower. I'll be dead. You know, in fact, if I get the Concorde, I could be dead three hours earlier, which would be perfect. Or wait a minute. It - with the time change, I could be alive for six hours in New York but dead three hours in Paris. I could get things done, and I could also be dead.
- Woody Allen (quoted in James Gleick's Faster).

So I went and bought books at the book sale today that I may not read in the next decade. Less people there as compared to previous years, and there was a man there who wore a mask. Lots of bargain Lord of the Rings trilogy.
My purchases are (in no particular order):

1) Brett Easton Ellis' Rules of Attraction.
Now, the only Ellis book I probably haven't gotten is American Psycho.

2) David Foster Wallace's Brief Interviews with Hideous Men.
How can anyone not want to buy a book with this title?

3) David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest.
Bought cos of the previous book. This monster has over 1000 pages and revolves round the search for a movie so dangerously entertaining people expire from rapture. Didn't find any book on film so I guess this book will do.

4) James Gleick's Faster.
Dissection of how life is accelerating to squeeze as much as possible in the same amount of time.

5) Richard Feynman's The Pleasure of Finding Things Out.
The only scientific book of the lot. Incidentally, James Gleick also wrote Genius: The Life and Science of Richard Feynman.

Happy!

4am and online chatting with my US travelmate again. Missed a film screening cos I was working late but made it for dinner with my jc girlfriend. Just back from an extended drinking stint with other friends and need to wake in another 6 hours to have breakfast and go book shopping with my UK travelmate and Yoyo. I really like how my life is actually.

I'm fine. Just not in love.

Every reader finds himself. The writer's work is merely a kind of optical instrument that makes it possible for the reader to discern what, without this book, he would perhaps never have seen in himself.
- Marcel Proust

Inane pre-weekend conversation in the office. A colleague stopped by my cubicle to chat, and I struck a mock pose with my hand on my hip and drawled, "Whatcha looking at, boy?". He laughed and said, "You really no S.O.S."

It's Friday! Who needs a Sense Of Shame?

Who begins a star ?
Who will roll far ?
Took the way I know
Move along now

So sad I lost my memory
The shape of things to come
Circus heart stops inside me
There's just no time.

Halcyon days
Pine the roadways
Got to let you know
And I walk the way the wind blows
Softly in clouds of envy
I see those eyes
Fireflies in time

Don't ask for anything more
There seem no room in my life
Don't ask for anything more
Don't know why

Talk to me
Drag my memory
Across a seashore of sin
Yes I care
I'm trying to say it
I'm getting tired, so look
I'll never
I'll never
Whenever

Hold your hand, hold the light
Indian took another butterfly
Anything cloud nor dirt
Funny bird
Burning words
Travelling
Dreams for me
In time.

Heads down
Words from an indian
Words tinny in tone
Peace signs
Hitching a ride with
Destiny on tow

Anything cloud nor dirt
Funny bird
Burning words
Travelling
Dreams for me
In time.

Heads down
Words from an indian
Words tinny in tone
Peace signs
Hitching a ride with
Destiny on tow
- Alpha, Firefly

Having feelings for me have turned you into a worrier. You worry about my alcohol intake versus my body mass; my proximity to smoking co-workers; whether I'd get caught in the rain; and why I didn't return any of your 3 sms while I was charging my mobile phone. Please, this isn't really you. You worry so much about the inconsequential stuff I can't bring myself to tell you more serious ones. I can't say: Look I think I sort of twisted my left foot while running today but fuck that, cos I've bought a wonderful old album by Alpha. I can't say: Worry about the war or SARS instead.

I don't need to be pampered by over-concern.
I just feel tired.

Woke all of a sudden and found myself online chatting with my US travelmate who hasn't gone to sleep yet. At 4.30am. Somehow she thought of me and the Cherry Garcia ice-cream we ate in New York just now. lol. You're still the only friend I've kept from a plane trip dear! :)

Unexpected you.
Write like an enthusiastic child, with CAPS and exclamation marks!!! et al.
Revel in the big picture while I live for the details.
Commandeer everyone gently but firmly, like a merciful tyrant.
Marvel at my idiosyncracies.
Treat eating as an adventure.
Cook wonderfully but know I probably haven't even boiled water this year.
Don't know I blog.

What are we to do?

In the hour after I've finished with gym, I've learnt about 2 deaths (one of whom is Leslie Cheung the actor) and a fire (my mum's childhood home, but my relatives escaped luckily). Bad luck all round on April Fool's Day, but I feel strangely calm and settled.