north-american possums! work fatigue grouses; singaporean; ex-poet and writer; former convent girl; converted, convicted and painfully quiet; bibliophilic; skyscrapers; weather-talk; dining alone on sashimi; your life with Jesus; banging heads with problems; looking from afar; loving my xiongmao; peanuts & anchovies; battlestar galatica; novella dreams and paranoai: holding onto you.

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Wednesday, September 10, 2003

hearing a stranger's voice over the internet triggers narcissistic thoughts in my head. i wish to have a feature like that on my website for my sole enjoyment. hehe. alright i've another dream serving for you. this time i was a foot soldier in some unknown war. it was strange that we were given an off day to visit our families and leave the camp. so i went to visit my family in this run down HDB apartment. When i wanted to leave, i realised that I couldn't find any of my things: my equipment, back pack, rifle etc. I was running up and down the house trying to find my stuff and spent the whole day just doing that but as the light of the day died, my rifle was still missing. i knew i couldn't regroup with my platoon. then there was news that the enemy was entering the city. i was dead meat...

i woke up a little pissed at my dream self. i resolved to return to my dream with the foregone conclusion that i'd found my stuff and returned to camp just in time...

instead, i found myself looking on the same scene but only this time it was in anime. then suddenly michael jackson appeared like a ghost weaving through the enemy camps unseen.

when i was lucid, i thought if only i could draw that out, capturing all the shades of grey, brown and yellow in the scene. but the images in my mind were fading and the only image i can recall from my dreams was the back of michael's grey trenchcoat, the setting sun casting its last rays upon the buildings beside him, unable to penetrate the darkness that was swallowing the desolate rubbles of the city.
This would be the trait, the remnants of my dream, that derrida could be speaking about in memoirs of the blind... the trait that is left when with your finger you draw a line across a table surface. the trait that is invisible, that i seek to rewrite and remark it but always eluding from my grasp...

anyway, onto trivial stuff which are ironically often more coherent and interesting than my rambling. my swedish cousin will be arriving in singapore today from cambodia and would be lodging in my house for an indefinate number of days. this calls for patience and tolerance on my part. i think it's better to assume the worst possible scenario and not to hope much, then to expect i would have fab times with my cousin and we would get on jolly well.
i am glad i went for my prayer meeting yesterday. speaking of which, i have to send an email to my varsity church mates to ask them about something. ok gotta grab lunch and head to school... God bless you

posted by happyhannon at 10:40 AM