The thing about not posting for motherscary long – you don’t know where to begin.
Anyhus this is for the invisible fanbase I’m deadly certain exists but wouldn’t admit their presence.
A list of weak justifications so you wouldn’t realise i’m just #1: really lazy, period.
#2: Hey, I’m a student, I’m in HCJC, I’m in Singapore. You do the math. No wait- that I’m doing too. It’s sad really, I’m mortified of retaining (and being separated from 10A16) that I’m doing everything. Except your mom, I don’t have time for her.
#3: I’m an efficiently summarized Singapore youth armed with the rapidly deteriorating vocabulary span of a lemur. AKA I’m prone to tweet-spamming ‘Omg HOT YOG wtf smelly RI boy running past me YAY KOI~~’, stream of consciousness style.
#4: I may have shed my bouts of narcissism (and therefore need of large personal cyberspace for lengthy self-expression). I’m like- growing up. Now all I have to do is wait for osteoporosis and a paycheck signing bitchy boss.
…OKAY I LIE.
Only #1 is in adequate proximity of the truth- which is that I’m not just lazy I IZ HAZ NOTHING TO POST ABOUT.
Or at least nothing I’m bothered to doubly recount out of Twitter. Which kind of makes #3 relevant too. THIS IS RAMBLING. THIS IS TO BE STOPPED. Digressions, self-sufficient monologues and incoherency ASIDE…
XIN AND I GOT CAP MENTORSHIP!~
I’ll have more about it on Friday during the Free Food thing.(-:
The point is, mentorship got me back into a writing stint. Is very into confessional poetry now.
I’m either too apathetic or ignorant or cute beyond words to experiment with socio-political-ethic-war commentary types (and I believe in writing what you know, something Raffles boys NEVER get). SO YES.
Confessional poetry is amazing in it’s cathartic nature. I don’t know if everyone goes through such transformation with their own source of outlet (sports/singing? idkwtv.) but writing practically NINJA-TURTLE-HEADLOCK-FORCES me to confront the issue and get to the very root of it’s problem.
So in the end, no matter if it were my intention, I’d somehow understand my problem in a way I’ll never dare to (or be able to) in usual circumstances. If you get what I mean. The process is so distinct it’s like a mini-self-miracle.
Firstly the confronting. Writing about it is an acknowledgment that yeah okay this upsets me. [It’s a lot less dumb than it sounds here okayz!:-(]
The exploration of the entire issue, usually products of intense 2am catharsis. And I’m not ashamed to admit sometimes I sit stoning eating Hello Panda while crying to get inspiration (K I’M CREEPY THAT WAY ALRIGHT?) Once you get through this bit I call the best and worst of writing, you reach a volta.
I KNOW RIGHT VOLTA. The turning point where I emotionally resolve my difficulties with it.
I feel insanely learned just using this term (but I concede to Googling it WHAT? We learnt it ages ago k I forgot!) At times quite strikingly clear, others more subtle. But definitely some form of resolution. THIS IS THE CRAZIEST PART and I’m not even kidding k-
Every time I finish, I reach Zen. Not just a temporary Zen, but a full understanding of my self and the universe. And it is at this moment that I’ll finally be able to let go of (or if necessary do something about) the problem. IT’S JUST SO EFFING BEAUTIFUL ISN’T IT?
I admit to being a word-whore, but the true attraction of poetry will always lie in it’s ability to change me.
(And seriously if you’re just into prettiness of words and/or if you just have a nursery rhyme fetish than get out of my elite, uncaring face JUUUUUUUUST:-D)
Really, I don’t get why the supposed best writers are depressed, homosexual or messed up. It’s not even a generalization k- look at Sylvia Plath’s head in the oven. If to reach a deeper level of sophistication it means that instead of being enlightened, I have to be DISTURBED, I’d rather not. I’m very happy here in my state of progress kthnx?
In rare occasions where I’m in really good condition, I just let my subconscious take full control (have always been a strong believer of the subconscious genius) and I’ll just sit there and literally LOOK at words fill up the page without understanding a SINGLE THING I’m saying while doing so.
It’s only when I reread my stuff over again after, then I’ll be like- like.. I can’t even describe it. The Zen thing but ten times over because it’s something you’ve always known but never understood and all of a sudden it’s captured in front of you in such startling intimacy and prettiness.
I may just have made myself sound like some demi-Zen God I actually am not.
I’m just someone who stones around eating to coax my inner self into telling me the truth about everything, and that basically sums up how I go about writing.
On the same tangent-
Sexiest song ever:-)
Q 