vanity, procrastination, lazy

Those are the three words a friend recently chose when asked for three words that best describe me- I don't disagree. lol.

I don't know if this is true for all bloggers, but I find it very true to my case. I am a constant procrastinator of the severest kind, and will almost always keep putting away stuff til the very last minute. when I finally get round to getting started with a new blog post, I always find it weird that i have so much to say coz i've put if off for so long. i always put off so many things as 'insignificant' or 'uninteresting' or even when I do think they are, i keep putting them off, hoping to find the right words with which to capture them. Then finally, when chance will have me, i look back to suddenly find that so much has happened, and life in itself seems to have flown by rather quickly- the laugh of a child, the hug from a friend and how peaceful your lover looks when they are asleep (yes, i stare at you even when your are sleeping, lol). i now have waaay to much to write and even more to get round to doing, but I've spared a few mins to post a poem I jus finished very recently.

 

HOUSE ARREST- Laone van Vuuren

 

The instructions were quite simple-

Stand firm.

Speak with conviction.

Laugh foolishly.

Love recklessly.

 

Now fear has constricted you,

Has you within its bounds

 

In fear to overstep boundaries, you have imprisoned yourself

Fearing to express yourself, you've been misunderstood

Not wanting to come on too strongly, you've misrepresented yourself

Now you are discriminated against, misconceived

Everything you say is misconstrued lost in translation…

Always either five steps too fast or several more behind

 

Fear has imprisoned your mind, stolen whatever resembled confidence

and now doubt has you captive.

 

Your passion is gone.

 

Where the fire that warmed your heart burned, even the ashes have flown away.

You pace across the room, biting your nails and ask, "do you think he'll be back?"

and the dark sky looks back at you in silence.

 

clutching straws, drawing blanks

for almost as long as i can remember, writing has been my thing. a constant companion that echoed celebration, numbed pain and reclaimed joy. long before puberty and acne, before love and experiments of love, before i even made perfect sense of its power, writing held out a hand and i grabbed the whole arm! intricately describing, weaving and plotting, setting scenes, rides in gondolas and ayam goreng at the mamak, words would just spew forth, and not necessarily to find logic or even meaning. this is what bore this blog, random rants with no guarantee at sense.

yet i then find that i am, especially this morning, groping in the dark for eloquent words to describe feelings in me, so turbulent, i dare say they deserve to be brought forth in a manner so elegant in description as 'eloquent'. clutching for straws and drawing blanks, i think it suffices to say it has been a very interesting time in my often mundane life. between a vulgar, obscenely hectic semester, family tragedies, rapacious love affairs and ecstatic friends- i now find the accumulation of so many emotions, there simply aren't enough words to express them all.

but i must write, i need to. even when i don't know where to start, or in what direction to go thereafter, i still must. even if for no other reason than to jerk off my own ego.

Rory Sutherland: Life lessons from an ad man | Video on TED.com

Rory Sutherland: Life lessons from an ad man | Video on TED.com

This video is from a few semesters back, in ou first FTV module with actual production work, so the assignment was to make a short-drama- everything from script to production, editing, bla bla. here's what my group mates nd i came up with:

This one, also another of our FTV assignments- a TV ad for Vollers corsets, was produced not too long ago. lol. Had some fun doin this one, nd hope we pass the darn module!

dead- Laone van Vuuren

A dream
is big
Its beautiful
Its complete
Its comforting

A dream
is fragile
Its strong
Its sweet
Its precious

A dream
is fierce
Its brave
Its alive

it conquers your brain
and resides in your heart.

But what happens
When a dream dies?

Writers' block- Laone van Vuuren

The pages are piling up
A deformed heap in the corner
Half-written poems,
Unfinished sentences
Dead-end stories.

I’m down to the fourth pack of cigs
and the third bottle of whisky is on its way.

Bear in mind,
before I came here,
I was out there.

Listening to birds chirp,
wind on my bald head.
Sun on my skin,
Sand in my feet.

I rummaged through the Masters’ works…
I burnt incense…
Clapped my hands to a drum’s beat…
and danced round the fire in the nude under a full moon

And still… nothing has ‘come’ to me,
No inspiration as yet.

as if it wasn't over- Laone van Vuuren

as if it wasn’t over
i have come back again
i have drummed on your door and bellowed out your name like a wounded bull
i have sung you songs and read you poetry

as if it wasn’t over
i have come to your side
with you to abide

and now when you stand so close
I can only see why I left in the first place

i said to poetry - Alice Walker

I Said to Poetry

I said to Poetry:"I'm finished
with you."
Having to almost die
before some wierd light
comes creeping through
is no fun.
"No thank you, Creation,
no muse need apply.
Im out for good times--
at the very least,
some painless convention."

Poetry laid back
and played dead
until this morning.
I wasn't sad or anything,
only restless.

Poetry said: "You remember
the desert, and how glad you were
that you have an eye
to see it with? You remember
that, if ever so slightly?"
I said: "I didn't hear that.
Besides, it's five o'clock in the a.m.
I'm not getting up
in the dark
to talk to you."

Poetry said: "But think about the time
you saw the moon
over that small canyon
that you liked so much better
than the grand one--and how suprised you were
that the moonlight was green
and you still had
one good eye
to see it with

Think of that!"

"I'll join the church!" I said,
huffily, turning my face to the wall.
"I'll learn how to pray again!"

"Let me ask you," said Poetry.
"When you pray, what do you think
you'll see?"

Poetry had me.

"There's no paper
in this room," I said.
"And that new pen I bought
makes a funny noise."

"Bullshit," said Poetry.
"Bullshit," said I.