Friday, September 02, 2005
so here goes:
"there's something so very utterly romantic the way the rain trickles softly down glass panels and window sills. especially when your hard at work, head bent, chewing nails, sideburns tucked neatly behind your ears while the top of your crown looks matted and roughly tousled with your other hand clutching the frizzy ends in disciplined earnestness. so it was today as i pored over lines and lines of econs that i turned to stare out of the window i was sitting beside. raindrops sailed down happily as i watched millions others spatter themselves onto the glass and smeared their fat dropsy bodies into mercurial trails and smiley faces on the other side of the glass. i put my finger onto one voluptuous rainblob and watched the little smidgen ease itself gently away from my magnetic hold, skating down to join the rest at the bottom.
i had the pang of urgency to blog. no laptop so i scribbled on a piece of paper napkin this:
"there's something so very utterly romantic
the way the rain trickles ethereally
down glass panels and window sills,
waving their flubber hands at you,
you who are oblivious to freedom and magic
beyond the looking glass"
words written on a paper napkin. how unusually cliched. but how homespun and rustic, that homey cozy huddled up state, with sugarcult and coffee melodies and lavendar fresh ovenbaked potatoes smells. a glass pane, bursting clouds and showers of fresh out of laundry raindrops.
i've been thinking about that paper napkin. maybe a waiter clearing my messy table spots the scrawling lines and becomes enchanted by this anonymous writer. or maybe it'll get thrown into the bin with the rest of the not so extraordinary napkins and the garbageman, seeing it at the top of the pile will read it unexpectedly and his eyes will crinkle while he envisions similar picturesque settings at home. or i don't know.. maybe the next occupier of my seat would keep the embellished napkin as a memento, moved in indiscernible ways by those words.
no more pipe dreams. often i get carried away and more often than not get embarrassed by my illusory dreams again.
but can i just say that it is entirely quixotic how a spontaneous pen writes on any surface it finds. the ink soaking through and through. a moment of glory and reckoning, transient no doubt, but still very very uplifting in its own special way."
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i doubt i can ever capture fleeting whimsies and pen them down again like that. i need a new song for inspiration; Jamie Cullum and Bap Kennedy have overplayed their usefulness. tis true you know, inspiration precedes words, that is only if you feel the pang to imprint such floodings onto something tangible. but i think i was more struck at the curious noun that appeared; "laptop". Come to think of it, why did i even write that? No laptop to transcribe thoughts, so what? a pen and paper will do, has always been and will always be more than enough. and now that i've finally gotten apple wapple, i wonder if i've become too mechanised to the artesian form of writing, or drawing for that matter. Hey i draw k, hcjc classmates and co would probably scoff and recall my 1 minute "ugly girl" doodlings but the truth is that i can't draw cartoonic figures, i draw what i see. which can be said to be neither good nor bad, since it only accentuates the fact that i have no imagination... hmmm.. which probably means that it inhibits writing but aww i digress. shall we move on? Let's..
i think maybe i should give up blogging, after all i sound like a hypocrite after all my rantings of Disney's unpersonalised cartoons now. clinical architectonic cartoons that savage my living memory of the good ole mickey and donald days. you do know they used to draw them out right? the cartoonist's life giving artistry and hand. not the computer's unintelligent secondhand guess at colours and nuances. so i said i wanted the unbridled invention of the life-giver, not the sterile graphics of the computer designer.. and i think i want to read my writings through my all-seeing eye, and not through apple wapple's point of view, though she is still magnificently fantabulously chio. but that being said, yeah, i'd like to see myself carry my note-book around with me all the time, so that if by a turn of serendipity, lush green gates open such creativity, i can reach for my trusty pen and paper and not for the aberrant wheeling of the mouse.
i like to see my words tinged with hues of scrambled colour, individualistic idiosyncrasies and my illegible scribbling. then i can really say that they are, indeed, finally, mine; just purely mine. Joyce Lim unzipped at 4:48 PM with 0 comments
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