tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-155113672012-02-15T18:20:27.705+08:00author of salvationhe is mighty to saveMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.comBlogger5361100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-29191496245915836722012-01-30T21:52:00.000+08:002012-01-30T21:52:19.520+08:00for Stargirl, who fights Sadnesses
and polishes everyday the shiny instruments of living
the same ones that serve as tools for grieving:
one spoon to taste the emotional soup du jour (always needing more salt, more light;
did someone cry secretly into it again?)
one bottle to hold pills and spills and flavoured feels
one shovel to fill
up the holes that appear,
sometimes right under her very Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-39929506204329728412011-12-23T17:08:00.000+08:002011-12-23T17:08:44.742+08:00Travelogue
Here we go, she tells herself, a brief visit
to the ruins. No need to even pack,
because what would one need for a quick look-see?
Only good shoes, and your senses intact;
all liquid emotion in a zip-lock bag.
Not your typical holiday destination, this
rumbling expanse of remains. Crumbled pillars
of resolve and chipped hearts of stone;
monuments whose majesty now lay
in the glowing Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-69784851209250791982011-11-15T17:35:00.000+08:002011-11-15T17:35:20.090+08:00#49
On the way to work yesterday I tailed an old lady for a bit out of Little India station because it was insane how much she looked like mama from the back. All chinese grandmothers probably look alike to some extent, or have that same essence of grandma that is concocted from a mix of permed hair, auntie clothing, umbrella-walkingstick (or in mama's case, real badass walking stick), jade Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-32113218449027420292011-11-06T01:40:00.000+08:002011-11-06T01:40:11.732+08:00while digging up old notes to plan for Theatre Cell's next workshop,
I found the shortest play I wrote during one of Erik Ehn's classes.
The piano sits, alone and silent.
THE REVEREND
Will it play? Make it play.
The piano plays. Three solitary notes.
THE SWEEPER WHO SWEEPS BUT IS EVER DIRTY
Will you sell it? Make it sell. Make it money.
THE REVEREND
We will deal in none other than the Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-71612717313815071282011-10-24T15:47:00.000+08:002011-10-24T15:47:34.107+08:00Cosmos
by Carol Chan
This dark wardrobe might remaina wardrobe behind a door, or hold another
within it, more, or at leasta mirror. This can't be chaos
but a cosmos done.The past is not a reliable witness
for this trial the present is on.Yet in a day or a year
we might find a reason herefor whoever we might become.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-22556840177792016632011-10-21T01:08:00.000+08:002011-10-21T01:08:17.684+08:00
make a map of what you see/direct pain effectively
or, life according to quin-twin lyrics
In the summer of 2006 I was obsessively downloading Grey's Anatomy soundtracks, and made two significant musical discoveries then: 1. Regina Spektor, and 2. Tegan & Sara. Way before Jayesslee, T&S were my first pair of madly talented identical twins. And way before I had a guitar of my own, I used K's to Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-19975928544976925712011-09-30T23:51:00.000+08:002011-09-30T23:52:56.346+08:00
today's small joys brought to you by:
making some headway with this script
the elliptical and my hot hot bodeh
Megan Amram selling "ONE (1) ACRE OF INTERNET ON EBAY"
Megan Amram selling "ONE (1) SCREENSHOT OF A 'ONE (1) ACRE OF INTERNET AUCTION'" on ebay after ebay took down her acre of internet auction
youtube vids of Margaret Cho imitating her mother
Thong's company and listening ear(s)
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-84745995785982736702011-09-25T23:38:00.000+08:002011-09-25T23:38:59.802+08:00
undelete
Blogger stores "deleted" blogs for 90 days in some virtual limbo before destroying them forever. I don't even get an option to expedite the process, or to decide that I want to delete this for good immediately. So my 90 days isn't up yet, and I have hit the undelete button to write in here again, because I have missed it, and because unlike other things I miss, I can actually do Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-29216634833482074802011-09-25T00:29:00.000+08:002011-09-25T00:29:55.798+08:00
#48
I babysat the cousins again yesterday; we played with Luke's new "very cool" Batcave (where the Batman live) (where the Japanese attacked and it collapsed), made sandwiches for lunch, and painted Chloe's tiny clay dolphins.
At one point we watched, from the flat's 3rd floor window, as the garbage truck pulled up and stretched out its huge metal hook to load the metal container of trash up Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-44714293834390093302011-08-19T01:20:00.001+08:002011-08-19T01:22:25.953+08:00the town
Writing workshop with LJ, Gaétan, and Choon. Facilitated by M. Darquié himself, and made fun by Prezi (click to... make big):
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-18813155033143874652011-08-03T00:32:00.000+08:002011-08-03T00:32:35.204+08:00"I believe like a child that suffering will be healed and made up for; that all the humiliating absurdity of human contradictions will vanish like a pitiful mirage, like the despicable fabrication of the impotent and infinitely small Euclidean mind of man, that in the world's finale, at the moment of eternal harmony, something so precious will come to pass that it will suffice for all hearts, forMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-89515632547703676752011-07-27T16:17:00.000+08:002011-07-27T16:17:17.778+08:00poetry
"It's basically the art
of breaking whole
sentences
into short lines,
isn't it?"
Yeah but see how now
sentences
is a sentence in itself; how
breaking whole
stands out as two contradictory feelings
side by side.
And if you think this is easy
or a lesser art
Observe for yourself
the difference in impact
when I split
fuck
you.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-90873522165659302132011-07-14T17:34:00.000+08:002011-07-14T17:34:32.905+08:00#47
Today we drove past the new block of flats where mama would have moved into last year. Parts of it were painted blue and yellow, and it's near Bishan Park. The deposit on the unit was refunded.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-69798970409396300842011-06-28T08:30:00.000+08:002011-06-28T08:30:34.074+08:00The Last Hellos
by Les Murray
Don't die, Dad --
but they die.
This last year he was wandery:
took off a new chainsaw blade
and cobbled a spare from bits.
Perhaps if I lay down
my head'll come better again.
His left shoulder kept rising
higher in his cardigan.
He could see death in a face.
Family used to call him in
to look at sick ones and say.
At his own time, he was told.
The knob found inMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-8684468738675796552011-06-25T15:02:00.000+08:002011-06-25T15:02:19.722+08:00pink dots for us, rainbow streamers for new york
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-45110129071355883052011-06-23T09:33:00.000+08:002011-06-23T09:33:37.456+08:00#46
The West Australian, December 11, 2009
So strange, this anonymity.
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-42563051894597880252011-06-21T22:03:00.000+08:002011-06-21T22:03:05.825+08:00Sam Shepard Will Let You Know How Fast To Dim The Lights
A (rather) short play
The stage is a train carriage, in which the whole play happens. The train is in motion.
BEARD is a bearded man dressed in a slightly-oversized trench coat, with glasses and worn-out boots. He sits by himself.
Across the aisle from him sits MO, a young lady with a faux-hawk and a book in hand.
In the middle, leaning Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-27092292180720506652011-05-27T19:55:00.000+08:002011-05-27T19:55:17.698+08:00Miles Away
by Carol Ann Duffy
Je te veux mais tu n’es pas là. J’hésitedans ce jardin, respirer dans l'air calme le couleurd’une pensée avant qu’elle devient la langue. Même ton nomest un fantôme pâle et, bien que je l’expire encoreet à nouveau, il ne restera pas avec moi. Ce soirje t’invente, je t’imagine, tes mouvements plus clairsque les mots je t’ai fais dire que tu as dit avant.
Où que tu Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-62084281270378105272011-05-23T14:59:00.000+08:002011-05-23T14:59:07.072+08:00VIC 3000
Every night this past week
on the corner of Swanston and Little Collins,
someone in a bunny suit plays the electric guitar.
You have to smile. And bop. Throw coins
at the giant bunny's amp, in rhythm
with the giant bunny's tune.
Chris asks, so how do I get home, I've never
done this tram thing. Rob says,
"God, Chris - they just travel in straight lines."
(Like light. Like some schools Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-85299199527164185652011-05-20T10:32:00.000+08:002011-05-20T10:32:30.912+08:00let's chumeul chumeul chumeul
Here's RM being cool and chatting about all this shit going down like it's nbd, nbd. In real life of course everything is mad madness.
Sophie said her favourite part of tech is the sitzprobe. And it is one of the best (magical) parts - when for the very first time you hear the singers with the live orchestra, and you want to cry, or fly, or believe, or live, or Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-39177758714177709142011-05-02T06:59:00.000+08:002011-05-02T06:59:22.912+08:00Washing the Elephant
by Barbara Ras
Isn't it always the heart that wants to wash
the elephant, begging the body to do it
with soap and water, a ladder, hands,
in tree shade big enough for the vast savannas
of your sadness, the strangler fig of your guilt,
the cratered full moon's light fuelling
the windy spooling memory of elephant?
What if Father Quinn had said, "Of course you'll recognize
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-9088098358785017092011-04-29T14:41:00.000+08:002011-04-29T14:41:18.846+08:00Simon Phillips
Director
Simon's coffee order is one flat white with no sugar, and if it's going to be a long production meeting, then he'll have two. I knew I would like this man the moment I saw him pottering around barefoot in the dance studio during the very first round of auditions (and later in mismatched socks during rehearsals), and also because he thought it was funny to bang his empty Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-79863882994828191922011-04-26T21:25:00.001+08:002011-04-26T21:27:49.979+08:00as for whole minutes
I wondered why the cereal aisle
suddenly made me smile
before remembering how you said you were glad
to see I could reach the milk on the top shelf.
With each recollection comes a small recollecting of self.
Charlie the hairdresser asks, "Your friend,
gone?" and something twists or bends
for that fraction of a second it takes
to feel a heart. I answer yes, and outwardly
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-67295174282897672482011-04-21T15:47:00.000+08:002011-04-21T15:47:33.483+08:00Katherine Thomson
Playwright and Screenwriter
I haven't written a play in years, she tells me. But the stage is where she started, first as an actor, then becoming an award-winning playwright with Diving For Pearls which premiered at the Melbourne Theatre Company. "In those days I wasn't interested in television. In those days I didn't own a television." Then she made the switch, and is now Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-33717339874484291092011-04-16T01:32:00.004+08:002011-04-16T01:32:00.434+08:00pops, on april 16th
Skinny soldier funny man
Of course we still remember the time when
your two kids were small enough to scoop up,
one in each arm; this after-office game
you invented called Gorilla Went Gaga that made us laugh and laugh
and spill out of your ape-hug
in our half-hearted attempts to escape.
We giggled too when you yelled 'Shit!' in the kitchen
of the very first home I remember,Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-73540070716795834662011-04-13T20:21:00.001+08:002011-04-14T08:21:41.811+08:00homicide
Let there be a soul.
Ask; ask and you will be (for)given.
You will learn too late that heaven
is wide enough even for your vast
smallness of spirit. No one stands
on death's edge with clenched hands,
gripping a lifetime's unpardoned past;
the trick, apparently, is in the release.
But what of it, being brought to my knees
now scraped and sorry and in the dirt?
I am Wystan's swept up Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-62585995291211926112011-04-10T11:12:00.000+08:002011-04-10T11:12:20.676+08:00Language Lesson 1976
by Heather McHugh
When Americans say a man
takes liberties, they mean
he's gone too far. In Philadelphia today I saw
a kid on a leash look mom-ward
and announce his fondest wish: one
bicentennial burger, hold
the relish. Hold is forget,
in American.
On the courts of Philadelphia
the rich prepare
to serve, to fault. The language is a game as well,
in which love can mean Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-34417053005001444912011-04-07T12:57:00.000+08:002011-04-07T12:57:15.050+08:00dinner with lazarus
God how the secrets spill
over one evening meal
Listen, he said, don't believe
all that you hear.
Resurrection is an acquired taste,
unsuitable
for the palate that demands
the flavour of numbness.
I never asked to rise.
Sir you are mistaken we
did not order wine
Can you take it back, turn it
back, what, no?
Surely miracle is not a one-way
street; surely somewhere else
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-15061674006418480762011-03-30T09:22:00.000+08:002011-04-01T14:23:35.680+08:00analgesics
i. acetaminophen
Do not try to hug ghosts.
Music is dangerous; avoid.
Take sleep as regularly as is possible. Do not dream.
ii. amitriptyline
Do not think of this space as once having been shared, or of all the times you could have should have held her before you lost your right to.
Do not think of the future.
Do not re-visit.
Do not expect anything, even the worst, because it doesn'tMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-70604908097686590642011-03-27T10:41:00.000+08:002011-03-27T10:41:00.487+08:00don't hate on my 'hood
I. NSW
When I say Kings Cross, you say ...colourful
or sketchy
or oh... really?
or isn't it quite
Dangerous
and you offer me rides home (always appreciated)
or walks home
for fear, for (your) fear - all well and good.
But for all good intentions
when you look out your car window and
say to me: This street is just full of...
Vice.
Something happens then.
Do you see, Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-30140274980751931542011-03-20T21:02:00.001+08:002011-04-01T14:23:35.681+08:00like fiction, only real(er)
Last night we talked about how it might be easier to be dead. D understands this; she says, "Right? RIGHT?" in response to the apparent assery I am articulating. Let's say I died, now, which is not too wild a possibility. The streets are full of mad drivers, madmen and their drivel, you dive into gravity and land in dirt - countless, countless, the ways. Or this Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-8278322697965914492011-03-19T08:24:00.003+08:002011-03-19T08:31:36.150+08:00
"...because there is nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline no matter how many times it's sent away."Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-18702513243040571222011-03-09T18:46:00.000+08:002011-03-09T18:46:36.811+08:00can't stop talking for fear of listening to unwelcome sound/
Psalm 39
12 "Hear my prayer, O Lord,
listen to my cry for help;
be not deaf to my weeping.
For I dwell with you as an alien,
a stranger, as all my fathers were.
13 Look away from me, that I may rejoice again
before I depart and am no more.
"This is something that David wrote to God. It's completely unbiblical and unscriptural. Verse Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-35307449641590957662011-03-01T19:54:00.000+08:002011-03-01T19:54:41.623+08:001. Looking for Carol's leftover cigarettes. They're not where I left them/they're gone. Laughing/crying.
2. "You know what they say, in the land of the blind the cyclops rules. You're the freaking cyclops okay so sometimes give yourself a break and feel happy about your one beautiful eye."
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-64913117282028883522011-02-26T07:19:00.000+08:002011-04-01T14:23:35.681+08:00this is major tom to ground control: i'm stepping through the door/and i'm floating in a most peculiar way
Lots to figure out but perhaps one of the more pertinent things is why I lie, or have felt the need to for as long as I can remember. And furthermore in a more insidious manner - lying not by purposeful invention or deceit, but by omission of fact. The main motivation behind this is, Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-27063659363000959642011-02-19T12:13:00.000+08:002011-02-19T12:13:50.861+08:00She is gone and in many ways so am I.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-2001851245186592042011-02-07T14:59:00.000+08:002011-02-07T14:59:45.040+08:00drawings by Mary-Jane Leo
L-R: Shaun, Michelle, Esmonde
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-65315814809266684822011-02-05T13:55:00.000+08:002011-02-05T13:55:36.395+08:00i would never barf in your urn, brenda.
Work is picking up and that is good and exciting. After hearing the newly-announced Phantom and Christine sing in Melbourne earlier this week, the media apparently did not stop clapping for more than half a minute straight. And I can see why. I remember watching Ben's audition and thinking, OMG THIS MAN. MUST. BE THE PHANTOM. Please Lord Webber, pick him Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-51177748990898586752011-02-02T08:00:00.000+08:002011-02-02T08:00:07.699+08:00
dear hum chau,
Lately I want to beat up the world. Perhaps it is anger management issues. What do you think, my voice of sagesse and island of sense? I am looking at the postcard you sent, with the map of the world and a heart stamped upon the East coast, and the words "it's not that far / really". This is truth. But you do feel far now, mostly because I cannot get to where you are, and even if Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-17983933040947847192011-01-23T18:07:00.000+08:002011-04-01T14:23:35.682+08:00subtle shifts in the universe
I was going to put up a semi-depressing Sophie story and then decided that this shit gotta stop so I'm going to write something of the now; something real-er.
Let it be known that living alone is not for the weak. Especially the weak who are prone to Thoughts. Apart from epic crises like not being able to open the jar of pasta sauce that was sealed to keep out the Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-19974748634010933712011-01-21T23:57:00.000+08:002011-01-21T23:57:23.306+08:00Learning to Swim
Li Jun Pek, April 2010
My love,
You have complained of stale
bread, when you think of me.
While I lack the ability to regale
I will try to fulfill your subtle plea.
If my life were a dictionary,
you would surely be aardvark
for being the top priority.
The scenario in Noah's ark
floods me with rough envy:
if only we were the soul two of a kind,
flank to flank up the gangplank
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-38213567882705628992011-01-20T21:30:00.000+08:002011-01-20T21:30:50.249+08:00plant a foot; stay a while
JOE: Does it make any difference? That I might be one thing deep within, no matter how wrong or ugly that thing is, so long as I have fought, with everything I have, to kill it. What do you want from me? What do you want from me, Harper? More than that? For God's sake, there's nothing left, I'm a shell. There's nothing left to kill. - Angels in America, Part One: Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-68070960047249965032011-01-16T17:23:00.000+08:002011-01-16T17:23:10.516+08:00so i'll stand/with arms high and heart abandoned
I've been behind (and lazy) with consolidating thoughts, so by now most of them have taken on lives of their own, or have become too convoluted for any hope of coherence, or have simply disappeared. That's what happens when you don't write things down; make feeble attempts to keep up with your head - suddenly things don't belong to you anymore andMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-72040024974406089592011-01-10T00:01:00.002+08:002011-01-10T00:01:00.725+08:00for the birthday child lady on January 10th
Sorry your present will be late.
I will know it when I see it, or
when I feel it.
I imagine it, hopefully,
1. to be more practical than non-prescription
black hipster frames
2. to have as much meaning
as two years of handwritten letters
packed away in a small cloth bag.
It will have room enough
to hold a twenty-four year-young self
yet ideally
stillMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-72267451310256286122011-01-09T20:18:00.000+08:002011-01-09T20:18:26.283+08:00je suis des oiseaux
If I just never posted again after the previous entry, it'd be like 2011 never happened in this space. I didn't even realise the last post was dated Dec 31st until I looked at my archives and saw it stopped at 2010.
Cookies were baked!
Finished reading the pea's novella, sat in the park (ostensibly to write but in reality just to get horribly distracted), started to Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-26781394770278949902010-12-31T01:17:00.001+08:002010-12-31T01:18:31.302+08:00gravedigger, when you dig my grave
can you make it shallow, so that i can feel the rain
#45
Went to the columbarium with my mum this Thursday morning, which was my first time seeing mama's niche. The last song on the radio before we got out of the car was Katy P's 'Firework', which isn't the most apt of tunes to be playing in your head while you're amongst the ashes of the peaceful dead.
My Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-26602805227617683252010-12-30T10:12:00.000+08:002010-12-30T10:12:47.972+08:00for everyone familiar with this feeling, in spite of themselves.
Lost Causes/Profound Effects
What happens if
quite by accident you fell
in love
with a friend?
Can you hide this shift
in affection
with success,
and must you?
It is a new place
where you can stay
only if they find themselves
there with you too,
Otherwise you are more
alone than ever
having lost a friend
but gaining no lover
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-70914050398454225912010-12-23T10:18:00.000+08:002010-12-23T10:18:55.522+08:00sweet like candy to my soul/sweet you rock and sweet you roll
The office has settled into this deceptive pre-Christmas quiet; today I am the only one in this wing, which means playing music from my speakers.
Yesterday was not the best of days, but it was the best of turn-arounds, thanks to Karen and Jersey Boys in the evening. The conclusion, unsurprisingly, is that jobs are easier to do when Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-20373765629532591192010-12-20T19:08:00.000+08:002010-12-20T19:08:40.599+08:00one of those thingamabobs.
1. What did you do in 2010 that you'd never done before?
LOTS of shit went down, homies. Wrote a play in french. Lived in a tent. Lived alone in a new city. Got baptized. Said yes. Saw dead bodies. Started a full-time job.
2. Did you keep your new year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
If I made any for this year, I do not recall them. If I do not Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-15534328842101786052010-12-18T22:05:00.000+08:002011-04-01T14:25:24.711+08:00we're half awake in a fake empire
Tonight I am Arizona Robbins, wanting to be replaced in Africa even with her prestigious medical scholarship so she can quit being a mess in a strange land. If I can't be in Milwaukee then I want to be home. If I can't be home (yet) then I want to be alone. Not gonna lie; sometimes it feels like I am done with socializing for life, and could potentially be okay Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-71162667494127877392010-12-12T17:55:00.000+08:002010-12-12T17:55:55.527+08:00i make dinner like i got through my academic life:
with little or no grasp of technique but somehow achieving decent results.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-26576895346128439212010-12-11T18:38:00.000+08:002010-12-11T18:38:40.200+08:00fireworks outside my window
WHAT is this place?!Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-64920874389448740692010-12-11T11:39:00.000+08:002010-12-11T11:39:45.543+08:00this heart, O God - do You still deign to live here?
#44
An email from Aunty Cat yesterday reminded me that exactly a year ago on Dec 10th was when we all found out about mama's death, the news traveling from Perth to Singapore to the States and wherever else in the world family happened to be. Reading this current email thread from my aunts/uncles/cousins, I realize there is no new way to Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-33794350865041146552010-12-09T20:31:00.002+08:002010-12-09T20:34:11.333+08:00come on skinny love just last the year
"Artwork" on the way to the Wharf theatres
Azn celeb emerging from a tree in the Botanic Gardens
Props for In The Next Room, or the Vibrator Play
Open day at the Wharf! Golden showers:)
Set model for Sarah Ruhl's play at the Opera House next year
Rose Bay, where sea planes are chillin. Also the site of our epic 7-hour Christmas lunch.
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-16810573769291451432010-12-08T21:05:00.000+08:002010-12-08T21:05:35.077+08:00"...but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. We shall rest. We shall rest."
Quick one to say1. We're alive!2. Internet connection is as abysmal as ever3. Carol's come and gone and this home holds two as well as it holds one, if not better
Literally, brown paper packages tied up with string - L ove Never Dies sponsorship boxes
my lunch spot - Double Bay, NSW
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-8138865986555633702010-12-03T12:07:00.001+08:002010-12-03T12:08:02.528+08:00VII.
Sophie had a penchant for backwards motion. At some point, as a child, she discovered that walking could be done backwards, and had never looked front since. Naturally, if this was possible with walking, then it was also possible with a great deal of other things. Sophie swam the backstroke, recited the alphabet from Z, and became quite professional at rollerblading backwards.
Later it Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-4832875726552121102010-11-28T14:18:00.000+08:002011-04-03T22:08:09.505+08:00and i want all the world to see we've met
Did me some baking. The weekend is my friend. So is my lousy but functional Nokia phone camera.
Great cupcakes from poop-coloured gooey mixes grow
Before...
...and After. Chocolate-Pear cupcakes with caramel sauce and walnuts, recipe from the Cooking Ninja.
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-29405938905174055382010-11-26T16:53:00.000+08:002010-11-26T16:53:57.453+08:00on corporate email etiquette
Working life is all about this, innit. Either starting out here has caused me to have unrealistic standards about email politesse, or else some people just have no manners. And no bullshit about being exempt from Ps and Qs just because it's the online realm - it doesn't mean you're not human/dealing with other humans just because it's all electronic, so you jolly Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-83353196121089865142010-11-26T15:40:00.000+08:002010-11-26T15:40:30.131+08:00VI.
Perhaps everyone gave death a fair amount of thought, but Sophie was quite certain she did so more than the average person. Not intentionally, nor with any aim of bringing it about, but only because the thought found its own way into her head. After all, as a believer in Possibility, Sophie subscribed to the reasoning that truly, anything can happen at anytime.
And Sophie found in death an Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-52569158929066050692010-11-24T20:39:00.000+08:002010-11-24T20:39:05.233+08:00back to the roots
"When she looked at herself in her wedding photographs, Ammu felt the woman that looked back at her was someone else. A foolish jeweled bride. Her silk sunset-colored sari shot with gold. Rings on every finger. White dots of sandalwood paste over her arched eyebrows. Looking at herself like this, Ammu's soft mouth would twist into a small, bitter smile at the memory - not of theMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-32194172482428716802010-11-21T20:40:00.000+08:002010-11-21T20:40:47.525+08:00我却像落叶归根 / 坠在你心间
Mentally preparing self to re-enter the office tomorrow, what with a text coming through about work already, just hours after I stepped off the plane to come back home here. ON THE BALL. is what I have to be, because this past week has seen some shit slip through the cracks owing to my unpolished multitasking/forward-looking skills.
Melbourne was lovely and inevitably surreal; Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-21510924973826891922010-11-17T21:00:00.000+08:002010-11-17T21:00:33.855+08:00#43
Remembering Mama means inevitably remembering 146 Lloyd even though she'd never been anywhere near Providence; specifically that moment when my dad broke the news to me over g-chat. Hum was the first person to know because she had been home too while I was wrapped up in that pink blanket at the dining table, in front of my computer. She took me out for a drive. Ling and LJ brought Ben & Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-80968511397836351982010-11-16T16:56:00.001+08:002010-11-17T20:45:24.836+08:00#42
Mama lives on in spicy food. And goodness knows I have it whenever I can. If there's a menu option that would allow me to potentially assault my senses with chili, chances are I'll order it. The other day over lunch I told the story of how my grandmother could eat a raw chilli like a carrot. Immediately I caught myself using the past tense. What a stupid instinct - where did we learn to do Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-1505448411448379482010-11-13T11:44:00.001+08:002011-04-04T12:06:01.168+08:00you who philosophize disgrace and criticize all fears
I have to grudgingly concede that not having internet access at home makes me that much more constructive with my time. It makes me write, it makes prayer more focused, it makes me pay more attention to the T-Swift song that's playing because I can't simply google the lyrics online. Walking home after work in the evenings, I run through Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-36161370779935731292010-11-11T09:55:00.000+08:002010-11-11T09:55:26.876+08:00hello, this is me now.
Big things have happened, like moving into my own studio, and overloading my cart when grocery shopping for an empty kitchen/house. Perhaps the novelty will wear off soon, but for now being in my own (rented) space is a great feeling. Went nuts with the cleaning and PineSol all weekend, and not having to be fully clothed all the time is a terribly underrated thing.
Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-7312178169761618402010-11-10T07:45:00.001+08:002010-11-26T15:34:52.636+08:00V.
For her ninth birthday, Sophie had asked for a flashlight. This would have been an unusual request coming from most other little girls but Sophie had been cultivating her inner explorer for a while, and knew this was an essential item for her newfound (and probably temporary) identity.
At the store she picked out a plain, navy-blue torch, one that her small fingerspan could wrap around Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-24073034247550368002010-11-04T19:30:00.001+08:002010-11-26T15:34:20.416+08:00IV.
The reason Sophie chopped off her locks that day and wore her hair cropped henceforth was that it had begun to get tiring living in the margins.
Years of finding herself on the sidelines made her ache to join the fray, to be recognized as belonging somewhere, to something bigger than herself. Sophie had accidentally mastered the art of being an enigma, and now people didn't quite know whereMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-82745329693590773722010-11-03T18:14:00.001+08:002010-11-26T15:31:23.461+08:00III.
At seven, Sophie had her first official Best Friend. Even then she understood the exclusivity that was implied by that superlative, and was surprised when she heard the title being applied to her very self.
They were bouncing down the stairs to the school cafeteria, hand in hand, coins jingling in their pinafore pockets. Money in the pocket, therefore, pocketmoney. The world made perfect Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-48987117946538203742010-11-02T19:38:00.001+08:002010-11-26T15:30:12.897+08:00II.
Some people naturally stood out from the crowd, possessing something that set them apart. Some sort of physical trait, or an aura. Or an aura arising from a physical trait.
Sophie was not one of these.
Years later as a young lady she would walk past a woman with dusty copper-red hair, a redness that was mixed with a certain ash-like quality, and she would think what a special colour that Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-72933772683461528732010-11-01T19:51:00.002+08:002010-11-26T15:35:32.700+08:00write here write now
"Sophie! Can you do this, Sophie?" And the young girl proceeded to execute a few deft continuous skips on her jump rope, impressive to most other five-year-olds, and even more so to five-year-olds who didn't as yet have that dexterity of limb or that level of psycho-motor competency.
At least Sophie possessed her own jump rope.
Something in her had known, back when it Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-9065735687620973052010-10-28T14:57:00.000+08:002010-10-28T14:57:36.290+08:00the less i seek my source for some definitive/the closer i am to fine
I realise that I've been shortchanging the here and now and not giving this place the credit it's due, because lately I've been caught up in the tiredness of living. (Yes, this is a terrible thing to say, because who doesn't have the stamina for life? Me. Sometimes I don't.) Also the fact that I can't actually upload photos Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-51013946789707227332010-10-25T14:13:00.000+08:002011-04-03T22:10:37.414+08:00busted bandwidths and other breaking news
I have no more internet at home
Signed the lease for my new apartment - moving in beginning November, it seems
It is amazingly terrifying the kind of holes I can think myself into
"Don't worry about anything, but pray about everything."
#41
Seeing old asian ladies on the train makes me think of mama, and I wonder how they're doing at being in a foreign Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-71013498342733421792010-10-18T19:51:00.000+08:002010-10-18T19:51:45.104+08:00oh simple thing, where have you gone
Generally been too tired to write after coming home in the evenings. First task is bringing myself to reply emails, and then... Shower. Bed. Lather rinse repeat.
The best thing that happened today is the discovery of the office's now unused polaroid camera. They used to take audition photos with it, but since going the way of the digicam, it now sits in a Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-70250852549478976732010-10-16T18:16:00.000+08:002011-04-03T22:14:16.434+08:00five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
"Any time you feel like you're not making sense when you're talking to me, just remember you're the only one who's ever made sense to me.(pause)Except when you use big words that I don't understand. But it's okay, because I sound them out and look them up when you're not looking."Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-77315298111021095132010-10-12T20:12:00.000+08:002010-10-12T20:12:55.246+08:00THIS.
is what I am trying to write in my current play. This is JOAN. This is about misplacement (of her crown, of faith, of judgment, of small things like house keys), this is about war (over souls, over property, overhead and in the trenches), this is about her sad eyes, this is about dressing like a man, this is about all the grey I want to make from old black-and-white truths.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-92198736978262378042010-10-11T20:19:00.000+08:002011-04-03T22:14:16.434+08:00stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere
PSA: I just killed two cockroaches. Or the same cockroach twice. In the span of one shower. And this is the kind that could fly, so I had to be all ninja with a rolled-up magazine. (Half-)Naked and ninja. This shiznit is getting out of hand.
Today the company's legal counsel gave me an assignment - to suss out this club that's been Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-73980517843983285272010-10-08T19:55:00.002+08:002010-10-08T19:55:42.401+08:00today's episode brought to you by the mother of strange requests
Me: So I just got an email from E*B asking if I could take some photos of the office here.
K: What? Like some kind of industrial espionage, is it?
J: Only take pictures of the neat offices.
T: You should just take pictures of the bar across the street.Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-12799596516165681652010-10-06T19:37:00.000+08:002010-10-06T19:37:28.436+08:00pooped, therefore ineloquent
You guys. Work is kicking my arse, albeit in a good way. To all my friends who've passed their one-year marks or more in your jobs, PROPZ. I like to think of you as my shining exemplary beacons.
Day #2 on the job entailed, amongst other things:
- my first board meeting (made me MAJORLY miss S&B)
- a production meeting for which I took minutes, i.e. scramble to makeMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-65136229333135592952010-10-04T11:49:00.000+08:002010-10-04T11:49:59.334+08:00"I think what I've got is something slightly resembling... gumption."
Made my first solo trip out of the house today to get some errands done and told myself YOU WILL NOT GET LOST but since when have I been good at following self-instructions, right. The best part is that I got lost in the mall, which is a pretty familiar feeling anyway because that's all I ever do in malls back home. It must beMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-66732877631686641542010-10-01T11:17:00.000+08:002010-10-01T11:17:26.162+08:00ten years
Nadzirah's getting married next January, and I won't be here to see her do that. Yesterday I met her to say hi and bye; we walked around Arab Street and helped her pick out new headscarves. She asks me what I think about raising children here - should she send her kids overseas in the earlier years? Re-locate? Come back and have them take a secondary school entrance exam, like Nichole?Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-67765642086610953982010-09-27T22:25:00.001+08:002010-09-27T22:28:43.785+08:00reclaiming evangelism
WORLD, we need to clarify some things. Bigots and other similarly scary species have somehow managed to hijack the term "evangelical" and now own almost exclusive rights to it. Even I realised today, upon seeing that word, that I'm inclined to think of right-winged Republicans and crazy fundamentalists. First I was resigned - yea there'll always be mad buggers - then I Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-641980092244559102010-09-23T22:01:00.000+08:002010-09-23T22:01:54.647+08:00pieces of (re)processed pie
I.
JOAN is dressed in a man's clothes.
JOAN is sweeping meticulously.
JOAN is hacking away at a stake planted firmly in her front yard. She throws a bucket of water on the chopped-up wood, thoroughly soaking it.
JOAN is sweeping and hacking and soaking.
JOAN
Every single day. I take it down and it's built right up again. Lead me not into temptation, deliver me from Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-48746159998577613312010-09-20T20:04:00.000+08:002010-09-20T20:04:47.881+08:0036 Assumptions About Writing Plays
by Jose Rivera
1. Good playwriting is a collaboration between our many selves. The more multiple your personalities, the further, wider, deeper you might be able to go.
5. We write plays in order to organize despair and chaos. To live vicariously. To play God. To project an idealized version of the world. To destroy things we hate in the world and in ourselvesMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-62547111959766460962010-09-15T12:34:00.000+08:002010-09-15T12:34:14.590+08:00the substance of things hoped for/the evidence of things unseen
These lazy limbo days are officially done - yesterday I received notification that my work visa's finally been approved, and following that a small volley of expected emails asking if I was okay to start beginning of October, telling me when to sign final papers, how flights are being looked into... I GUESS THIS IS HAPPENING.
Did IMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-84436790472961284532010-09-13T00:50:00.003+08:002010-09-13T01:09:04.250+08:00in an attempt to write write writeScene XI[...]HShe whom I called my sun is gone. The world no longer has a reference point around which to spin.JOANShe is gone. Whereabouts?HSomewhere I can't seem to reach. I wake up each morning to a void, a hole, and I feel a right fool. I made a world where two was enough and now one is painfully insufficient.JOANThings end. But. Voids fill; holes mend.HHow? Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-64216023543955787642010-09-09T07:34:00.003+08:002010-09-09T07:48:00.823+08:00some reasons to be back in schoolTAPS1281O: Acting Outside the Box: Race, Class, Gender and Sexuality in Performance[Kym Moore]Examines the relationship between social and cultural identities and their representations in dramatic literature and performance. Students will be expected to read critical essays and plays, conduct research, and prepare to act in scenes that challenge the actor to Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-89425413987164238832010-09-07T23:10:00.006+08:002011-04-03T22:14:16.434+08:00i'd be a better person/on the other side i'm sureHere are the recent highlights in (stolen) pictures:From Glee! to Inception to Kit Chan, everything worth lampooning was lampooned accordingly, with wit and spirit. Quite justifiable to say chio gao peng, which is hokkien for "laugh until can die", which is singlish for "that was hilarious and rather top-drawer."And then POOP by the Finger Players,Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-22659270648312203952010-09-07T18:28:00.002+08:002010-09-07T18:59:21.880+08:00women's lib(ido)It was one small step for a man for Neilto stand on the Moon, a small hop for meto stand in for Buzz, bounce in my moon-suitover the dust, waving a flag. I knelt, scooped outa hole in the powdery ground, and buried a boxwith a bottle of malt, chocolates, Emily Dickinson'spoems. Ground Control barked down the line. Houston,we don't have a problem, I said. It comforts me now,the Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-1527509372374809792010-09-03T23:07:00.002+08:002010-09-03T23:16:20.590+08:00"Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?""Nine months of awkward explanations, the lingering scent of scandal - it seems that God arranged the most humiliating circumstances possible for his entrance, as if to avoid any charge of favoritism. I am impressed that when the Son of God became a human being he played by the rules; harsh rules: small towns do not treat kindly young boys who grew upMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-59254858073331347712010-09-02T00:16:00.004+08:002011-04-03T22:14:16.435+08:00selah/oh and it means that it is seenSCHOOL STARTS TODAY, for the rest of the world who're still being merry undergrads at Brown. So this is what being done feels like - I am not shopping for classes, listening to Eddie talk about RUF's Philosophy of Ministry, flipping out about S&B's first slot and catching up on play-reading, enjoying the leftover summer sunshine. I miss Lloyd, I miss Lyman, Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-83928936292469843372010-08-28T18:15:00.003+08:002010-08-28T20:10:57.669+08:00we welcome you to wemmicksville!Here we are again, in that familiar post-production period - feels and tastes and smells the same, leftover popcorn and cotton candy and hurriedly cleaned-out dressing rooms. After all that hoo-ha about making sure we keep to a 25-minute time slot and threats to cut the drama production from the concert, post-show audience feedback included someone who said they Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-62395925880584491482010-08-23T15:08:00.000+08:002010-08-23T22:09:46.675+08:00what of the wretched hollow/the endless in-betweenI've decided I like teaching, if one may call it that. It's more like a hap-hazard kind of directing - managing a cast of 22 and crew of slightly under that number. I still need to learn everyone's names, but sometimes it's just about getting the little things right: like knowing the difference between Syafiqah and Shafeeqah, or ending a rehearsalMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-83086156222493488432010-08-21T00:50:00.000+08:002011-04-03T22:14:16.435+08:00funny how fallin' feels like flying (for a little while)Act IIThe location: is geographically undefined - a place between seas, or on the corner of two dreamed-up streets, or a new internet address. Chances are you built the set.The time:is passing. Depending on the circumstances, the characters opt to slow it down or quicken its passage.The characters:are familiar, all resemblances to reality Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-11323238608376756252010-08-19T17:47:00.002+08:002010-08-19T17:55:53.093+08:00dayum."Over the last few weeks I've had a chance to speak with senior economic policy makers in America and Germany and I think I've figured out where we are. It's like this: things are getting better, except where they aren't. The bailouts are working, except where they're not. Things will slowly get better, unless they slowly get worse. We should know soon, unless we don't."- Thomas L. FriedmanMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-91720808683862926012010-08-17T17:14:00.002+08:002010-08-17T17:55:13.429+08:00"Thank you, Miss Michelle. God bless you, Miss Michelle."The girls are putting up You Are Special, a musical adaptation of Max Lucado's story about a village of wooden puppets called Wemmicks. More precisely they're putting up Dwayne's adaptation of the musical adaptation, since he had to cut it down to fit in the 30-minute slot that the drama club was given. Now some members of the school's "Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-82434312563877182662010-08-12T15:20:00.000+08:002010-08-12T15:35:49.358+08:00"sleepy potato-picker, i think, dawn."SO MUCH FUNNY in the world.I just started a fairly unlikely read - The Art of Innovation by Tom Kelley, general manager of IDEO. 21 pages in, and I believe I'm sold. Though he speaks of innovation in product design, the principles put forth are really for any and every industry, and the spirit/energy of the company is leaping off the pages in a very palpable Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-14525541784069583102010-08-07T00:23:00.007+08:002010-08-07T21:40:31.928+08:00lady, dreamer/you might be the soundest sleeperThese past couple days I've re-affirmed the truth that performance is so everywhere. (Enjoy my ungrammar while it lasts!) At risk of sounding like a poseur by-product of extensive Ybarra/Schneider studies, sometimes the daily and extra-daily really aren't so different, and witnessing life happen (or end) makes me realise how much we stage things, Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-62277541956918212322010-08-02T23:01:00.002+08:002010-08-03T01:53:27.755+08:00hanging ropes will never keep you/and your love of a jealous kindSometimes I feel I am in multiple worlds at once, but truth is I just forget how big this one world is. Today, sitting in LJ's home theatre watching Farewell My Concubine, it's hard to believe thati. just hours before I'd been at a work-related meeting and then met my dad for lunchii. just last night I got news that my Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-56471500166778238302010-07-31T00:31:00.004+08:002010-09-29T23:04:11.568+08:00#40Yesterday the mother took leave so I got to spend the day with her, where she generously let me make use of her Spa Infinity package. 'I wanted to bring mama,' she said while we were waiting, ensconced in cushy armchairs, 'but never got the chance to.'That's okay, I said, mama's Spa Eternity probably PWNS this spa right here. True lah, said my mother.Sock & BuhbyeGot to chat with Daria theMichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15511367.post-27707814715731724782010-07-27T10:17:00.003+08:002010-07-27T10:23:44.281+08:00juste moi, mes délires/je n'ai rien d'autre à offrirCLIP Soulman - Ben l'oncle soulStole this from Sonya :)Michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04397017999485952233noreply@blogger.com6