in darkness dwells our truest form

the cynic killed the cheerleader

the fallen storyteller

it is good to recognize ones strengths and weaknesses. it levels you. it makes life more realistic, amidst this crazed world of illusions. I know now, for sure, that I do not make a good storyteller, not an oral storyteller anyhow. I can’t really tell stories. the presence of a physical audience inhibits. me. the one who has never really been good with people. a social butterfly with clipped wings. the method of the oral storytelling inhibits my thought process, that which is usually left loose during the moment of its construction. all is jumbled up and there is no Goffman’s ‘back’ stage for me to run to, for all becomes part of the theatrical performance. i then leave it up to my medium to provide for its own 'front' stage.

a story requires a multi-dimensional layered perspective, one that does not give up its inner secrets instantly. the moral of the story should only be revealed in the end. elements of climax or the crescendo to a plot are narrative tools to be properly crafted by the narrator to deliver a story that sustains the interest of the audience- an audience who has been spoilt by the bombardment of the visual enterprise. and so, the revelation: I am not a good oral storyteller. I am however, better with the written and visual media. this is because they are secondary media that exists, in itself, as a coded form. a picture is a story already told, as it has been captured out of the series of happenings that we call life, events. and so, it is already packaged. it only has to be delivered, viewed, to fulfill its purpose as narrative. the form of the written word mirrors the latter. the clever and painstaking choice of words, each after the other denotes the process inherent within- masked. and so, like the photograph, it estranges the storyteller from its audience, to a certain extent. I am not dismissing oral storytelling as being a one-dimensional narrative form that requires no coding process, for it certainly does. I’m just saying that I suck at it, or to put it nicely, i am not well-versed with its method.

I started with the form of the written word, and then onto the visual and perhaps, that is where I should keep myself parked in, for now.

Chronique d'un été

staggering. it still staggers.

bred into water

manufacturing a reverse osmosis mechanism back into nature

Big Fish

momentary me

photo by seuty | edited by me

need to start the photography. again.

writing in air

there lies a huge disjuncture between the person she would like to be, to that of the person that she is. a self of the past, to one awaiting the turn into a future. the ever vigilant to change and the world around, to the myopic individual who casts merely side glances to those around her. hair in the wind. the fan blows. it is constant. each strand suspended in the air in accordance to an exact timing. methodical shifts of the blades. how fast per second? how much wind artificially created per rotation? maths. method. there is no uneven rhythm. waves have begun taking up a pattern. too much certainty. the old man could predict the next wave in its exact moment. where is spontaneity? no more messages in a bottle. he reaches in but falls behind. the landing is uneven. like the bumps on his skin. do two unevens make it even? she toasted the tip of her bottle to the sunset sky. plastic against the now virtual sky cut up by the rectangular window. the disjuncture is forgotten, forgotten for a while. sirens on the road. someone is dying. they sit in the dark. the people are coming.

Free Aung San Suu Kyi

Free Aung San Suu Kyi from nuruL H. on Vimeo.

a peace vigil for the freedom of Daw Aung San Suu Kyi

Speaker's Corner, Singapore
31st May 2009
organized by MARUAH