"And all of us, one way or another, are mad"

Uh, to you wonderful few people who DO read by blog, could I just have a show of shouts as to

a) Who actually understands what I write
b) Who understands and is engaged by what I say
c) Who thinks I should just get with the programme and buy funky underwear from Topshop to complete my sad irrelevent existance.

"Madness is the inability to communicate your ideas. It's as
if you were in a foreign country, able to see and understand everything that's
going on around you, but incapable of explaining what you need to know or of
being helped, because you don't understand the language they speak
there."

Paulo Coelho :: Veronika Decides to die

Make me Beautiful

"Why is the word pretty so underrated?
In November the leaf is pretty when it falls.
The stream grows deep in the woods after rain.
And in the pretty pool the pike stalks.

He stalks his prey, and this is pretty too,
The prey escapes with an underwater flash.
But not for long, the great has him now.
The pike is a fish who always has his prey

And this is pretty. The water rat is pretty.
His paws are not webbed; he cannot shut his nostrils
As the otter can and the beaver; he is torn between
The land water. Not 'torn he does not mind.

The owl hunts in the evening, and it is pretty.
The lake water below him rustles with ice.T
here is frost coming from the ground, in the air mist.
All this is pretty; it could not be prettier.

Yes, it could always be prettier, the eye abashes.
It is becoming an eye that cannot see enough,
Out of the wood the eye climbs. This is prettier
.A field in the evening, tilting up.

The field tilts to the sky. Though it is late,
The sky is lighter than the hill field.
All this looks easy, but really, it is extraordinary.
Well, it is extraordinary to be so pretty.

And it is careless, and that is always pretty.
This field, this owl, this pike, this pool are careless.
As Nature is always careless and indifferent.
Who sees, who steps, means nothing, and this is pretty.

So a person can come along like a thief-pretty!
Stealing a look, pinching the sound and feel,
Lick the icicle broken from the bank,
And still say nothing at all, only cry pretty.

Cry pretty, pretty, pretty, and you'll be able
Very soon not even to cry pretty.
And so to be delivered entirely from humanity.
This is prettiest of all, it is very pretty. "

Pretty ~ Stevie Smith

I was on my way to work, riding up the Raffles one link to Suntec City: The Commercial Hub of Asia. Very pretty indeed. The handsome young man 5 steps ahead of me with the impeccable dress sense was no doubt some brainy accountant/lawyer/whatever. This place is swarming which them young and talented greenies who are just about to take over the world with their charm and intellect. I adjusted my bag so that it rode a little higher up on my shoulders. Why then did I feel so uncomfortable here? The symphony of clicking high-heeled shoes echoed through the mall as the surrounding boutiques poised the latest fashions through glassed eyes. Very odd. We're missing the point here. As I emerged, atop the escalator, I was close to crying out,

"There are people to inspire! There are lives to be changed! There are small children to hug, and there's that never-ending upward-facing internal journey toward a greater understanding of yourself."

There is so much more to life then just looking, being and feeling pretty. My discomfort came from the stench of materialism. It's like a drug I swear, and it's calling me back. This is cold turkey and I'm loving it.

Damn Unpretty.

I'm waging a war againt the social conception of beauty. I believe that the physical, however important, should not be a priority. Our bodys, our faculties and our assets are nothing but instrumets of who we are, to express, to communicate, to share.

On man heaven's influence works not so,
But that it first imprints the air ;
For soul into the soul may flow,
Though it to body first repair.
The Ecstacy ~ John Donne

But ultimately, it doesn't matter. Chanel, M.A.C, and Clinque, do not make you better then the next person. Guess, Mango and Amarni Exchange do not fix your life or give you self-worth. Nine West, Pretty Fit and Charles and Keith do not give you any basis for pride or arrogance.

So eat, enjoy the latest fashion, wear make-up to your hearts content and rejoice in being blessed with wealth! I'd just hate to see it taking over what's important, to see asthetic appreciation twisting into a basis for prejury, or an affection toward a way of life turning into an elitist, isolated obession. Let's keep to what will last and what has been proven to be of worth.

Nul:
I'm looking at some definations
pretty: Pleasing by delicacy or grace; attracting, but not striking or impressing
beautiful: delighting the senses or exciting intellectual or emotional admiration

I now understand. How can you, a strikingly beautiful girl be pretty?

Darn J, you just made my day.

Hold back your tears

I've never read such beautiful writing.
And I hate to think that in not being, I am left behind.

But's it's alright I guess, I'm some sort of an identity immigrant.
No worries.

I looked out of the bus window on the good ol' 167, and thought that an artist's art ultimately reflects his life. I think being an artist means having attained a certain level of understanding, and discipline. It's not just the expression that counts.

I watched a chinese girl garbed in pink fiddle with her hair. Now if only I had the guts to choose my art, and be an artist.

Bussing

"...... I'm going back to Canada soon.... not ready..... fear...."

"....I'm Special..."

"I'm not a very emotional person. I mean, I hardly care. I really can't give a damn for the most part. I hardly cry.... No that's a lie. It only takes a SPCA poster to get my tear ducts working. I love the earth. I want to help people. Yeah totally.... but I don't think I love. At least.... I definately don't feel for people. I know. I feel for marginalized people. I feel for animals and plants who can't speak anyway. But no. Love for me is never an overriding emotion. I get flustered, I get excited, I am passionate. But that's all energy. not emotion. Do I even feel? Sometimes I couldn't care less. Maybe I care for the wrong things... Love as a choice suits me just fine. I might love only myself. This is so complex. I don't even know how I relate to other individuals. How do I manage to stuff so much love and yet so little emotion into this little being of mine?"

"I ought to stop wasting my time...."

"I'm just getting comfy.

Maybe if I stayed in Singapore longer,

I'd become Singaporean."

"Stay a while

Oh just groping you

rolling in the mud"

"will it last?"

"... I'm speical"

No really. How can I be so people minded if it isn't in my nature to give them even the time of the day? Hmmp. I bet God's up to something. *suspicious*