Fortune, at Fort Canning, INXS

It was a blast of a show last night, at Fort Canning, with INXS and their new frontman JD Fortune. It was very different from MH but it was fresh, and with a nuance that brought a new sort of feel to the music, without taking away what the original versions were. Best of all, it did not sound like a cover version. Fortunately, Karen called me to say she had spare tix and I was happy to go, and with the evening appointments cancelled anyway, it was a straight walk from work there (but I took the bus in the end). Traffic was horrible downtown last night, but the crowds were warmth, anticipative and best of all, ready for a good time. Typically and only in Singapore, there were some girls (women, really) who were waving their hands across their frowning faces just to signal their apparent disgust at those who were puffing in the field. Give us a break, man. They were just like social police. Anyway, the Caucasians aren't always very conscious of their own boisterousness, and they have a way of totally passing an Asian without eye contact but immediately left of us, with other Whites, you see them smile and wink and cavort. Funny to feel invisible in your country. The band was great, and they looked like they were having fun with the sell-out crowd. The best thing I witness was not JD baring parts of himself, but a young boy and his friend, bewildered, as he stared out from where he stood, which was a sunken spot between the adults. He seemed only to be able to peer at the bright stage lights overhead with his wide blue eyes, filled with white and wonder, but could not see the band. Then, like a cameleon, he and his friend try to go up higher as they push and pull each other. I think they don't realise that it was not where the band was but that the adults were completely blocking their view! Hoarse now, with a very loud ring in my ears!

Taking Turns, and Lost Trains

It is a mystery, this whole idea about fate, perfect timing and opportunity. In the way men interact and communicate, how is it that we are so finite in our sensibilities that limited by space and defined by memory, we are prone to missed opportunities, misfortune and misunderstanding? What exactly is an "accident" in the scheme of our conscious universe. In what way do we relate and speak of one thing and another; precisely, what is one to another. For it seems that in the synaptic maze of our minds, we are constantly streaming ideas as patterns which over lay one another just so that ultimately, we imagine, it all makes sense. Perhaps, language is an "accident" of human consciousness, the result of a long experiment with patterns over patterns in the way our brains connect, and after myriad mutation, the semantics that create common sense emerges. All the wrong and right turns we make at our crossroads, exactly what is the sum consequence. We do what we believe is right, and ultimately, what our sense of belief in the scheme of things and what we hold dear indicates is an action which will culminate in greater value. Turn, after turn - alea lacta est - let the die be cast, as Caesar was imagined to have said: what is consequence, what really is the result of our meadering and meddling with others, with things. What is the result of my getting up, going to work, surprising a few people with a smile or greeting, annoying another as we nudge into the crowded train or get off the bus, or hassle a colleague for a deadline, press a client for commitment or saunter along a lone street past a stranger whose head is hung too low to notice my coming and going... what is the nett lost or gain or my existence in this world, in relation to all others. No Blair or Bush, whose words sends hundreds armed to teeth to war, nor a Hezbollah that hides in a faceless war behind friendly borders to tempt internecine strife... what does a solitary person in this vast littleness we speak of as "Life" have to do with the whole opportunity that others say is what makes one happy and another sad? We take turns. Where, and what sort of turns, to gain what, to let lose what, to have what? I just see the roads get to some point of infinity on the horizon that the destination matters less than the whole business of being aware of what my surroundings are, and what here needs my attention. And I hear those trains of cars, and buses, and truckloads of faddish folks whizz by, whistling a mantra that whispers to me, carried off by the wallowing wind: "You have no idea! You have no idea! Just go with the flow; you never know..." Those mad, noisy trains of thought that thunder by, break hard against the fragmented silence within. And when I hold still for a moment, and feel the pulse of my own heart, I hear with the ear of my own soul, here, within - the lyrical truth that emanates a shrill and siren song - which strengthens all limbs, and limbers all faculties, sending sweet sensation of warmth through my whole being - even as I stand still, by the side - the endless traffic thundering by, and I know, that I am loved well. It is all that matters, this iota of realisation, and from which, I am aware of how I relate to the rest of this surreal, temporal world of tangibles. The lost train of thought which I sometimes gather back all in, and never regret missing a turn, just so that I can pause by the shoulders of life's highway and observe the infinity that rushes by, disquiet and never satisfied. I am.

Tea Can Be Sinful, Too

The thing about being a "Tay" is that your name is synonymous with "tea", as in the Chinese Hokkien dialect, tea is pronounced "teh". Well, tonight it seems like a real blessing that this little pot of tea found that all the benefits of drinking can be a "sin-ful" indulgence. Well, Eric, you know what I mean... It was sheer fun, and like all tea - best enjoyed when brewed right and consumed slowly with the best company... It is an elixir, and surely, very sinful, too. I hope your cuppa was worth waiting for, and relishing too... Hope we will enjoy more tea, with the usual sinfulness!

Joining A Fad, A Little Later

It has been a while since my last blog and getting back to work has meant some adjustment. More interestingly, is that with employment comes consumer empowerment. That means your whole holistic being changes, as material options become available. I have been resisting the idea of portable music ever since my MD player became archaic with the MP3 and ATRAC revolution. And since then, I have only used my MD just to record interviews and such. But finally, after my very first encounter with that slim, white, LCD heaven of technology in an iPod, I have made my 30GB investment and got a Sennheiser to go with it, for better sound that those in-ear headphones which come with it. What exactly does it mean? For someone like me who aches for the latest phones and mobile technology? I think the reason was simply that I felt it was worth my EQ to wait until the technology became ubiquitous. I certainly did not expect that almost everyone will be owning one. But almost everyone has, and I am just about the last one who just bought one. And for the first time, in a long while, I doozed off to sleep with headphones again, sung asleep to a sweet lullaby...

Ashtanga Joy, Eagle Soars

Great news from Mysore, India, from my friend and yoga teacher, Eagle who received from Sri Phattabi Jois (see www.Jois.org) the authority to teach Ashtanga Yoga on 1 May 2006.

Based in Hawaii, Eagle is a great light in my own circle of friends and a personal inspiration. He remains in Mysore until 1 August when returns to his lovely paradise in the Pacific. I can't wait till he transits Singapore again.

Congratulations!

You can visit his yoga site at: www.pineappleyoga.com

Stadium Arcadium

Just received the prize notification e-mail from Warner Brothers tonight that I won the CD Album! Cool. It's not the first time I have won one of these crazy contests... got the Star Wars Tee-Shirt from Lucas Films when Episode II hit the screens, plus CDs from Power98FM - Hope Floats soundtrack (I did not collect that one), etc.

But this one beats them all.

I knew in my gut that I would get it, and yeee-how! Yeah!

Now, it's just a matter of waiting till 5 June to collect the CD set from Warner Music. Hey, it feels like I now get to ride a little on the stars....! Wow!

Well, for the losers out there, trust me, I know what it feels like! But every dog has its day, and it is sweet!

The Tay Family

It is the merry month of May again, when I just thought it was not too long ago that we had our last May Tay Family Gathering... It's a novel tradition born out of convenience. You see, there are three birthdays in the month, more if you include the extended family of godchildren, two wedding anniversaries, and of course, Mother's Day. Notwithstanding that, in June, there are more birthdays to follow. So, it became a practice that we would celebrate all these happy days with just one family dinner. The only other times would be Chinese New Year eve and Christmas Day. Fortunately, we have found other excuses and opportunities to gather around that lazy susan and a host of dishes to feast on.

This time, it was at the Mon Hong Teochew Restaurant, which was located at Keypoint, off Beach Road. The weird coincidence was that it was scheduled at the end of my first week of work. And guess where do I work? At Keypoint itself.

That aside, I managed to bring the WOLF BLASS Gold Label Shiraz 2005, which was terrific by itself. But the family aren't wine afficiandos, so when I poured the first glasses with tasting portion for Nancy and friend, I got looks back from them, with the comment, "Wah, only for tasting hah?" It was funny, really. Here I was, trying to be all decorous, and I get this laid-back Chin-Ga-Pore reply from my in-law and her friend.

There was the whole usual affair of what the menu ought to comprise, since several of the "next generation" did not like this, could not eat that, or would not eat those... It is a mystery why the palate is so varied within our family, but the whole Baba preference of learning to appreciate food in its variety seems lost on them. At least, the dinner went on without any real gripes.

The gripes did come though the next day for me, and I found myself working the John till Monday! I can't pass that darn restaurant now when I am at work without thinking about the gripes and my trips to the loo... Urgh!

Anyway, here's the family photograph. Yes, Pete looks like he's saying "shoooooo!" but he looked better in the first shot. But it's my blog, and I figured that I (the tallest at the back) definitely smiled a lot better in this one! Hahahah!

Axe, Man!

I can't wait for the third installation of the X-Men trilogy, which opens on 25 May. But that evening, I expect to have a dinner appointment, and can't watch the film. Maybe a sneak the night before? Anyway, I cruised through 11.6 km yesterday afternoon before the annual family dinner in the evening, and clocked a niffy under 60 mins, all without chaffing and huffing. Then, this evening, I felt sometime light and eager to kick up some adrenalin and let the dopamine do its trick, so I ran an easy 8 km or 7.6 km to Bishan Park in the evening. It went off without a hitch, with the muscles all ready and easy, and I left like a young stud on a good gallop, again, without even breaking a big sweat, my pace, with easy breathing all the way. Also, I'm getting better with Plitt's leg raises. Perhaps I am at this time, getting a wee bit leaner while the muscle tissue still retains its strength. It might not be permanent, but it does tell me about my achieving my optimal in running, if I have had an a couple of weeks' break. What I need to do, is run easy on Day 1 on 6 km, spring on day 2, and run easy with a strong pace on day 3. Take a break on day 4 with light exercises, and a complete rest on day 5. Then on day 6, take the full 10+ km on a sprint pace. And if you feel right (like I did today) hit a mid-distance 7.6 or 8 km at moderate pace (ie. low impact, moderate resistance, easy track run). Again, I completed the 8 km run with excellent time and at aerobic rate, possibly without exerting my cardio system, as I hardly broke a big sweat not lost my breath. I wonder if I will get a chance to hit the pool this week, but right now it feels very good to be on the running drills. Maybe I will try the bike in the evenings, and the run as well, while hitting the pool in the morning... that might become the ideal. We will have to test it. But definitely Monday evening will have to be early... I don't want to miss "Desperate Housewives" on FIVE... at ten p.m.! Let's see if this can be kept up! PS: A short note on Ben Foster playing Archangel/Warren in the upcoming X-MEN III (opens 25 May)... I mean, he's the quirky bloke who plays one of Frank Castle's neighbours in THE PUNISHER, remember? The one who had his nose and earrings all pulled out when he refused to give away Frank's whereabouts? Also, Rebecca Romijn-Stamos (who plays Mystique in the X-Men franchise) was the other neighbour and Castle's new love interest. All in the MARVEL family. Okay, but the point is that if that chicken can beef-up and look that good, there's an incentive for an old dog to make it work!

A New Light, Infancy and Future

Here is my newest godson, Elliot Howe Wen Rui, born on Monday morning at 5.34 am (thereabouts) on Monday, 20 March 2006 at Mount Elizabeth Hospital. Proud parents are Allison and Stanley Howe, my best and long-time friends, whose devotion and friendship has endured to my great personal benefit for much of two decades. The little bundle was 6 weeks ahead of his time, and has since gained much weight and strength from the incredible care and adulation! He's simply adorable, but a real grouse about comfort, with a particular preference for cool and quiet... it must be the genes! I can't wait till he's six months, and eleven, and two years, and six, and 12, and 24 and when he's a father himself. To all my godsons, I have always cherished you in my prayer, and entrust you in care to the goodness of God, in whom all things find completion and praise.

Eagle Lands, Spirit Soaring To Great Height

Friday, 5 May 2006

It was an afternoon of errands with Stan's car for Allison, and then off to Changi Airport Terminal Two to pick Stan up from Phuket. His flight landed at 1740 hrs. After getting him home and having Allison's brother Josie drop himself off at Raffles City to get the MRT to meet his wife for dinner at Far East Plaza, I drove off back to the airport to fetch my great spirit-brother and Ashtanga yogi teacher, Doug Eagle. Eagle was last in Singapore in 2003 where he had a short stopover, and left an indelible impression on the people who met him at Club Oasis, Grand Hyatt Singapore. Here again, he was, in transit for his fourth visit to Mysore and I was really blessed to have the chance to get some really wonderful quality time with this wonderful brother and friend! He is plainly luminous in heart and spirit and that light shines through in his words and action, and the warmth of his heart in every expression and care exuded.

Before long, and after calling for a short visit at my brother Joe's place to meet the family, especially Sarah-Ann and Mary-Ann, we were off to Mustafa for late-night shopping for his trip essentials. I hope the CASIO G-SHOCK I got him will serve him well, and keep me in constant remembrance. We had a wonderful time in the morning as we awoke from minimal sleep, but refreshed. Then it was off to the airport for check-in and breakfast, final hugs and the most sincere spiritual communion among earthly souls as I have ever known. Namaste, Aloha, Eagle - take flight and soar once more, as my Spirit is moved along with yours!

A Great Relaxing Moment

You are right, DJ, it was pretty relaxing and a great change! Thanks, and really, I am so sorry and embarrassed about landing your XR250 sideways. Guess I was over-confident and unfamiliar with the biting point, so clutching in go the bike to freewheel and I was too slow on the footbrake! I thought my instincts were better, but well, hell, like a good many things, I was wrong...! Anyway, it was great catching up and I look forward to the future and us getting together again.

Earthly Kinetics

I can't explain how the world works, perhaps because our minds are geared to see patterns in what is a pretty complicated weave of causes, consequences and incidents. Of course, in this universe, there is hardly anything which is truly random, as every particle and wave, every form and force exerts itself in some way upon its surroundings, and the little understood quantum of laws that should explain everything is far from being easy to put into our current intellectual vocabulary. In any case, the world turns and we struggle to survive or make more determined effort to influence the surrounding and circumstance. Our personal potency is not always sufficiently kinetic to effect the changes we want, and sometimes or often times, the shots may be called by a friend or foe. Throughout the past five years since 2002, when the orbit I have travelled seem travailed by adventure and threat, solitude and unparrelled dishevel, I have enjoyed the quiet companionship of a few reliable satellites. Like stars or constellations, these have been my own guide and light, illuminating and fixing my course through the hard and harsh. It is a long, long night, in eclipse and uncertainty. What have I gained, and as much what I have lost: 1. Losing some of that old baggage, that trash which is wrought from the untrue and the unfaithful - these were good, very good to let go off and move away from; let their own fates rule, so to speak... 2. Losing some long time hopes and expectations based on the eternal belief that people are sincere and fair, of the best intentions and will see through their promises; now, this is tempered by the plain, brutal facts; people are self-interested first and foremost, and almost everything else is a convenience... the truly unselfish are as rare as the unexplainable in the cosmos... 3. Losing fear, about life, about hope, about faith, and about friendship, and about death; this experience we have is an illusion. The stark reality is about the imperceivable spirit that exists, where our tangible and feeble sensibilities cannot fathom or relate, reflect or communicate. It is like one medium of wood to another of pure plasma, conductive when struck, but otherwise as separate as light and rock... What I have gained from losing all these, is joy, joy, joy and a greater personal sense of humour. But fundamentally, it stems from the knowledge that who I am can grow but I am the same. Some aspects of my personality and ego may take greater form, but I am still fundamentally that passionate and impatient human. If saints are made, then the manufacturing process is unknown to my own fate or destiny. I was made to relish the hard tangibles of a life that is about the human passion and voice. Perhaps within that framework, there is some ardour for the human palate and beauty, whatever and however that may be. What I have gained, is a profound appreciation for the way I have to live this life: with a sense of my own frailty, not as a limitation of what I can accomplish, but knowing where the effort and will must endure the transformation and process of becoming. I may last through it, postpone success, or give up altogether (?), or struggle on, with different strategies and tactics until I am... But most of all, is the sense of peace, which wells up from accepting that mistakes made, and the foolishness that comes with the ego at work. Some advice I have received have been great, even if the messenger was less than true or faithful, or at least useful for deeper reflection and then when you realise that what was given to you was false, you understand better why you need to reject offers and opportunities in relationships that simply will not work. These people themselves may not know it, but their own perceptions and manner of life is cancer. The best defence is to accord peace, avoid trial and confrontation, and communicate kindness which may not heal or transform (nothing miraculous!), but it will shore up our own immunity against an eventual travail. Peace, in all its forms, cannot be faked. ================================= Did a great sprint this morning, and noticed all the figs that fell on along the route. Picked up a select handful and brought them to my parent's place for their pair of "love birds" named Jack and Jill to feast on. Oddly, I was in my running tights only and my parents did not even "wink" at my lack of clothing. That was comforting, as I was sweaty and dripping! Got an ice lolly and headed home where I quickly showered and headed to Allison's home to get errands done for her with Stan's car. The whole afternoon was otherwise peaceful, perforated by little Elliot's cholic. He obviously misses the comfort of his nanny and demands quite a bit of Allison's attention, which he would not let up from. It must have been tiring for her! Evening was a full flush at MORTON's with Ah Yoke, a sumptuous meal: I had a Porterhouse steak medium rare, which was excellent of the highest order, appetizers of scallop wrapped in bacon steak and flavoured with apricot chutney, salad filled with blue cheese crumps, and a wholesome desert platter which included fresh raspberries with cream, creme bruie, and chocolate cake. There was the Sonoma County (Gloria Ferrer) Pinot Noir, a macchiato and Cointreau. This is contemplation of the highest order, ZaZen or eucharist, and I did praise the good Lord!

Wine & Dine

Had lunch with Francis and DJ yesterday, which was a spontaneous event and very platable. It was great to see that both were well and happy. On my part, the company was certainly appreciated and I enjoyed seeing these two fine friends hearty and with fond affection. Felt like I was back in a strange world, familiar yet alien. But it was a day filled with appointments and new promise. I don't know if the haircut, Aunt Elsie's funeral the day before, or just the fact that it is a time of great expectation with the Singapore GE around the corner this weekend, giving rise to a sense of a brand new day. It was good to chat up with CJ at Starbucks Concourse after my meeting with Agatha over Chai Tea for her, and the new Peabody blend on drip for me. The the evening closed with dinner at the Jalan Batu hawker centre where chicken laksa swooshed over the two mugs of coffee I had in the afternoon, and topped off with all the on-goings of life in the small world I live in, where things are just on the verge of change, once more. It may be time to wine and dine, and make good all the things I have long cherished in this life.

Left Rotator - Cuffed And Caught!

It is a chronic weakness, that even in the most unsuspecting circumstances, one might end up with a rotator sprain. Untreated, I won't be surprised if gout or arthritis might develop; so there's the usual treatment of rest, and rest etc. (RICE, for example) to help me get my left anterior rotator in ship-shape again. Actually, it happened because of the way I was resting on my couch, somewhat slouching with my left arm raised on the backrest and with my body weight on it at an awkward angle over time, and gradually increasing the angle/pressure - thanks for the rest of my back muscles slouching further, I definitely sprained the rotator. And like the right side before, this is PAINFUL!!! To read more about this condition, check out this incredible site/link at: http://www.aafp.org/afp/980215ap/fongemie.html No, it's nothing serious, but it hurts to do anything. Good penance for a lazy guy! Well, what did they say about pain and gain... I can only add: "Rubbish!" No pain is best. Don't get short on posture and form! Well, it's a -- er, painful reminder?

Back On Track, With A Little Help

You think you know your own family and friends, until the days pass and while you sit alone, attend to your own concerns, then you realise there's something absent in your own contemplation. Perhaps the people you know you know well and care about believe in what they want to, ie. that no news is the best news. Or subscribe to that Asian excuse of minding one's own business and non-interference. It's about giving one another privacy. It may be true, or just a plain excuse for being inapt in knowing one and balancing another. For the most part, and giving the benefit of doubt, you accept the burden on your own shoulder and bare it hard on your own back. It's your own life, and how you make it, who cares... Like the parable of the Good Samaritan seem to appeal to everyone's good conscience: the passer-bys all kept to their own business, surely, and it took a generous and spirited soul to know when to care and cross the road to make the difference. I am surprised at the wonderful concern a few strangers have shown me, in my long absence from work and struggle to get busy with employment and earning a real living. They call at my door, pick up the phone to check if I need anything, and most surprisingly, one even went to far as to get the Town Council and the Community Development Council to see if anything could be done to help me with work assistance or otherwise. I was stumped with the degree of fervour, enthusiasm and genuine passion these people have about caring for those who are struggling. Surprisingly, my own family and once close friends are mostly "absent" from any sensitivity to my situation. Within this time, I find those who are peripheral to my life turning up and helping me with referrals and the occasional "how are you doing" SMS. And, of course some very dear and long-time friends whom I have confided my state of mind and current difficult situation with. I am amazed at the degree of care and concern they have all put up, which seriously, requires a bit of earnest effort. Some are making eager effort to refer me to recruitment agents, forward prospective work advertisements and references to me, etc. Diligently, too, I take these up and do make the every effort to seek out and apply for jobs, and at the same time, try and secure some part-time work that will help with some revenue. Meanwhile, there are the aggravated cut-backs and almost destitute state one has to contrive to live with. The silence is not as dreadful. Once in a while, you think about what really is this situation going to lead to. But ultimately, it's your mental strength and intelligence that has to work things out, empty stomach or not. I've definitely gained from losing all that extra weight! And of course, I also learnt alot more about what life should really be about, or in other words, what it should be a lot less about. What am I really pursuing? The best thing is that I no longer fear death in any way. Seriously. Nothing morbid. It's morbid for those who have more fear and I think they stand to "die many times before their time". Courage is about survival, despite a sense of abandonment and loneliness. Courage is also about accepting the humility of help that strangers who come by, offer. It's so weird. I started out to train my body towards endurance for triathlons etc. But in the end, the endurance I found myself learning was all about the human spirit, and its great capacity to care, as well as the sadness that people very near you can even overlook your presence and teach you that in this world, the needy - poor, desperate, sick, imprisoned etc. - are an invisible population those who are busy with opportunity and business have happily got their backs turned towards. Yes, I am back on track, with help from friends. And as for my own being and dignity - it's taken a beating of sorts, and like all penitential flagellations, it's about depriving oneself gratitiously of pleasure so that in the long run, gratification is greater.

Butterfly Parade

Was a wee late in the morning when I decided to kick up some dust and hit the trails. Under the noon day sun, it sometimes worry me that I may not have hydrated enough. But some nutrient juice before donning the shoes and gear is a good idea and this time, it worked well. I got to good speed without any shortness of breadth, and took the slopes without any break of pace. At the stream before the Petai Hut, the army boys were in training and a couple of them were like girls in the dirt when water from the stream got into their boots! I finished in good time, got a drink from the water fountain at the Park Office and sauntered back to the Fitness Area to work out my thining upper body. Obviously I've lost a great deal of mass since, and the general lethargy and lack of power training is taking its toil. As I was sitting under the 2 pm sun, basking in its heat, I met R. Ong and Chung Pheng, who were both armed with macro-zoom lenses. They were part of the Butterfly Pals community in Singapore (check out: www.b-pals.com) and were shooting for their gallery. It was fascinating, what they could tell me about the 381 or 280+ species of butterflies in Singapore, their breeding habits and lifecyle. More fascinating was when they showed me their shots, and described to me what they captured: butterflies "puddling" or drinking from shallow water pools, that these "pee" or urinate, how they mate and how to locate some of the common species. We talked about the host plants, and moths, the frailty of the parks, and the general neglect from the over-stimulated trails from increased visitors, which bring the incidence of carelessness to unprecedented highs. After my discourse with them, I could pick up the presence of these wonderful, delicate insects significantly better, and felt so much more for them and their fragile world. There is more to read up on and to observe, and this adds much to my sense of being part of the great surprise of nature in my own backyard. (Images here are from the Butterfly Pals website.)

Dean's Conquest - Duathlon '06

Just met up with Dean Chee Yong Peng today, who's now working with Singapore Island Country Club. He's been a great inspiration and help the past year when I got into this love affair with multi-sport events, and for a while we would hit Bishan Pool together in the mornings to work on our freestyle drills. These are a few shots of him going at it again, this time at the Duathlon event on 26 February 2006. He's definitely enjoying it this time, as the photos attest, but he's always been colour-coordinated and camera-ready! In fact, for one of the earlier races (in 2005), you actually see him looking at the camera and smiling for it! So much for the earnest effort the sport saps out of you when you are painfully experiencing palsy, cramps, stitches or spot pains! Well, he's definitely a great fun bloke to train with, and I've missed all that fun. It's also great to see that he's all adorned in SALOMON speed racing tights and top, and safety helmet, too! Nothing like a great brand fan... But quality speaks for itself. Thanks, Dean, and for dropping the adidas trunks back my place this morning!

Life At Large, Springtime in the Forest

Friday, 7 April 2006 I got to enjoy more drills at the pool this afternoon, albeit for a short while before the weather hinted at a change, and the lanes got all clogged up with other swimmers. I must be a relatively undistinctive swimmer in the pool, because, as with other days and numerous similar occasions, after I get into the pool and take the lane, immediately it seems it gets crowded around me - or am I simply claustrophobic? In any case, when I got in at 12.30 pm, it was just after the pool was cleaned and the lanes were empty, except for the two on the extreme ends. I took lane Four, and after my drill laps, the two lanes on either side were taken up by two swimmers and another two more squeezed in between. But a few other lanes were "empty". Under water, these other swimmers seemed to be trying to match my pace or tail me. Anyway, it was fun to break free and show off. I am feeling terrific, and I think opening up the new bottle of Nescafe Matinal coffee from Brazil certainly has brought back some zest into this life. After the swim, at 2 pm I rushed home to meet the gas man who came to collect the empty 12.7 kg tank and give me my balance deposit back. He seemed very polite and I offered him my Technogas twin cooker with hose and regulator. He was thrilled and amazed that I was giving it away, heartily took it with a surprised look, and ceremoniously mumbled to me craddling the cooker in his arms that he would like to give it to his sister. He was pretty taken by the gift. I am just glad that it got into good and needy hands. It made me feel really happy. By 4 pm, I felt perky enough, and with the incessant drilling becoming slightly intermitten, I simply needed to get out of the house. The coffee certainly looped well within my bloodstream, and I slipped on my shoes and debated for a while which route I would take. In the end, it was the familiar that called out to me and I ran the 10 km route. After the ranger's office (4.5km mark), I slowed down, and this time, as the sky above grew grey and the air became heavy with coolness and moisture, the forest took on another character. Because I was strolling now, the first thing which struck me were the myriad voices of the many species, birds and insects. Animals were strutting beneath the canopy leaving only hints of their presence by the rustle of leaves and twigs. You can feel the fullness of life. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the verdant foliage, I began to notice that the shrubs and crawlers were in bloom, with some clusters of flowers already wilting, and green and black berries hanging at the ends with busy worker ends all about the twigs. Further down as I approached the Golf Trail, after Jelutong Tower, there was a small bridge to cross. Just three meters on to the boardwalk of the Golf Trial, I stopped short on my tracks. I could hear the monitor lizards splashing in pools of water that have flooded at the base of the trees just a couple of meters away from the track. But the sound of water was still constant, like a bubbling and gushing of sorts. I walked back to the bridge and noted that the water there was stagnant. So, how come there was this gushing noise? I stood still and slowly let my eyes adjust to the dark shade beneath the trees and foilage. It looked like a swamp, except... just as the lizard splashed away, there was a spot where there was at least three spouts of water gushing in bubbly ripples in the swamp water! I have discovered a spring. But being alone and weary of the animals within the swampy spot, I decided not to scout. It was sufficient to have a clear visual confirmation that it was a genuine spring, although it could be a small seasonal spring. There was no steam, which indicated that the source was from the water table and definitely subterranean as the surface was was stagnant. That was specifically how I noticed it, if not it would have been drowned by other noise. I waited if another runner or hiker might come by and support me with this find, but after five minutes or so, it seemed better to move on and record this here. I have also reported the find via the National Parks Board website. As I passed the Singapore Island Country Club trail, I found the wild parasitic species of orchids in bloom with the lovely white flowers drooping over the cluster of thin long leaves that formed generous crowns on the trees. Along the water's edge, I was surprised to see some creepers with their vine type foilage in bloom, with their six-point calyxes forming stars with beautiful white floral bulbs in the middle. I stared at all these for a while, taking notice that the water surface was almost flat, reflecting the greens and the forest treescapes like a mirror. Shoals of fish created spots of ripples, and because there was no wind and the water was flat, the sky grey, it was possible to see all these. As I looked around the water's edge, it became apparent to me that the creepers were proliferated on the embankment and its flowers were everywhere to be seen. A few sad-faced joggers went by, and I thought it was sadder that they missed all these. As I rounded the golf course, I came to some of the larger trees on the water's edge. What I thought were swifts were like finches, or really tiny and angular-shaped sparrows. A few sat on the topmost branch of this tree, which was for the most part, without leaves. Then I noticed one, no two small kingfishers, while a large yellowbird flew across. Then more of these finch-like birds came and sat on the topmost branches, and I counted ten altogether. Twelve birds, in total. All the while, the glory and beauty of what I was seeing was making me say over and over in my heart, "All nature praise you, O God." And at that moment, I realised how real the miracle of Francis of Assisi preaching praise to the birds must have been. It happened in such a special way, that I knew this experience I witnessed was a small gift to affirm my atomic faith. As I passed on to the dam at the last part of this trail, I could see a large fish escorted by a shoal of fishes. I really mean that this fish was LARGE, about a metre in length and of wide girth. I stood for a long time on the dam to admire the behaviour of the shoal as they came towards me, literally, facing me with their eyes and bodies were all turned towards me, upwards, and as I raised my hand, I was quietly in awe and praise. Then they all simultaneously turned and darted to a side. This went on for a while, and with all my experience as a diver, I must say that marine fish certainly did not behave like their freshwater counterparts! I was stunned. I ran the final leg back to the water fountain at the Park Office at MacRitchie Hill, and sauntered back to Braddell where I finished off with a set of slow, polished chin-ups. The day was turning to dusk and light was falling. There was just so much flowers in the trees, shrubs and vines, with buds, fruit and berries all in bloom. It was a geniune uplifting experience and I felt completely refreshed. When I got home and bathed, I found an SMS from a friend Kelvin in Scotland on my mobile. Then shortly after a member of the Town Council called at my door. It was one of those social visits to the poor and destitute, and I was very appreciative of his company and kind words. Well, Spring is here, and already with the Jewish Passover starting on Wednesday evening in the coming week, we can safely say that the Winter may yet be over. I can't wait!

Drills at Lars, and on Thorpe!

The drills worked very well.

First, the forward hand glide, to meet for a split second before pull... definitely works to slow down the stroke.

Then, there is the elbow. Getting higher on pull, with S-stroke works to reduce the shoulder strain. And this is terrific!

Can't manage the breadths on draw both sides still. That will be next?

Next will be the forward head raise on interval, left breadth draw, and maybe pull-buoy. But that might be really ambitious!!!

The best part of Finch's work is that clarity of the advice given. Total Immersion is great practice when you are dedicated to a coach and water time. But I am totally on my own for this and will have to pace myself and see what works and how comfortable I am.

The thing about Thorpe is precisely what the researchers say: slower and fewer strokes can be more efficient. Also, for better streamlining, to wear trunks one size smaller. Whew, there was a crammed house all 2 km, man!

But the best was that I could swim so much SLOWER and glide through the lap without feeling the draw strain and breadthless exertion! I totally worship Lars Conrad for his style and physique, and Ian Thorpe for that incredible efficiency! Can't wait to get back in... but it will have to wait till after the next few days, no thanks to errands and stuff!

Try, At Last, Triathlon!

Picked up a couple of books on the sport, which was timely and greatly refreshing. It was nice to read Scott Tinley, whose first books on the sport I bought while in Hawaii back in 1987, and it was sometime in 1985 when I first thought about how cool the sport seemed. But it will be Mark Finch's book with Scott Tinley's generous account of Dave Scott and Mark Allen which really inspires and got all the heat back into my bones again. I read through the drills again, and will have to go through the detailed preparation chapters to pick out those great insights. The other book, "Starting Out Triathlon" by Paul Huddle and Roch Frey that has incredible tips in very concise and readable format. Of course, I finally got into the sport last year, and made it within top ten of my category for the Olympic Duathlon in my very first attempt, even at a Long Slow Pace. Because you can only be a "newbie" once, I can't say that this is all completely new. But I only did the Half Standard Triathlon, and even then, got disqualified because of a miscount on the bike leg. What I would love to achieve this year is doing well as a newbie for the Olympic Standard, which I was prepared for last year but missed the race registration. Reading it all afresh is a terrific thing to do, too. You gain a better understanding when you have the experience in the pocket. Now, I bought and given away a few triathlon books, so that explains why I have had to get these books again in my hands for re-read and re-contemplation. Of course the pictures inspire, but the best part is finding out that some of the basic exercises eg. chin-ups, training concepts eg. transition exercises, correct use of jargon, and use of accessories like pull buoys etc. are precisely recommended because they do work. Perhaps I read it before but until you get a great deal more experience speaking with the real Ironmen and enthusiasts, listening to their tips and applying them at your next training session, and working some things our yourself, then you realise that you may have missed out a lot from the first read. Nutrition for me is probably now the most critical, as I haven't been too good about my diet as a way of life, and habit, to put it mildly! Anyway, this is the week to start making it all come on back together again. I miss my training partner, really. There are fantastic comments Mike Finch makes about starting out, and one of the first things he says is that it is important to get a training partner to inspire you and motivate you to get out of bed and sweat it out with him, because it also takes out the drudgery of training, while if he's perfect, sets the bar high enough for the both of you to push each other and become excellent in the sport. So, at least that part of my own experience is vindicated, and you can't ever be too grateful when you have had a great partner when starting out as I did back then. But now, it's a solo trip, and all those beer talk about friendship and support, well, is a heap of cheap talk mates give each other. Can't wait for the week ahead to see how my commitment goes. The weather has turned and we get the regular afternoon Sumatras now, which bring in alot of thunder and lightning, and bursts of monsoon showers daily. Well, better to be weather proof. That's the theory. But this sort of humidity gets straight to the bones and before you know it, you are down nursing a horrid flu or rhinitis of sorts.

Deathbed Tour

Arthur Rimbeaud was the quinessential French romantic poet, young and somewhat handsome, yet despondent and cholic, which towards the end of his life, was to prove a fatal combination. The young poet had caught the eye of Verlaine, his mentor of sorts and fled him to the wastelands of Egypt, Abyssine, as it was called in those Napoleonic heydays. There, he was to be a journalist of sorts, fall seriously ill and continue with his poetry while carried about in his deathbed. Among his anthology which we are bequeathed, "La Saisons des E'nfer", or the Seasons in Hell gained him fame. I think I first got acquainted with his poetry when reading the English Romantics, and chanced upon a comment on him, and when I read up, found myself remembering numb references from the days I read the whole Britannica. Definitely one of the best things to do for any young mind, is to pursue reading the encylopedia from bookend to bookend, or at least browse it. The other definite benefit I was to enjoy later on when I was frequently travelling for work, was to visit the very places described into old, yellowed pages, and touch, smell, hear and swallow the minute of the experience of being actually there. But as I myself crawl towards the inevitable death that awaits, in these good moments when drug or hormone, lisping voices of the past or sobering calls to awake from stupour, I do find myself venturing to those great places. New Delhi is complete irony, and what I really liked best was being there in Spring, which is ideal and cool, with the misty light creating an atmospheric feel about those long tree-lined boulevards where the diplomatic houses are, and getting into one of the consulates for Mass in English. The roads, and its distinct pungent spicy odour almost reminds me of my childhood, except that the strength of the fould stench was never so thick. But there was a sense of familiarity about the scent, honestly. Singapore did not always smell like Hong Kong - the fragrant harbour! It took me 4 and a half hours to get to New Delhi, and precise another 4 and a half hours by a rickety tour bus to Agra, just to visit the Red Fort, and the ethereal Taj Mahal. Walking around on the grounds, the fountains, and to enter into the cool shade of the white marble shrine, was incredible. I think that the commercial aspect of the guides and entry fee collectors robbed the grandeur and prime significance of the place from the experience of visiting and marvelling there. Even as I got into the tomb chamber, there is a sense that you are entering into some attraction concocted for the Disney tourist, or some prop backyard. The spirituality of a sacred resting place is "gone", perhaps because it was not a religious shrine but a monumental mausoleum. Comparatively, the resting place of Saint Catherine Laboure of the Sisters of Charity at Rue du Bac in Paris, was by far less majestic, but because of the presence of her incorrupt body, you immediately sense the Divine. In the same chapel where her reliquary rests beneath a side altar, is the famed location where the Virgin Mary appeared to her in a series of apparitions and sat on the chair of the Mother Superior as they spoke, like Mother and Child. That splendid wooden chair is preserved at the corner of the chapel. It took me some effort to locate this small street, which despite the fame of the apparition that led to the popular "Miraculous Medal" being struck and used by many Catholics to honour the Immaculate Conception of the virgin Mary, the location is hardly known to most Parisians. But once you have found the large wooden door and pushed it open, you immediately enter into a large space which leads to the chapel. The chapel itself is very, very splendid, baroque in flavour, but restrained somewhat because of the simplicity of the story of the apparitions. But to be in that same space where the heart of Saint Vincent de Paul is preserved and honoured, and in the actual location where this event took place was already the fulfilment of one lifetime's dream, honestly. I think I can happily accept the dread human fate more easily from having had the chance to touch the gold of the place which seems to be the foretaste of the better world. In the same respect, I found myself very lucky. Cancer, asthma, diabetes, heart palpitations, the frame of a weakling, and all the vagaries of being so human and imperfect, is just a mind trap. I think the strangest thing is that all human being die, and it is weird that so many actually think they won't. If we were to understand that we all die, no matter when, surely then the way we care for others, and the way we relate with others, should matter much, much more? What does it say about the myth that now pervades modern civilisation? The same it did with the Hellenists and Romans of lore, like all flatulent wealthy peoples, that Life is meant for merry-making, drunkeness and debauchery, simply because we will die. So despite the imminent death that looms over my head, what am I peacably managing my life and spiritual presence here in this liminal world for? I guess the physical effort is to give my own physiology a favourable chemical balance, and the reading and study is to steady the intellect, while the heart retreats in to the hermitage of poverty so that in the emptiness and absence it learns to be open to possibilities, the greatest of which, is love?

The Rites of The Wronged

I am reading Richard Rohr ofm's splendid book, Adam's Return, on recommendation of a friend, a Francisan Friar. This refreshing and utterly thought-provoking book is wrangles much of the misconceptions that have prevailed about what it means to be a man in today's world. Part of the problem we have with masculinity is bred from incompleteness, which in turn has much to do with the way we are parented, as much as the way the world at large influences us with concepts that aren't always meant to lead us to fulfilment. Hence, we feel a great deal of frustration, and even among my own friends and brothers, there is always those layers within which are layers - denial, pride, repression, etc. Here is an excerpt from Rohr's proposition, that it is not in the perfect image of ourselves that we find completion or fulfilment, but if the Jesus idea of manhood is to prevail, it is one which is very distant from the Hollywood version of modern Man: "We must live our lives in a painful cauldron of transformation, inside a mixed blessing, not in any enforced utopia. We are a mass of contradictions longing to be reconciled. We must live with the wound and learn from the wound, until it becomes our sacred wound. I remember the shock of being in a Spanish art museum and seeing a full-size painting of a wounded body of Jesus ascending into heaven. I finally got it! Heaven is not for angels at all, but for the wounded ones."

Now Past The Throes Of Death

I have finally got down to disposing all the notes and original copies of work I have scribbled and jotted down in my early life, to trash these into the wastebin finally. For time and events have its own way to provide wisdom and insight which the vigour of youth is quick to presume non-existant. So, we throw away all the vagaries of our own juvenile indulgence. But I have blogged them here as well, part testimony to bear witness to my own folly and foolishness, fantasy and longing. For too long I have held on the wasteful notion that Love is what we yearn for, etc. the sad gothic lamentation of the Romantics. In truth, it is only in joyful obedience and self-sacrifice that we find ourselves ready and fulfilled, not in the manner of intellectual will or psychological contention, but through the interior life that we awaken, where a greater Power and Life is conceived and made incarnate in our own weak human shape. This is the fundamental element of truly "being". Those who seek this "enlightenment" through being still find the door open, but not to contemplate emptiness and the void. What is the "void" to human perception must yield to the infinite "light" of that experience, as the mind unfolding to the heart, as the heart dissipates into the reality of the spirit. This is the essence of experiencing our True Life! It is nothing like what all fake fakirs and gurus purport about meditation and "being" still and "becoming" one with nothing etc. Honestly, when they awoke back, what and where did they become? Falsehoods, are brazenly being preached to those "seeking" a higher "consciousness" in their yogic practices. In fact, the best yogic gurus do teach that the spiritual life is the final goal, and yoga is the ascetic diet by which the human form makes itself available to this Truth. Well, well. Anyway, it is along discourse in my own odd human journey. It is like I am finally at the threshold of Life's end. Death is one form, and the transformation of life from one stage to another. I feel ready finally for Death. Unafraid. This conquers life, too. We really need to fear less, especially those who preach nonsense to us and cause us to veer off what our plain, and truest nature makes of us. Who am I? I think the past two years I have struggled very much to listen to many voices that claim to guide and to illuminate. It was a great, and very difficult time, to feel abandoned and isolated, forgotten and disparaged, to have people who are lesser than oneself lay siege to our own courage by insinuating our faults and flaws. What they only really want to do, is subtract our dignity. For if they truly intended to give and enrich us, where is the reality of it? Nothing? Precisely, and that is the plain truth. I was asleep, and now I have awoken. Death was dealth its blow, and I am no longer held abay by fear of its sting. It feels terrific, finally, to trash all that garbage that has bottlenecked by life this past year, and let Life flow through once more, and breathe free.

The First Rains (1995)

The first rains of the monsoon have burst overhead,
Filling the evening air with cosy countenance;
The streets awashed with reflective glows and threads
Of fairylights aroar with colour at the mall entrance.
People hustling with shopping bags into taxi queues,
Forming perfect rows of silent pews.

The chiselled cityscape and hooting cars beckon me
Explore the festive revelry which mocks my solitude
Passing couples in hands and awkwardly see
What I miss out on while Cupid stays mute.
I gather my thoughts to warm my heaving heart
Knowing what comes to naught as hope falls apart
I choke silently, my voice stuck as such
Against the notion that Love’s at large…

No soul should have to bear the brunt of life alone!
No heart should be rent from ever having known
Healing consolation which cherished friends afford;
Nothing as warm as love given not affection bought.
Then startled, suddenly with a thought;
(I walk on) but it’s you, I realise, that I sought.
Yes, to love, affect, embrace and caught
To create some scheme to lure and have wrought
From idea to opportunity my soul thirsts
Of unquenchable desire, released just as heaven burst
Reigns, neighs, unbridled rain, nay no worse.

Who would silence all cars, break bottles by case and casks!
Hear the whisper, now a storm, which urges on
Wreak the senses from solace to solitude’s sullen mask;
To feel the aching pain of one forlorn,
To trim the fear and not hesitate.
Should I call, no, later, or wait?
Lose another moment once lit by hope,
That you might be, too, alone, in bed
Longing the same, while cuffed in the silken envelope
Expecting my call, and tempt fate.
How I now wish to kiss you and erase
Pain of missing you, anoint with caresses your face
That we might be grace to bless that inconsolate bed:
From emptiess to lottery and life, create
Prized beatitudes to realise are worth the wait!

What a joy it would be to awake, turnaround, and feel you tight,
A cluster of the earth’s finest roses in your huddled form,
Perfume in the morning light, smooth stems with thorns shorn –
Your skin like washed sand, after the storm.
What a joy it would be to awake, reality, derived from this vision,
Of sleeping with an Angel, banish bland reason
And find the senses, sweet from the Four Seasons
To be unearthed and tossed tumultuously like incense
Filling out time and space its drowsy shroud
Wherein I see you lift and whirl about
Like the phantom dream, love is, dismissed into the hollow crowd.


Thursday, 9 November 1995
2245 hrs
Shopping and then slipping back into the Four Seasons, to awake and find the other left had left already for the day. I drove a Ford Laser 1.6L then, and for official business entertainment, would have a black Audi A4 to use. Quite a fine life, then. I think there is something about mobility with a car that makes up for the emptiness that follows a good night without breakfast in bed…

History (1990)

(A preliminary critique of a people challenged by a future impossible.)


History is boisterous in her lessons of Age,
Makes no pretense of favour or rage.
The little, the limited, the lone is lost,
The lessons are that such are the cost.
Yet did an isle an exceptional precedent set -
Battled her fate and abated a bet.
Lone, little and limited became a cause,
To pursue the challenge and chart her course.
The rhythm of the people set upon the beat
Of cultures diverse like flotsam of a fleet.
Amassed, clashed but finding a form,
Deliver themselves from the ideas of norm.
Break free from the thoughts that mar,
Challenge these forces and drive them afar.
Like gongs in unison that beg the gods unleash,
Favour, benevolence – end fasting with feast.
Perhaps Fortune herself did smile on this isle,
The march of folly passed by and while;
Necessity borned of survival inspired diversion,
To a different drumbeat and to Nation.
Should odds be nigh and were nigh again -
When hope is low, do we unite in vain
Battle disdain with sovereignty hard won
Set sure in belief as brothers, we are strong
Then hence, to weather the storm.


4 July 1990

Love's Absence (1990)

LOVE’s absence deprives life’s brazen frame –
     leaves an abyssal void which maims:
VISIONS erotic the heart cannot deny,
     awakes yeraning, demands a sigh,
     should courageously wait and unhappily lie
     ( a silhouette on a pyre
     engulfed by silky sheets of fire)
     tries in vain, remain, kiss your eye
     the muse awakes, fleet-footed flies
     discovers too late, an empty bed
     scent marks where you have laid
     arouse the senses, might not placate
     must bait, or patiently wait
     instigate, create or contemplate
     (this desired union
     an improbable return)
     to the gilded state
     and thus avert Fate.


London
19 March 1990


This is a recollection of Mark McCallum, who adopted and used his maternal surname, Carter. He inherited some small fortune, and was clubbing in tee-shirt and denim dungaries and jacket, I think somewhere near Max’s off Bayswater. He was with some British Airways pilot, but was always out on guys’ night for a good time, which he knew very well how to get it. He was, by all accounts, an English “party boy”. He brought me to London’s famed boys’ strip club, then run by a famous Singaporean “queen”. Impressive getting around with him.

Another thing Mark did after we caught Les Miserables together, was bring me to the cast’s favourite restaurant after the show, where I got to meet some of the chorus members, saw Angela Lansbury, and I was literally checked up Joan Collins. This splendid restaurant near Covent Garden is wholly unmarked, and distingished by the red brickwork walls.

If I Should (1990)

If I should, my woven history, bare
kindly appreciate, nay, not compare.
The visage full but where threadbare,
do gently fill, if you care, not dare.
If I should be bound by my workèd past,
creativity is checked by the last (not leash);
must untangle the knot that was cast (not released),
smooth the thread taut and fast –
for what is life’s greatest freedom, be
OF CREED, OF SPEECH, OR, FROM FEAR, FROM WANT. **
(If one should be asked, say certainly)
the liberty to start, create apart from what’s done
and to do so freely, in perpetuity.

Letter to Brett C. Callis
Singapore
16 March 1990

** The Four Freedoms declared by US President Roosevelt in World War II, c. 1943. See also the Norman Rockwell painting inspired by the same.

One Doesn't (1989)

One doesn’t have to be good-looking
To feel beautiful;
It is enough to be loved and be
Surrounded by all things wonderful.
Life is more than mere feelings
Whether of pride or insecurity
A realisation and experience
Of all beauty that Nature can give
Is Expressed
And worth more than appearances
Which can deceive.
Beauty, Love, Life still requires
One, even the very least –
To Appreciate.

Therein is all that Matters.


Frankfurt 1989


When I re-read these musings, which to edit and re-write is to lose the crisp juvenile sensibility of that period in my own life, I realise how immature my outlook then was. I blame it now, mostly for the lack of the benefit of growing up with strong paternal affirmation, which would have made any boy confident and whole early in his adulthood, and thus prepared for relationships that would be able to give. Instead, people who are seeking wholeness and expect or belive that relationships with bred that in them are often deceived by this heresy, and then to be very idealistic, painfully sensitive and often languish in melancholy. They are easily devoured by the idea of beauty, too often seduced by the prospect that wholeness in personhood lies in being appreciated. It may be more true to say that young boys become good men when they have been affirmed by their Fathers.

Uit Rusten (1989)

In silence, in stilte,
     darkness of my bed I sit
Cold of winter invades my feet;
Beneath, onder de deken I miss the feel
Warmth, of love’s familiar face asleep –
Thoughts so dear feels so real:
Ogen sluiten, glimlach zitten on lips,
Skin on skin, silky sheets sing
Leaves impressions echte as ink.
Love’s infinite longing for a friend
Vanish like dreams too quickly spent,
Left listening to the whispering wind
What does this hurting mean?
‘t advises gentle as falling snow
Begs the heart to let go.


Roma, Italia
27 November 1989

If I Should Die (1989)

THE WORLD IS A STRANGELY SMALL PLACE AND IF ONE DOES NOT THINK OF POLITICAL BOUNDARIES AND CULTURAL DIFFERENCES THEN IT BECOMES EASY TO COLLECTIVELY REFER TO WHOLE PEOPLES AS ONE CATHOLIC AND ANIMATED ENTITY.
THE WORD EMPIRE, KINDGOM AND UNION ILLUSTRATES SUCH AN ENTITY. ONE VISIONARY 1900 YEARS AGO PROCLAIMED IT AS THE KINGDOM OF GOD. ITS NATURE HUMAN, ITS MYSTERY DIVINE. THUS:


If I should die, I die a catholic first:
My life a play, my simplest thoughts a verse.
The dreams, faith, hopes quietly nursed
Might, mistaken seem ageless;
Immortality a call of thirst
Should suddenly, mightily burst.
Redeem a soul from the curse,
Gild an effigy with ashen dust;
Feeble these senses must
Labour the heaviest task:
Document thought, deed, emotion past
Realize the littleness of vast
A shapeless mould cast
Love’s furnace, inflame, passion’s blast
Mettle glazed to last
Reveals my spirited lust
Rambles, punctuates my play thus.


6 oktober 1989

While sitting in early Autumn in front of the Habsburg Palace, Wien
(Vienna, Austria). It was also from the foyer balcony of this very palace where Hitler returned to the land of his birth as dictator-ruler of the Third Reich, and addressed the people as victor and liberator. The film of the event that survives and is sometimes replayed in documentaries, is so stark that you cannot immediately associate it with the sereneness of this place. Perhaps, all storms do erupt somewhat from serenity.

Some aspects of the sonnet represents great personal importance, by way of its confessionary nature, to me. It is beyond denial that the concept was inspired by Rupert C. Brooke’s excellent if idealistic War Sonnets.

I Live With The Possibility (1989)

I live with the possibility
that soon shall I meet one
whose nature would cause mine
be aroused to passion and
excite to matchless permutations
of risky computations;
perhaps tomorrow or the day after
little does the “when” matter
except that I’m ready
best and collected
for such opportunity.
You, whom I had stolen
once a glance, across the pool
whom I chance to stand shyly
in the elevator with
one, as good as dear as You
whose lips formed words of love
as I fell
ideal of beauty, as you
physical and ethereal,
whose open heart and perfect hands
I can only dream is my good fortune
someday to welcome with mine own.



1989
I remember writing this in Dubai, on the way to London, and reflecting on my other recent summer flights to Europe. Again, based on the notes on the original scripts and copy, it was a time which was just a few years since I found myself familiar with the continental lifestyle, being just 24 years old, and very, very impressionable.

One Night (1989)

éèn nacht

Could I help not noticing
Beauty himself standing
by the window
hands in pockets
dreamy eyes wide

Could I help not to think
youth himself enjoying
the happy beat
of music rapping feet
dancing to dawn

Could I help not dreaming
heaven himself staring
a tastefulness
love awaiting chance
an invitation to dance

Could I help not asking
love himself awaiting
heart be still
skip a beat
contemplates defeat

Could I help not smile
laughter himself teasing
frolicking night
revelry till light
a thoroughfare

Could I help not hope
child himself laments
brief is the while
to hold and to smile
kiss a while

Could I help not repeat
opportunity himself passing
lasts one night
might never knock again
I remain
You gently, quietly, abashedly ease from sight



Expansion of an idea of one guy trying to pick up another guy at the dance floor at EXIT, a gay disco in Amsterdam, popular among the young local and foreigners especially in summer. There is some inspiration based on how I met Hans de Wit of Schiedam in mid-June, one weekend in 1989 during my three week vacation there. This guy is the epitome of Dutch youthful handsomeness, with a sauveness and pensiveness that was disarming. We became fast friends, and definitely the envy of many.