LASALLE SHOW
the lasalle degree-diploma show was surprisingly good, surprisingly magnificent. hazel and i were so distracted by the exhibition we neglected the freeflow until it was over. travesty? it would be a bigger one not to give $20000 worth of corrugated cardboard, that formed the backbone of the lovely degree showcase, due attention. a misaffinity with technology (specifically my dslr) means half the pictures i took that night went either lost, mis-exposed or blurry beyond salvation but it seems i have company – of the stack of namecards i collected, only eight portfolio websites actually worked, heehee.
ps: when you are a visionary, being insane only adds to your appeal. rest in peace michael jackson xx
productivity killer #23561 = the need to fill up blank postcards.
ARGH, ARGH, ARGH.
today i am immensely defeated and never want to wish my sketchbook upon anyone.
going to bully silas now to reclaim vague feelings of control.
JANUARY RANDOMS
week01 
have a wonderful 2009.
week02
when this cheapskate peruser is reading 
“You working for our man then?” asked the bearded man. He was not sober, although he was not yet drunk. “It looks that way,” said Shadow. “What do you do?” The bearded man lit his cigarette. “I’m a leprechaun,” he said, with a grin.
and re-reading 
Sister Mary’s error might have been noticed by the other nun had not she herself been severely rattled by the Secret Service men in Mrs. Dowling’s room, who kept looking at her with growing unease. This was because they had been trained to react in a certain way to people in long flowing robes and long flowing headdresses, and were currently suffering from a conflict of signals.
neil gaiman is a dream and has charmed his way into my stubborn list of favourites (which more or less features a singular terry pratchett) ; very selfishly i fret about running out of gaiman titles to read and wish he’d live (and thus write) forever.
week03
this mural played out to be the most languid and breezy project – done in my own space, time, grimy singlet and cotton shorts. suspicious as i am of contentment, this activity gets me as gratified as my gangster cat, watching on, curled against mugs of expired coffee.
week04
finds me engaged in the profitable annual enterprise of finding out just where the mother hid the mini-popiahs. the patriach, in a rare display of ingenious proactivity, has taken to hanging the bee cheng hiang parcel off his bedpost, bells attached. happy chinese new year y’all and i hope barbequed pork featured more prominently in your festivities!
week05
school is putting on the pressure. if my resolution of creating two sketchbook pages daily is anything to go by, today is 04 January 2009. =( here is to consequent abstinence till the semester ends. 
goodbye january, it’s been a languid, perfect first month.
FOUR MONTHS OF SPRING
woe is me, for t9 is dead. till s$699 finds its way into my wallet, expect shots of similar/lesser quality.
august begins with visiting lasalle upon a rumour and demanding my records be checked, which was duly executed, which verdict, to my chagrin, is “you start school four days from now.” four days from now! in the ensuing chaos i contemplate the dreadful prospect of a hazelnut-less semester while adam frets over me running off with some aspiring emo bearing skinnier legs and shaggier hair and who is thus, somehow, more suited for me than himself. worse than solitude and projected infidelity? in deference to the original plan which disallows my presence in school before january next year, i will be in phuket “four days from now”.
huzzah, lasalle administration, i want to give you profane love.
on a more pressing note, my class is CD5F. are you pleasant and pretty plus want to be friend? shall we form an attendance-marking plan?
LIFE BEGAN ON FRIDAY
assessments ended two days overtime for hazel and i, owing to the tried and tested theory that it doesn’t take much to convince the clinic of death-bordering exhaustion/nascent high fever after several nights of non-sleep. being in design school is practically a condition in itself anyway, if only for the way it dehydrates muh crowning glory. the travesty! hazel actually got a ONE WEEK MC owing to a cornea ulcered history and a tricky red eye. hit the club where jinesh, post-lawfinals, wore his sweater on his legs in a half hour of mad lib/heightened sartorial consciousness. 
my assessments felt kinda like fine arts projects; in lieu of all images having to be owned, i ended up, very ironically, spending most of my time painting everything. results came back to reveal that i made it through the semester, understandably, just by the skin of my teeth. i just… DO NOT KNOW what to do about this school thing. 
life began on friday. friday afternoon to be precise, when lunch took five hours to accommodate beer and a lovely long talk with hazel. 
. this verily means I AM BACK FROM HELL; neathandal directives, paper rage and unheralded creative enterprise in linguistic execution – it can only be design school.
i want so badly to be good.
recycled drawing for noisesingapore submissions.
the past week’s critic review was tough. hidayah opened her spiel publically pronouncing me a waste of time, ginette suspected a school assignment i worked this careless heart out for was a reused mural from work and i realised i’ve followed an eighty-page-worth wrong track for the creative process journal. heaven smite these abstract nouns! in the sacred name of sensible design, wouldn’t it be a better bid to name them as they are, i.e.: photography (imaging and communication), computerclass (screen-based communication), critical review (critic review, for clarity-by-grammar’s sake) and off-studio journal (creative fucking process journal).
agri, to my msn nickname which read i am the only 4am girl., “i am an 4am girl too!” which brought me back to the complete fiascos of the last year’s reflective journal submission. we, that’s hazel, agri and i, bought our sketchbooks together at the same time – weekend before the deadline, seriously, would you expect anything less of us – and on monday hazel and agri appeared in school with FOUR AND SIX FILLED SKETCHBOOKS RESPECTIVELY. tuve UNO. over that weekend we went further than anyone else in the art of cut-pasting and discerning the fine limits of lecturer tolerance towards magazine extracts en masse (and superceding them by unprecedented margins anyway).
conservative estimates insist upon 168 CPJ pages for the exhibition tomorrow. ive got 22 which means a page every half hour to even remotely hit 50; i have to become God. ouut.
it must be a half-step short of tragic that i, nine months into lasalle, should still be struggling with its whys and wherefores with the clumsy effort of a perplexed amateur in a tedious bid to wield these nascent design skills like a seasoned street assassin. alas! assessment’s impending and i’m starting to smell the musky portents of doom in the atmosphere.
TAKEITAWAY
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars aparti carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
ee cummings
cultkhaosan- painting dreams for less than songs since 2006.
