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Monday, April 28, 2008
Daphne Quah Goes On Holiday
The ego is going on holiday. Daphne Quah's self-esteem has hit a new low. 4 rejections in 2 months. She simply cannot go on doing this. Hitting brick wall after brick wall. She should have seen it coming. She saw the first one coming. She was in denial. Then she accepted it and moved on. But somehow, the destruction of the first one created this monster within her. This monster that caused the subsequent next 3 dead ends.This pollyanna monster who somehow believed that man was intrinsically good and that she could believe everything a man tells her. Wrong. This monster has caused her to be left high and dry, and when she should have quit while she was ahead, she kept going back and subsequently ended up with her bum on the grounded and the rug pulled out from under her, and still no shag. This monster has placed rose-tinted glasses on her nose, through which she now sees the world and even though she knows it's there, she cannot, for the life of her, remove them. In fact, she's forgotten how the world looks like without these glasses. She sees pictures from ye olde days, but they seem strangely familiar yet foreign. It's like you know you've heard a certain song before, but you cannot, for the life of you, recall where you heard it. Daphne, for the life of her, cannot tear herself away from the belief that everyone out there is good and true. She believes everyone and everything. And hopes for the best. And obviously, ends up bitterly disappointed and feeling cheated, as we have established from the opening sentence. She's been played out by 4 men, and she STILL believes they're good and true and she doesn't think they're wankers. No. Because to Daphne, people are intrinsically good. And these men had absolutely no intention of leading her just so she could be another notch on the belt for them. She still wants to be their friend and still thinks highly of each and every one of them. Why don't we learn? Just because you found a glimmer of hope doesn't mean that everywhere you go from now on, that same glimmer of hope will permeate everything and everyone around you. We need to knock some sense into you before you scar yourself permanently and end up even more bitter and cynical than you were before.All dressed up and nowhere to go : (Noun) Daphne.Someone torch that stupid stick before it claims another victim.Why are women such dumb, vile, hopeful creatures? Why do we have such great big hearts which we willingly let people trample on and smile politely as they wipe their filthy feet on our doormats as they leave the mess which used to be our heart behind?
Monday, April 21, 2008
So my blog is officially emo. According to Maine. ehehehI've always prided myself on my razor sharp gut instinct. But it's been failing me of late. Why?I eat too much I drink too much I want too much Too much
- Too Much, Dave Matthews BandAnd I think too much.Ironic how you build up a wall to protect yourself, yet you've left your back gate totally open and you're being hit unawares and have no recourse to action.I trust too much.That's my hamartia. People aren't intrinsically good Daphne. When will you learn?I've become even more skeptical than I once was. How is that possible? And to think I'm trying to build on my positivity now. Ha, the irony. I guess I'll never learn. I'll stay bait after bait after bait. Manipulation after manipulation after manipulation. Thinking I know better but really, I don't.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Seemingly like a scene out of a movie about the end of the world. That was today. It was unreal. I loved it. They wind is still going. Watching it from the comfort within a school hall, through the glass doors, seeing the branches bend and almost feeling them creek from yards away; seeing the dust and sand dance their waltz in the schoolyard; watching the magpies stranded and confused; seeing the branches and leaves strewn across the ground, being swept away and countless more replacing their positions on the ground. If there ever was a scene of beautiful utter desolation retaining that bit of hope in it, this was it.A whole village without power for hours. And driving home with the lights all not working. Seeing the lampposts and traffic lights shiver ever so vehemently in the wind. Firemen restoring fallen fly-away boards. Mountains of sand found eons away from the sea in people's porches. Driving to the beach, watching the sky and hearing the wind against the body of my car. The sky wasn't even an overcast grey. It was the colour of sludgy mud. It was beautifully poetic. That sense of decay and desolation in the sky, looming overhead, all over and around me, inescapable, was strangely liberating. Regardless of where you go and where you look, it's all over you like a black rotting carcass in the desert covered with flies, til you go nearer and the flies flit away, and you realise the carcass is fresh and red, and all the black you saw was the blanket of flies. It almost seemed like the heavens were saying 'We're angry and we're disgusting and it's all your fault, and it's payback time.' Made me feel more excusable for being a shitty human being. I feel as if there, amongst that muddy sky, lurking somewhere in those airy depths, there lay the hidden connection between the larger cosmos and me. Being caught in the middle of the petulant sultry gale made me feel safe and strangely excitably on the edge of my seat, like my hand was being held by an old trusted friend and we were about to embark on the world's scariest ride. The element of danger in the air, the chaos surrounding me gave me a sense of security. Because I know, in spite of it all, we are all part of the elements, and sometimes, humans cause more harm unwittingly than the elements do. And maybe, just maybe, it's that thrill of living on the edge, among the danger, that keeps that flame burning. That fans it and feeds it ever so rarely. Danger. That's what it is. In life, and in theatre as well. That's what keeps us on our toes and on the edge of our seats. This dance with danger, the unknown, the risk, the stakes.Air. My element.Water. My sign.And a walk down memory lane.I couldn't resist it. I just had to. There would never have been a better time than today, amidst the turbulent winds and inhuman amount of sand blown into my eye. Tramonto. Ah beautiful memories. Things change. Circumstances change. People change. Feelings change. But the history, that stays. Within these buildings of change. The ghost of us continues to live within the walls. And no one will ever know. Except us, and those silent creaking walls. To be able to look in, when I used to always only be able to gaze out through the impaired glass. My heart aches a thousand times through. But I feel it no longer. I feel it yet at the same time I don't. This paradox haunts me.I'm feeling strangely settled and unsettled at the same time by the natural disturbances occurring round me. This tingling in the air; under my skin. The air around me, whirling. The water that is me, churning. And the fire within me, burning. Feeding the passion within me, yearning.These talks don't do me any good. They merely stir up the embers within me, creating yet another spark and crackle or two. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say. Tonight, my bedmate will be the whistling of sweet rustles and innumerable ghost whisperers in my ear. While I lay alone in bed, snug, yet cold at the same time. Protected, yet vulnerable. Wise, yet childlike. Dejected, yet hopeful.Oh my heart cracks. But what is another lash of the whip on a bloody back that has been torn to shreds?The cracks on the vase are so numerous that another one makes no difference. Besides, it has been stuck back and glued together, no amount of cracks will make it fall apart. Unless it is dropped. But this vase has been locked in a glass cabinet, and the key lost. A hole has been cut into the side of the cabinet; you may reach in and grab the vase, stroke it, caress it, flick it, even squeeze it. But it stays firm. And the hole is big enough for your hand to go in, but too small for the vase to be taken out.I will not be a Philip Larkin.I will not live the toadwork.I will not be the Charge of the Light Brigade.I may not be the Ship Song.I don't believe in Instant Pleasure.I refuse to be my own quicksand.I will not let you be my quicksand.I do not set your soul alight. No. Not anymore. I am a stag:of seven tines,
I am a flood:across a plain,
I am a wind:on a deep lake,
I am a tear:the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk:above the cliff,
I am a thorn:beneath the nail,
I am a wonder:among flowers,
I am a wizard:who but I
Sets the cool head aflame with smoke? I am a spear:that roars for blood,
I am a salmon:in a pool,
I am a lure:from paradise,
I am a hill:where poets walk,
I am a boar:ruthless and red,
I am a breaker:threatening doom,
I am a tide:that drags to death,
I am an infant:who but I
Peeps from the unhewn dolmen arch? I am the womb:of every holt,
I am the blaze:on every hill,
I am the queen:of every hive,
I am the shield:for every head,
I am the tomb:of every hope. ~ Robert Graves
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