my love for syncopation extends itself uninvited to my career. now i find myself in that awkward space between the up and the down beat, dangerously capable of being hip, or merely out of time. should i settle comfortably into the backbeat of a fat, chill groove, or should i push, so that i can stay on (not ahead - never ahead, that’s a fool’s pursuit). on beat, on trend, on your mark get set go back to where you came from. onomatopoeia, ontology, onion, onyx, on. the false dichotomy of being either that or “off”. of course. official, offense, offal, oh i see. no i don’t. my prized prism of self-expression needs a focused beam of light, what i have now is a (beautifully) dispersed wash of soft glows.


别在草地的边缘玩 -
脆脆的声音 -
好玩吧 - 
- 小心!
别在草地的边缘 -
踩 踩踩 踩 踩 踩


sweet little darling
pink toes, taut tummy, curious child-ling
sticky in the heat
wrinkly itty-bits
strangely charming

born to be a wild thing
gurgles, gibberish, coo-ing, wailing
kick your tiny feet
clench your tiny fist
what could be so alarming?

sometimes i give you kind advice
axioms reiterated by fools and the wise;
i tell you i love you baby, once, twice, thrice
you may not comprehend, but
in time you’re sure to understand

i see the best of myself in your eyes 

I don’t have a right (to grieve) - 
I barely knew you
But you smiled for everyone -
I felt you smiled for me

I don’t have a right (to cry) -
Your friends have shed enough
But you sang for everyone -
You must have sung for me

Forgive these angry tears;
Indulgent sentiment
You’ve left before your years
Whilst my time’s ill been spent

I don’t have a right (to mourn) - 
I am not your kin
When you won, you became my win
When you are a song, you’re mine to sing


composers and arrangers impress me. i’ve never been confident writing music. only lyrics. and even then, mostly only when inspired.

clearing out my digital closet, i discovered an old project i had to do for the Science of Music module back in University. this was not a music module, but a science module. i was educated in neither. i just thought it would be a fun cross-faculty module to do (i was quite wrong).

as a final project, we had to compose and create our own midi sequenced track. so here it is, or rather, here is a crappy recording of the already pretty crappy MIDI track because i don’t know how to convert it to mp3. (no wonder i did badly at the module!). technically the only song i have ever composed and arranged, submitted as “m001069Y01”.

(19 plays)

sometimes someone, a complete stranger, articulates that which you have felt, observed or understood tacitly for a long time but have been unable to express. in a song, in verse, in prose, in symbols. in fiction, in academic jargon.

when sometimes happens, you discover that the feeling you had before was loneliness and that being understood is a human and social need.

it is marvelous that a man - someone i might never meet, whose work from decades ago that was written in czech, translated to french and then translated again to english - could make me feel a little less alone.

02:07 you: Do you hear the rain my love? Making the night seem both lonelier and livelier all at once? It isolates and envelopes your world while making pretty pattering promises.

02:10 you: Somedays my thoughts feel like the endless drumming of rainfall. Restive and reiterant.

02:13 me: let your thoughts nourish the flat bed of silence; the chasm between each drip-splat a universe of mindful echoes

02:15 you: Maybe that’s how the dead talk to us. Wet whispers of bygone souls.

02:18 me: or perhaps it’s all those unspoken sentiments, saturated into existence. beating hard on deaf asphalt.

02:22 you: Unspoken. Yes. Looking at your old photos now while listening to music. No words needed. You look so pretty.

02:25 me: i’m taking a break from rehearsing. feel a little alive, a little foolish, a little a lattle a lot of in love with you.

what does it mean to be an “indie” artiste? it’s not the lomofied photos of yourself in buccolic surroundings. nor the hipster outfits. nor the lo-fi acoustic recordings. all that is lovely of course. but that which used to be the spirit behind the music, or the necessary creative circumvention of not having funding, has now become an aesthetic in itself. one that is being reproduced and propagated in hollow fervour.

indie was about being independent. it’s the charm of not being subjected to profit-driven label directives. an indie label is an oxymoron really.

i much prefer the word “autonomy”. i have often used this in description of my position as an unsigned artiste. someone possessing the freedom of will or action.

i look forward to the day when i can be managed by someone whom i can trust. when i have the resources to complete the many projects that exist as blueprints in my mind. when i don’t have to deal with paperwork or People. but unless i feel like i can take my autonomy with me, this is where i’m happy to be.

too many words on my wall
the social catch-all
unending social calls paid
genuine convenient concern
posts pokes poets

love is a barter good.

peculiar because in its most coveted form, it is traded in exchange for itself.