dantedirenc

My sister hates me for doing this.
And my brother.
My dad was mildly riveted when this came up, but what the heck. Manifest aside, this is probably the grandest weeaboo pilgrimage I have undertaken.

I don't even know who did this originally. But I'm actually happy I did this.

PLEASE COVER. I WANT TO HEAR COVERS. :'D


(Also. I turned eighteen. FFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU)

I find myself now in possession of a new power.
One that I cannot yet fully control, but that will definitely be advantageous. It won't be particularly useful for the most part, but when I need it it'll be quite a lifesaver.
Trouble is I need to be perfectly still if I want it. And water. Water is essential.
But it's something I guess.
...
I really should be doing my essays, but I can't get over having this new ability. I've wanted it for a long while now, so I'm quite happy to finally have it. :3

Ah, and if I haven't said it before, please take the liberty of looking at this...

Right, off to Chomskyland.

H3 after H3 after H3, failure will come to personify me more than it already does.
I already see myself on a park bench, naked after having sold all my clothes, dying alone under scavenged newsprint.
I feel the cold on my hands, the disgust at myself that has stewed for so many years it has all but congealed into blank, mindless staring. I am not slipping, I've already fallen, all the way to the bottom, and all I can do is use my bloodied fingernails, weary from scratching and scaling the walls of this hole, to attempt to dig my way out, not knowing that every handful of dirt I extract from the ground will only lead me further into the bottom.
There is nothing worth living for.
Nothing.
Not my mother. Not my stomach.
Least of all my dreams, or whatever was left of them once last year finished off with them.
Nothing is worth living for, but the fear of the pain of death.
Sometimes I stop worrying about whatever lies beyond death, because it doesn't matter any longer - it's definitely better than this.
I could do something completely insane I guess, but knowing me it would only fail.
I could do something perfectly rational, but knowing me, it would only fail, more terribly than if I took a complete and utter risk.

Today, I was starting to brush my teeth, and the toothpaste blob fell as a collective whole into the sink.

Yesterday was the birthday of my friend Cheryl. Happy birthday again. XD
And so.
Yesterday I got up from Phaik Yie's couch in the foetal position for the 3rd or 4th time (today I got up off Yogi's couch. Couches are fun places to sleep!), and the first thought that coursed through my head for the past week coursed through my head again. (I'm not telling you what it is. Only that the moment I make any honest move to get up it'll come to harass me.) And so in a while, the Bokemon were all off to Fitzroy.

So. Fitzroy. Grace and I each had a pie, Phaik Yie had a quiche if I remember correctly (screw the details, my pie was delicious!) and Yogi had a sausage roll. Grace's pie committed suicide, so its bloody remains, more resembling pavement pizza than actual blood and guts, had to be removed from the scene. I was the last to finish, because me and my pie were voyeuring as the contents (entrails) of the other pie (his evident brother) were placed in the dustbin.

We walked on to Dangerfield, where as usual I spent a little too much. This happens almost every time I walk on to Dangerfield's factory outlet because the clothes are beautiful. Usually.
That, and I bought my first handbag. Today I was a woman.
Sort of. It was black PVC with bat wings on the sides. It was epic, and $10. Needless to say I was sold, and so was Phaik Yie, who thrusted it at me. (Now I curse and swear because I'm not good with opening the metal clasp. Yogi [mai waifu] does that for me sometimes. XDDDDDD)
I also have a tailcoat now. That baby was $150 the last time I saw it last year, and now it was $20. Really now. But it'll need some ironing. And preferably some modifying, unless I layer like crazy, which I just might. I know what clothes I want in that ensemble, is for sure.
And I couldn't find the pants I love so much, a pity. But I have a new pair, and while it's pretty normal, I think it's still beautiful. (Needs a belt too, though.)

Right. So. We went to Victorian Gothic and the two stores next to it I can never remember the names of. Nothing there really. No Fang sandals. But we did find Bayonetta-style heels.
I wore them.
It was good.
They were $279.
Of course I'm not getting them.
Barely 5 minutes into them and I wanted to bawl my feet off.
Yogi is mai waifu.

We went to the actual Dangerfield after that. They sell Ozzy shades now.
"Sharon, we need to talk, love."
"Well maybe you're still on the fucking crazy train, but I've been the Prince of Darkness since 1979."
I made the counter staff lol. Great success. Now I'm compelled to watch all Ozzy's stuff again.
(Damn, speech impediments.)

Cheryl's birthday was great. Cake and pasta and stuff. It was quite awesome, or at least more so than what my fatboy did the day before.

Getting Plastic Beach was even better.
The Gorillaz albums have been a perpetual source of religious fanaticism to me. Buying the albums (I bought my first one at the age of thirteen) always fill me with unspeakable joy. (They only have three, understandable.) And the sound...their sound is unparalleled.
My favourite song at the moment's Superfast Jellyfish. I think I'll like Glitter Freeze.
Getting it at Borders was quite the experience though. Was the first time I heard the word "mainstream" being used to describe Gorillaz. Scary shit there. It looked almost like Plastic Beach was all out, but it was simply in hiding. Apparently it sells really well.
Ah, and the covering's cardboard only. I see what you did thar, eco men. :D

Cola cupcakes are crazy good. Must thank the poster over flickr soon.
And of course, redeem my lost non-teaching week in studies.

Right, so I went through the list in my head of songs I've always wanted to download but never got around to, and I came across a curious song from thirteen years ago. (Damn. I was five. How time flies. Every other ear-rape I've posted online has been a song made before I was born. I feel so old now.)
Anyway there's only one reason why I know this song, and I'm not dedicating this song to that reason, as much as that reason was good.

I like to introduce the ear-rapes, so there. This song was recorded in 1996, and released the next year. It was apparently created in parody of American grunge, but ironically shot the British band which performed it to fame in America. It has lots of 2s in it, being the second track of the band's eponymous album, with a duration of 2 minutes and 2 seconds. Also I like British music better than American music, so yeah.

This is Song 2. WOOHOO!

So, with apologies to Damon Albarn and the rest of Blur, for anything I perchance may have done wrong with this fifth ear-rape (it's one of the few I don't not like somehow or other, and hey, it's a sports anthem), I bring you...the fifth ear-rape.

Enjoy. :3

UPDATE THE NEXT DAY: Intensity up! The previous one had lacked a bit of the muchness I thought should be in this song.

I've had a lot of time. Shoot days, a falling-out, readings, essays. I've had a lot of time before this new LJ post. I don't know if my musical abilities have improved or not, but I can cook for myself, and complete a right full split now. I am so very proud.
Today I went through a lot of pain which I decline to elaborate upon, but after a long, long, long hiatus, I bring you ear-rape.

This is a cover of a cover, first written in 1975 by Alan Merrill and Jake Hooker, from The Arrows, a band I have never listened to. But everyone loves Joan Jett's version better (In your face, Miss Spears), and the woman shares my birthday, and so I give my fervent apologies to her being the object of my...fourth ear-rape.

I apologise, Joan Jett. I only just fell in love.

Meanwhile, on a brighter note, because I've clearly deteriorated, I'd like to shamelessly plug two things.
1) You know the shoot days? They go here.
2) The song Tegami by Angela Aki. I heard it just now, and I wanted to cry.

Please listen to this. It beats Bad Romance any day. And I know I've been through existential crises, considered suicide more than once over this period, planned to visit Aokigahara for I know what reason, gone agnostic, disappointed myself and many, many people around me, but this song is plain beautiful. And it makes things better to know that there's hope after all. :D

So...yeah. Am off to write my creative writing essay on last night, from my floor here at 0443. Eschewing the bed is fun. XD
Ja!

Right, so this is a tribute post to the organisation that birthed the first concepts of the I.B. (I would like to apologise to the Cedar ELDDS Drama people who read this and don't agree. Please leave your extremely raging comments on my LJ, where I shall unscreen them and read them and hopefully improve this list. Also to the Debaters because I don't address you lot of awesome people in this post. I'd rather be a fool than a fool at the top of my lungs.) I discussed this yesterday with Prisia, and afterward I collated the points and added some of my own.

Basically for quite a while now, Cedar's ELDDS (Drama) has the same level of recognition in school as New Directions in William McKinley High School in the first episode of Glee. (They've enlarged, expanded, evolved. We haven't.) We've got the awesome dedicated teacher-in-charge, that's brilliant, but without relevant support and action it won't work.

The extremely disturbing downward spiral that Drama has taken needs to be cited, before I give the game plan. Begin this anywhere you please, but it goes like this...
A lack of quality in performance leads to a lack of funding which leads to a lack of ability to improve the production which leads to a lack of quality in performance.
Rinse. Repeat. The worst thing about spirals? They have no end. (This is not a cycle. We do not respawn after every decrease.)

So, this context given, I shall not hesitate to raise controversy. The ten points that I believe will lead Cedar ELDDS (Drama) to higher ground.



1) Slowly discuss with Mr Sng (or whoever's around at the time. I personally like Mr Sng though).
1a) Best. Ally. Ever.
1b) Make it clear from the get-go, that while drama's fun, it's not completely fun and games. We're not here to screw around.
1c) Get the Lit teachers. Hell, get all the humans teachers, who said lit and drama have to be the only subjects married to each other?

2) Get the parents in on this. They'll know what's going on then, and it's better to have them with the organisation instead of against it.

3) Sewing lessons. Cedar ELDDS (Drama) needs costumes. Very badly.
3a) Borrowing is a possibility. But ELDDS doesn't have funds for that. Yet.
3b) Failing that, (2) may provide a good save on this.
3c) Hair/makeup also, after that. Perhaps. But clothes first.

4) Make it harder. Step up the game. It attracts actual enthusiasts and weeds out the slackers and other people who aren't serious.
4a) If this means less members, let it mean that. Better to have three diamonds than a mound of dirt. Don't compromise quality for numbers, it's just wrong.
4b) To further define stepping things up, make meetings more frequent and/or longer. Make warm-ups essential and possibly more intense. Running may be beneficial to the respiratory system, for example.

5) Break down the Berlin Walls. If Drama is continuously married only to Literature, then it will become a source of very epic segregation. Count the numbers of Lit people in the ex-co in our year, if you want proof. (It was three Lit students and a prefect. It seems like the ideal combination by the Lit-Drama theory, but they didn't do very much logistically for Drama in the end.) Energy is most important, not the class they come from.
5a) As compatible as Literature is to Drama, it's not the only combination. Continuously marrying Literature to Drama, much like systematic whitewashing of Hollywood films, will very cause two main things to happen.
5ai) The Literature students may begin to have a superiority complex that causes them to believe they are the singular group of people who know what's going on at any given time, as well as that no one else does.
5aii) The rest of the students may begin to have an inferiority complex that causes them to believe that only Literature students know what's going on at any given time, as well as that they very possibly never will.
5aiii) The small population of non-Literature students who do believe that they may understand what should happen, will most likely be swiftly crushed by both of the main parties.
5b) In fact, screw that. It's not a humanities matter any longer, it's simply about the will to work on Drama. Forceful personalities --> advancement in Drama. Establish this as early as possible. Energy is paramount.

6) Suggest a change in direction. Cedar ELDDS (Drama) currently works on the premise that students can understand interpretative drama, but typically they cannot/will not. Appreciation will rise if we can relate to the people whom we make sit down to watch our work. (If in doubt, conduct a school-wide referendum. Chances are good the results will say the same.)
6a) Much as I liked the Langston Hughes anthology from 2006, it was seen as "scary" or "a gothic ritual" to most of the other people I asked about it.
6b) Appeal to their common senses first before delving deeper. Walk before you run, run before you fly.
6bi) Interpretative drama = difficulty in audience vision as well, especially when live photography is condoned. (Remember the Langston Hughes anthology.)
6c) Possibly depth is needed in SYF, as is good meaning, but build the Drama members up easy first. The best SYF performances are the ones where the cast and crew know exactly what's going on, and how to put it out there.
6d) Performance is in the end not about presentation, important as that is, but about reception. Drama is done by people, who can miscommunicate, and watched by people, who can misconstrue.

7) Participate, participate, participate. It's nothing honing our skills only for SYF. We've to find out where we stand. Get into drama competitions, independent and collaborative productions, and external productions. Either watching them or getting involved, both are fine.
7a) It'll be possibly demoralising at first, but watching other people will give us an idea of what we should and shouldn't do, for both performance and production.
7b) For Cedar, at least one major production a year. Two at most, but if they do any more then they'll just be making crap.

8) Collaborate. Cedar's an all-girl school, trouser roles are cool, but having the real deal is more awesome.
8a) Collaboration on said major production will lead to epic win.
8b) Basically, find a school nearby enough, and also intent on improving their drama division. It should exist. Mutual growth should ensue. Alternate rehearsal spaces, perhaps, might foster stage adaptability.
8bi) Travel will be a bit of an issue though. Somewhere near is ideal. This point will need a lot of thinking, due to the possible lack of communication with the brother.

9) Not just external collaboration, but internal collaboration. Wouldn't hurt picking up things from the other performing arts CCAs around them…Tamil Drama had good stage presence, last I saw.
9a) Dance could teach movement, choir could teach breath control and singing technique. Et cetera.
9b) Never. Let. Maid In Singapore. Reign. Again. That was the biggest insult ever seen directed at ELDDS, and it will not happen again, so help us all. (If you're from another performing arts CCA in Cedar, I offer my apologies. It is simply perplexing that a musical would involve every single other CCA, sports and uniformed groups included, and consign English Drama strictly to stagehand duty.)

10) Remember, after all this, that the students are still people with school lives. As dedicated as they can be, the grades need to show. It's a delicate balance, but it should be able to work; after all, most sport CCAs work just fine given the time they put in.
10a) Suggest group study sessions. Stronger students can teach weaker students. Weaker students directly gain information, stronger students fortify their knowledge base. It wins all around.
10b) Especially nearing the end of secondary school life.



Now, please arise, detractors. I need to refine this. The comments are below, please use and abuse them.

I've had a think about it and it's become clear to me that I don't have anything I can actually do.
Can't cook, can't clean, can't stand kissing ass. Can't consider myself intelligent, can't act, can't sing, can't dance, can't get a loving partner, can't get laid (don't want to but nonetheless), can't stop thinking, can't draw, can't paint, can't decorate, can't write well, can't focus, can't sit still, can't carry heavy things, can't run fast, can't type quickly, can't assume leadership, can't design, can't negotiate, can't freaking place contact lenses in my eye, can't create, can't critique, can't get a superlative placed on me for the life of me, can't enter whistle register, can't finish A Clockwork Orange, can't get my legs completely stretched after four freaking years. Can't carry intelligent conversation, can't compose sufficiently witty poetry, can't take decent photographs, can't function without a superiority complex, can't function on an inferiority complex, can't do mathematics, can't understand probability, can't take big risks, can't bungee jump, can't do physics, can't understand geography, can't listen, can't read maps, can't remember things, can't follow the law, can't play an instrument, can't Photoshop well enough that you don't know it's been done, can't get people to look at me twice without cringing, can't watch horror movies, can't be as sad as the next person in a Disney movie, can't go into any close relationships without them involving at least one element of violence, can't take control of her circumstances, can't shut up, can't make money, can't accept reality.
...
What the fuck can I do?
I'd like to define myself, but the fact of the matter is I can do jackshit other than what the next person can do. Less actually. There's only defining myself as completely useless, of course, but no one likes that and they'd all like to believe it isn't true even though it's glaringly obvious.

For the love of the nonexistent God I'd really like to end it all, but I cannot. I can't kill myself. I have no balls to.

I watched Alice in Wonderland today.
It was beautiful.
Like, eye rape beautiful.

And seeing the kids go all "it's a rabbit" as I walk by is still adorable. :3