Summary | November 29th, 2009

1. searched for cheap plane tickets from rome to bucharest (again; had been repeating that since over a week ago)
2. searched for hostels in bucharest
3. searched for the location of palace of parliament, museum of the romanian peasant, botanical garden
4. bought plane tickets for bucharest
5. booked hostel to stay in bucharest
6. searched about how to get from Baneasa Airport to the hostel
7. searched about bus routes and taxis in bucharest
8. wikipedia bucharest in general
9. wikipedia communism
10. layout exhibition space plan for studio (finally)

She Stole My Voice

It is so hard to watch She Stole My Voice, a documentary on lesbian rape by Justine Chang and Armand Kaye. It is truly devastating to finish the film. It's purely disturbing. And definitely the topic raised up million of question within my head.

Do you think it's possible for a woman to rape a woman?

Is it more hurtful for a man to rape a woman than a woman raping a woman?
What if the victim is a lesbian?
Would she be traumatized if the rapist is a male or a female?

Would you think yourself, or your female partner, be more impacted by the event if the rapist is a woman instead of a man?

Would you deal with the situation differently someone told you they have been raped by a woman instead of a man?
Would you take them seriously?

I don't think I've any answer to the questions above. I'm still overwhelmed by the film.

Trailers and producer interview can be seen here:
http://www.rmdglobal.net/she-stole-my-voice/

To view She Stole My Voice online:
http://www.megavideo.com/?v=TAT2SFMR

Story | Light

The chandelier is shattered into pieces. Bits of broken glass.

It is bleeding, uncontrollably.
Masking tape doesn't stop it. Bandits seem too weak to held in all the red liquid.
Toilet paper? With tape maybe. Let's see.

When will it lite again? Surely it would take a long time to assemble.
All those little crystal beads, wire hooks, and incandescence oval shaped light bulbs.

Go get candles. And a lighter please.


2009/11/24

Story | Filtration

Filtering things are not as simple as one would think.
It is not filtering grey water through vertical plantations. It is not filtering air with trees. It is not filtering sound by elevating or acoustic panels. It is not filtering hot caffeinated beverage with a coffee filter. It is not filtering oils on top of soups with a special scoop. It is not filtering loose hair with a mesh cup at the shower drain.

But rather…
Sorting out incidents in memory. Complicated.
Cleansing out the recollection in our brain. Tough.
Purifying the mind. Tremendous effect.

Will a museum centered on filtration help you?


2009/11/26

Story | Dotted Line

Ever thought of connecting the invisible between two solids? I mean they are fun – and they could possibly lead you into seeing your own future. But then, one may say they don’t want to know about their upcoming life. Well, up to you. I’m just saying those seem-to-be-not-there spaces can bring you things you have never thought of, never seen of, never heard of – well you get the idea – before. Imaginations spark up new things and fantastic ideas. Materials get invented. Stuff changes positively. People grow in prosperity.

Now, try connecting the dots. And see if magic appears.


2009/11/22

Story | Gridded Pancakes on Paper

Lists jotting down the pros and cons doesn’t help anymore. The multi-layer pancake is cut up into pieces, yet no one is consuming it. Jams are splattered everywhere on the plate, yet to be cleaned. Did I mention maple syrup hasn’t been added yet? Surely chaos will come as soon as the maple tree sap drips on land.

Guidelines. What I need is guidelines. To regulate the grid. To give a reason for doing an organization. What? What about pockets, and other irregularities within the stubborn, rigid structure?

Maybe I should just put the recycles out. That way the problems will get reincarnated to someone else’s life.


2009/11/22

Story | Tearing apart

The feeling of being torn apart is not easy. In fact terrible.

You just want to pick a side, decide between two things, or just simply make up your mind. But it is actually than you thought it would be. The challenge exhausts you, drains out all of your energy, reduces you to nothing.

One provides you home, a more familiar environment (although some many years had gone by, and things are probably different anyway), your friends, not being an alien living in isolation, likely more money, the ordinary path of how one would go.

The other gives you adventure, the magic of sunshine (plus all those spooning, bedding and making love thingies), a foreign scene, being a in-between that will never be able to escape, messing up on travel tickets and original plans.

What would you do? Will you go back home, or to go on a roller coaster ride?


2009/11/20

Quote + Art of the Day

Soul under the moon (detail)
Yayoi Kusama
2002

幻想不是空想，它可以成為動力，推動我們邁向目標。

Imagination is not just a fantasy; it can be turned into energy, deriving us towards our goals.

Story | Dust

Sooner or later things don’t matter anymore. Everything will decompose into particles, possibly regenerating into something new. Something none of us knew about.

Won’t it be nice to be a cloud? Or a happy marshmallow being roasted and melted with chocolate as part of a s’more? Don’t forget the graham cracker. And also bagged inside a metallic piece of wrapping paper with little sparkly triangles.

Press the reset button. Restart your existence.


2009/11/02

Story | The Pretty Flower

I hope one day I will become a pretty flower. Where people love me a lot. Instead of being a lonely disturbing plant. Even if the beautiful only blossoms for a day. It’s worth it. Totally worth it. Why can’t I be the one being loved by many many people? I want to be wanted by others too. Even dummies get their admirers’ attention.

Even now, after many many years, I had wished for this on my every birthday. I still hope that I can become a pretty flower. Even just for a day.


2009/11/02

Story | Drainage of Quietness

Water floods out uncontrollably.
No one can stop it.
Not you, nor me.

Things are dropping.
Hitting the ground, each contributes by creating a note of silence.

Perhaps only goodness would save the last drop of water.

Noise, are you here?


2009/11/02

Story | Tick Tack Tick

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Tears are long gone.
Life is drained out completely.
Yet memories remain inside the empty shell.

Is this why stories were written and neatly typed?
Is this why whipped cream fell on the ground?
Is this why chocolate melted on the fingers?
Is this why villas and gardens were built?
Is this why time rolls away in silence?
Is this why people choose to die?


2009/11/02

Story | Accumulation

Messy things get accumulated up.
Eliminate the annoying fragments as soon as possible.
Clear one before intaking another.

Be a good person.
And release yourself too.


2009/10/11

Story | Songs and Memories

While my housemates are all resting in bed still, at precisely 7:20 on a Sunday morning, sitting in the dark corridor, trying to search for free wireless connections, I started to hum songs from quite a while back, the memory of the past. The melodies brought me back to the time where I was struggling though certain things, friends, crushes, horrible experience, and of course, sweet little incidents.

A large portion of me changed within that particular moment of time til now. I was involved with a very ambiguous relationship, or I should say friendship, with a person. We shared lots of intimate, or not really, moments. Going on bus trips and getting stuck on the way to search for the best lemon tarts in a small town. Sharing a tub of strawberry sorbet while sitting in front of a 15-inch laptop to watch the stupidest romantic movie. Sitting on metal egress stairs to have veggie burgers and seasoned fries. Walking along the riverside to look for and to feed swimming fishies. Wandering in downtown to look for a spark of light from the mini firework stick, trying to find the last moment of time.

The air felt dense. Nuit-blanche went by. The city got back to its usual deadness. We did not miss the inter-town bus that gets us home in the suburbs. We slept as quiet as still water. But then she left. To the far far away London.

Will the red double-deck bus still operate as if nothing had changed? Will it run faster or slower than the green cab beside it? Will it break out of its route that runs in a routine and set itself free one day?


2009/11/01

Story | Will there be a tomorrow?

Everybody hates me now.
No one loves me.
Hah.
I'm such a loser.
Yelling at people I like.

Will I change one day?
Perhaps.

Actually everyone should just abandon me.

Bye.
I love you all.


2009/10/28