I dreamt I kissed the Sun

I dreamt I kissed the sun the other day.

We were sitting at the corner of the universe with our legs hanging off the ledge of nothingness and beyond, and I was thinking aloud about how life was perpetuated for the rather rudimentary needlessness of transience in general. And she was telling me about how amazingly well I articulated the bygone native language of the cosmos – bullshitology.

She was impressed, I could tell.

Celestial winds billowed across our laps as we sat and watched the darkening multiverse as it spiraled its way into everythingness, and the candles that lit our view flickered for a moment and suddenly we were kissing.

Her blazing heat engulfing my lips, her golden spires of hair entangling my arms, her sunset lips perusing my soul and being. A part of me thought, “Shouldn’t I be lit a burning man?” And another part thought, “This is a dream, which clearly illustrates my own Freudian perceptions of exhibitionism as a lifestyle choice.” The last part of me (which was a significantly large part) thought, “This is fucking awesome.”

And then she took my breath away, burning away the last throes of my oxygen supply and letting my heart sing out its final moments of the dreaming and the real, its corpulent voice filled with clarity and emotion, and of the deepening consequences of being disastrously merely, mortal.

And I sit back from her and she smiles gently, with dream and reality secretly fading as the sunrise begun beneath our feet.

“It’s time,” she said softly, as she gazed towards the simmering glow from below.

“For what?” I asked.

“For the needlessness of transience, I suppose.”

And then, I woke up to the gushing traffic and the tidal wave of lurid morning voices and shouts and trundling feet of people going places.

“Ah,” I say to no one in particular. “Good morning.”

Ow

So I’m jogging along the nearby canal when my footing gives way during a turn and I stumble for a second and I hear the dismal scrunching of my left ankle joint.

“Why, hello Mr. Pain, it’s been such a long time since we shared a moment. Will you stay for a cup of tea and some biscuits? The kettle’s already on the stove.”

“Why yes, I think I will.”

“Waaaaaaaauuuuauuauauuauagh~”

Thank goodness for pain-relieving muscle rubs. The only thing now is that I smell like a wrinkly old Chinatown ah pei. Whinewhinewhine.

The Verbatim of the Masses is Stashed Under the Bed

What is it about collective denial that turns me off? Perhaps it’s the consistent head-shaking and impassive skepticism to everything-else-ness that makes me all silent and quiet on the facial front (whilst contemplating imaginary scenarios involving mass nuclear destruction and the collective end of humanity in my head).

When I was young, in primary school, I remember remarking about the veritable sizes of Procompsognathus, the little chicken-sized Triassic dinosaur that I had a personal affection for. Not that it mattered to my friends. Remember that this was a few years before Jurassic Park came along, “properly” educating the lot of us about the genealogies of dinosaurs in typified Hollywood form.

No.

The responses I got from saying “Actually ah, there’s a particularly small dinosaur that’s as small as a chicken” ranged from “Talk cock lah” to “Who you trying to bluff”, from some of my closest peers. The remarks were so harsh in nature that even I had begun to doubt my own facts on the matter (despite multiple recheckings of Mr. Encyclopedia himself).

More recently, the same scenario played out over a minuscule set of desserts at a local al fresco joint.

“Some species of house lizards are known to grow to the size of my palm”.

The subsequent wheezing and water-choking from (once more) some of my closest peers brought to mind rather gaudy flashbacks of my lizard-affirmation days from an earlier time. This time, I gave up on arguing. I guess I’ve learned that sometimes, reality isn’t meant to be bent for some people. That anything that upsets the natural order of things has a tendency for collective backlash – and I’m too old to be involved in that kinda shit.

Besides. We’ve got google.

On my part, I suppose my own “vow of silence” response was a positive confirmation of the Asch experiments. I think that when you first hear about them, the first thing you say to yourself is “I’m not going to fall for that”. Which was aptly, my initial reaction. No one wants to be part of the herd. But in truth, what Solomon Asch presented wasn’t a simple hypothesis on human conformity, but a suggestion for human indifference.

That’s one plausible reason why atrocities like the Holocaust, Dafur, and Iraq will always be with us. On one hand, you’ve got a bunch of enlightened individuals who feel that some of these things aren’t tangibly linked to us enough. On the other, you’ve got people going “Talk cock lah” and “Who you trying to bluff” (with the first group of people throwing their arms up in the air and going “What the Shit?”). Collectively, these elements, once shaken and stirred properly, result in the rather pulverizing cocktail mix of BTW, We R All Fuck-ed.

Not that it matters.

Really.

We’re all walking fossils anyway.

P.S: With reference to lizards: I know that dinosaurs aren’t exactly lizards. But for the sake of one man’s ongoing narrative rant > quit nitpicking will you?

On the Mechanics of Being a Man of Labor

So hor.

Apparently.

I’ve been experiencing my first instances of alienation and exploitation recently.

Working life iz the shiztyz.

Arghz.

I’ve been interning at a startup film production company for the past three weeks or so. The keywords are intern and startup. Both of which, when properly mixed, meshed, and blended together, result in the diminutive excuse for a certain Carrick to be immensely overworked, and horrendously underpaid.

Suffice to say, I’ve been feeling the torrid anguish of the oppressed and downtrodden to its fullest degree of late.

.

On the other hand. (which is a hand that is really, really, awfully, faraway from this hand).

I’ve been enjoying my work.

I’ve been enjoying designing and rendering the company’s website. (coming the soonz~)

I’ve been enjoying researching and sourcing the whereabouts of unknown productions companies and such.

I’ve been enjoying the civilities of free-flowing alcoholic parties and other riotous razzmatazz events. (and even getting to rub shoulders with the likes of Jack Neo, Robin Leong and Tan Pin Pin~)

I’ve even enjoyed being charged with script-writing a feature documentary series.

Which all in all, I figure: I’ve got it good.

Not that there isn’t room for improvement. (especially in terms of the financial side of things)

But.

In the general, are you happy with your life/job/position in the macrocosm of space and time and the universe? I think, for now? The answer’s a rather meek “yup”.

Observational Notes of the Office (by the Quiet Guy in the Next Cubicle)

I guess:

Sometimes, some people are like sponges. They absorb everything around them, and you hardly hear a squeak from them, unless you squeeze them till it hurts.

(but this seldom happens)

Sometimes, some people are like photocopy machines. They take whatever you give to them, and they print it all out again (with some ink smudges here and there), and they claim it for their own.

(people like that aren’t generally well-liked in social settings)

Sometimes, some people are like little staplers. They hold all the things together, and you never really can do much without them around.

(otherwise, it’ll all be a great bloody mess)

Sometimes, some people are like watches or clocks. They keep on going, with no aims or goals or destinations, and no directions, just wandering and meandering on and on until the batteries die out – which is a sad sight to see.

(and requires some Kleenex if its readily available)

I reckon:

I’m like a chair. One of those sturdy old ones with fixed legs and a general wobble when you tilt too far to the sides. Old. And sturdy. Patient, and always waiting. Occasionally, I do the traditional ass kissing. Sometimes I enjoy my job, just wallowing away as an accessory to the bigger office furniture pieces.

Sometimes I turn out to be the centre piece of attraction (whenever the Company decides to play a round musical chairs, for instance).

But generally. I just sit around and wait for things to happen. Sometimes they’re bad. Often, I reckon they’re for the better. Sometimes, things fall on me. Sometimes, they fall off. I’m good at being a chair I guess. I guess that’s why they call me…

…

(which is violently predictable, to a certain extent)