Perfect is Ideal

Let’s talk about perfection. I’m a perfectionist at heart. The paradox of all perfectionists is that we vehemently know, full bloody well, that “perfection” is impossible. Which is precisely why we try to negate the negatives, to grind down the imperfections…and end up with something, quite possibly, nearly “perfect”. Which isn’t too bad.

The brutal description of the perfectionist is the anal-ist. I don’t mind being called that. Being anal retentive is the hallmark of being careful, cautious, and a general bastard to everybody else. From my stories, to my songs, to my digital designs – perfection, or rather, the pursuit of it, remains an agonizing component of the process.

Which explains why: I’m still editing my honours thesis. In fact, the “Special Cut” version is scheduled to roll out next weekend. It’ll be the first copy of my thesis that I’ll be intrinsically kinda satisfied with. I’ve tweaked a few more sentences, I’ve removed a few grammatical/spelling errors. It’ll be binded. And served.
But it isn’t the end.
You see, perfectionists are completely aware, that “perfection” is im-possible. Ergo, in the giant squid killing process that is c r e a t i o n, the so-called “ends” are only enthusiastic hiccups in the throaty phlegm of “hey…let’s do one better”.
So.
The “Director’s Cut” version of the thesis is set to come out this winter. That one is the one with the drastic cutting of paragraphs and insertion of multiple endnotes (of unused field data and the like), and a special “researcher commentary” chapter at the end. It’ll exist only just because it needs to. An artefact of something larger than itself, another story written among the shadow of possibilities that is the forever algorithm of the nearly “perfect”. And that my friends, is why some people have a tendency to go “Aiyah Carrick, why you so lik dat?”

Like that means like that lor. Sometimes, satisfaction is derived from the journey itself.
That, is the moral of the story.

1 Sentence Stories #2

#2 – On Location, In Transit

She wanted to listen to the music of the skies, the miscellaneous transmissions of the funky heavens; but found that all the serenading wires were tangled, up.

Holy Shit, man! Skyscrapers!

It’s quite inspiring you know, to be faced with this sight each time I clock into office. It’s the view from the URA lift lobbies, eight floors up. I think it kinda makes sense, that urban planners are daily confronted with the realities of the-things-we-do. In the distance, I spot the soft glaring glows of the unseen steel welders of another upcoming tower of glass, and the sociologist in me imagines that it’s probably a slew of Burmese/Vietnamese migrants, silently building the concrete dreams of a city that wasn’t their own.

Ah well.

I’m swamped with upcoming projects. It helps that they’re all massively interesting but I can’t talk about em cause they’re all pretty much hushhush. But I’m foreseeing myself a few weeks down the road, rushing for deadlines and meetings with the multitude of bosses (of whom I loyally report to). Filled with stacks and stacks of architectural blueprints and concept plans under my air-conditioned armpits, rattling off figures of spaces and things, and trying hard not to exclaim in sudden ecstasy (whilst pointing in the distant distance): Holy Shit, man! Skyscrapers!

That. Would not be a good thing.

Because we’re boldest when we’re standing on

Because we’re boldest when we’re standing on the shoulders of giants.
These soulful swaying waves of easy graces, these silent windswept firmaments of stellar collisions.
Here’s to everyone whose been inexplicably entwined with the story of the year:
You see. I’ve graduated liao.

White is Black

With changes in life come changes in virtual life, and so here at theplanktonsociety, we’ve decided to switch up our blogging template, just because.

Anyway.

Some things about my first week as a civil servant:

1: It’s good to know that I’m surrounded by nice bosses and great colleagues. (who also, incidentally, have the propensity to unload and arrow stacks of work in the general direction of Carrick’s Cubicle)

2: It’s also good to know that my office is in the nearby vicinity of some seriously delicious eating places. (of which, some are worth getting lost for, whilst others, not so much)

3: Last night I dreamt that I was at a bar-be-que with several friends and strangers. Random stranger: “Yo why is that Jay Z record blastin’ up in her’; hey that track is da dope my man! Shalt we declares that the prevailing month be ‘Lost, Delirious, but Mirth is the Definitive Legit Terrestrial Currency’ month? Howabout Them Apples, my brother?”

Carrick: “Them apples sound lovely, stranger dude”.

-

That’s all. For now. Next week: Graduation! ORD LOH~

They’ll Be Dancing in Heaven Right About Now

Those shoes, the hat, that glove.
In the end, we’re all molecules. But man, you made it magic. Brilliant, sheer blazing, magic.
It can’t be helped, I think:
I want you back.