Part I: Light entertaining Alluring, do you do? Back view. These are surely, surely elegant flares. Revealing a little of what is Part II: Rush. Run, drive, dive, rule. Rain. Dance. If you don’t already own one of these street-love runabouts in an unusual color and texture, don’t shy of them. *** And this is the whole song, for those [...]
The verses at the beginning are taken from Theotokion, an orthodox hymn.
This very part is also my favorite, when I anchor my soul to something, as my body sits here on an island.
Ulysses’ Gaze is a film by Theo Angelopoulos.
His films are a continuous masterpiece because there are always objects I find will evoke sensation, seemingly from memory and yet from a place beyond memory. (That familiarity explains how I FEEL the soul to have lived other lives.)
Music from the film’s soundtrack is composed by Eleni Karaindrou, my grey skies’ indulgence.
Her compositions, through music alone, will take one, and leave one, in history’s hands.
Memory traps are by far, one of the better reasons for tasting a life without skin.
Otherwise the constraints of skin are inescapable and timed.
Sometimes I don’t really know what is it I do, and if I keep doing it, will it serve reason?
I am talking about art. I don’t know if people buy art. I mean, I don’t know if those who walk up the little stairway of Goblin Market will buy any art work. However cheap I price my art.
Still I keep on producing. With three-day breaks. After weeks. Months. On and on this cycle of drive and blind and blink. Is this art?
Pain kills because without it there is no pleasure.
Without pleasure there is no passion, life.
I know all this, as an artist.
But once I stop, as the human girl, I don’t know a thing
all over again.
O, how can Goblin Market be Goblin Market, without the fruits?
As lovers, strictly speaking, we fall into one of these two categories. And thus, the love, sadly speaking, is as thus. I would honestly like to know the percentage of people in each category. I really would.
Also. If the label is a life sentence, or does it change with age, when beauty moves against acceptance?
I remember an auntie. When I was young, she was the prettiest woman I knew, like a flower fierce in a sandstorm. Then of course I did not know she was hard only on the outside. I thought she was independent, active and sure of whatever was coming her way. Everything she did I viewed with awe and so everything she stood for became colored by what she didn’t do (and so I will not too).
She wore a cream colored headband above her bangs. She matched her dresses to her bags, hair clip. She wore eyeshadow nicely, however blue. Her teeth was good and she could wear a belt and a plastic brooch and a little glitter on her eyes and still looked like a lady who was patient, kind. In her cabinet, there was a box of cards and bookmarks with lonely houses made magical by roads winding to and spiraling away. Many of these cards featured trees. In autumn, spring, and long stretches of a life full but somehow, without people. These cards were always signed off. She had many friends. I knew she was just as adored outside of me…
This will be a story longer than I had started out for. I’ll come back I know, but for now, tell me, are you “曾經拥有”, or are you “天长地久”?
How much of a dream is false
And therefore real
If it cuts along lines
Dotted by flaw,
In history’s record?
I’ve never thought I’d say it like this, but
Everything that happens has its morning
Stoic time told as “without sun, shadow or moon”, but really,
It is time traveled as
The beginning of the end.
If given I would like to know a little lesser
If at the end what can be found
When two bodies made the jump:
Foam, rocks, interlock,
Hands held tight,
The small forms the deep
Because this is the premise of precipice
And I have my lifelong wonder to break away from
To lie still beside you
As salt globule.
Faerie Prairie Rococo promises olf’ ashioned dress-up: for those who will doll up without taking themselves too seriously. Well (in Singapore at least) opportunities for the princess life are where “grown up” and “ladies” are defined rather narrowly. So we’re bringing you the princess-y, dolly and Burton-esque, purely for dandy dress-up! A little rococo isn’t going to hurt anyone.
And of course
of course,
around the corner
our Valentine ladies…
… and no pictures yet because day jobs suck, and some days I am just too lazy.
Yesterday we rearranged things in the shop again, and now Goblin Market looks much happier. Goblin Market is like our wife; we don’t pay attention to her for a while and she starts to look a little sad. She stops putting on make up and rock star boots. She wears laundry day underpants everyday.
But now she’s sexy again. And we’re taking her out to dinner tonight.
So come down this week to see all the new stuff. But as is good practice, call us first!
We also have plans to put some of our impossibly large collection of books up for sale; they are currently lying around in completely uninspiring Tupperware and DHL boxes.
(We used a very old copy of Ulysses to prop up an art piece because it was entirely too depressing to see Proust propping up anything. We thought about putting Proust in the bored boyfriend/husband corner as a joke, but then decided that it would drive us berserk if anyone ever put their Katong laksa’ed meathooks on Swann’s Way.)
Pictures tonight, if the day job isn’t too murderous.
About a married woman who has an affair with another woman. Many, many things happen, and the book turns into a farce, but I found the actions and motivations of the characters entirely believable.
