Downloaded Quicktime and as a result am now able to listen to the new Wilco album. I dunno, does the first song (which is all I've heard so far) sound a little strange to you?
Monday, May 31, 2004
Words (3)
Finally finished Anne Carson's Eros the Bittersweet over the weekend and if you haven't read it yet you should. Part philosophy, part literary criticism, past classical history, part poetry at its clearest and most beautiful.
Words (2) - A Letter to William Carlos Williams
by Kenneth Rexroth
Dear Bill,
When I search the past for you,
Sometimes I think you are like
St. Francis, whose flesh went out
Like a happy cloud from him,
And merged with every lover -
Donkeys, flowers, lepers, suns -
But I think you are more like
Brother Juniper, who suffered
All indignities and glories
Laughing like a gentle fool.
You’re in the Fioretti
Somewhere, for you’re a fool, Bill,
Like the Fool in Yeats, the term
Of all wisdom and beauty.
It’s you, stands over against
Helen in all her wisdom,
Solomon in all his glory.
Remember years ago, when
I told you you were the first
Great Franciscan poet since
The Middle Ages? I disturbed
The even tenor of dinner.
Your wife thought I was crazy.
It’s true, though. And you’re “pure,” too,
A real classic, though not loud
About it - a whole lot like
The girls of the Anthology.
Not like strident Sappho, who
For all her grandeur, must have
Had endometriosis,
But like Anyte, who says
Just enough, softly, for all
The thousands of years to remember.
It’s a wonderful quiet
You have, a way of keeping
Still about the world, and its
Dirty rivers, and garbage cans,
Red wheelbarrows glazed with rain,
Cold plums stolen from the icebox,
And Queen Anne’s lace, and day’s eyes,
And leaf buds bursting over
Muddy roads, and splotched bellies
With babies in them, and Cortes
And Malinche on the bloody
Causeway, the death of the flower world.
Nowadays, when the press reels
With chatterboxes, you keep still,
Each year a sheaf of stillness,
Poems that have nothing to say,
Like the stillness of George Fox,
Sitting still under the cloud
Of all the world’s temptation,
By the fire, in the kitchen,
In the Vale of Beavor. And
The archetype, the silence
Of Christ, when he paused a long
Time and then said, “Thou sayest it.”
Now in a recent poem you say,
“I who am about to die.”
Maybe this is just a tag
From the classics, but it sends
A shudder over me. Where
Do you get that stuff, Williams?
Look at here. The day will come
When a young woman will walk
By the lucid Williams River,
Where it flows through an idyllic
News from Nowhere sort of landscape,
And she will say to her children,
“Isn’t it beautiful? It
Is named after a man who
Walked here once when it was called
The Passaic, and was filthy
With the poisonous excrements
Of sick men and factories.
He was a great man. He knew
It was beautiful then, although
Nobody else did, back there
In the Dark Ages. And the
Beautiful river he saw
Still flows in his veins, as it
Does in ours, and flows in our eyes,
And flows in time, and makes us
Part of it, and part of him.
That, children, is what is called
A sacramental relationship.
And that is what a poet
Is, children, one who creates
Sacramental relationships
That last always."
With love and admiration,
Kenneth Rexroth.
(This I take from Allen Ginsberg's reading list from heaven.)
Dear Bill,
When I search the past for you,
Sometimes I think you are like
St. Francis, whose flesh went out
Like a happy cloud from him,
And merged with every lover -
Donkeys, flowers, lepers, suns -
But I think you are more like
Brother Juniper, who suffered
All indignities and glories
Laughing like a gentle fool.
You’re in the Fioretti
Somewhere, for you’re a fool, Bill,
Like the Fool in Yeats, the term
Of all wisdom and beauty.
It’s you, stands over against
Helen in all her wisdom,
Solomon in all his glory.
Remember years ago, when
I told you you were the first
Great Franciscan poet since
The Middle Ages? I disturbed
The even tenor of dinner.
Your wife thought I was crazy.
It’s true, though. And you’re “pure,” too,
A real classic, though not loud
About it - a whole lot like
The girls of the Anthology.
Not like strident Sappho, who
For all her grandeur, must have
Had endometriosis,
But like Anyte, who says
Just enough, softly, for all
The thousands of years to remember.
It’s a wonderful quiet
You have, a way of keeping
Still about the world, and its
Dirty rivers, and garbage cans,
Red wheelbarrows glazed with rain,
Cold plums stolen from the icebox,
And Queen Anne’s lace, and day’s eyes,
And leaf buds bursting over
Muddy roads, and splotched bellies
With babies in them, and Cortes
And Malinche on the bloody
Causeway, the death of the flower world.
Nowadays, when the press reels
With chatterboxes, you keep still,
Each year a sheaf of stillness,
Poems that have nothing to say,
Like the stillness of George Fox,
Sitting still under the cloud
Of all the world’s temptation,
By the fire, in the kitchen,
In the Vale of Beavor. And
The archetype, the silence
Of Christ, when he paused a long
Time and then said, “Thou sayest it.”
Now in a recent poem you say,
“I who am about to die.”
Maybe this is just a tag
From the classics, but it sends
A shudder over me. Where
Do you get that stuff, Williams?
Look at here. The day will come
When a young woman will walk
By the lucid Williams River,
Where it flows through an idyllic
News from Nowhere sort of landscape,
And she will say to her children,
“Isn’t it beautiful? It
Is named after a man who
Walked here once when it was called
The Passaic, and was filthy
With the poisonous excrements
Of sick men and factories.
He was a great man. He knew
It was beautiful then, although
Nobody else did, back there
In the Dark Ages. And the
Beautiful river he saw
Still flows in his veins, as it
Does in ours, and flows in our eyes,
And flows in time, and makes us
Part of it, and part of him.
That, children, is what is called
A sacramental relationship.
And that is what a poet
Is, children, one who creates
Sacramental relationships
That last always."
With love and admiration,
Kenneth Rexroth.
(This I take from Allen Ginsberg's reading list from heaven.)
Words (1 and a half)
Mahler's Symphony of a Thousand, which shouldn't come under words exactly, but still it does make you happy.
Words (1)
Sexy scrabble at Yisheng's place that night (only sexy or dirty or, if you're out of inspiration, plain vulgar, words allowed) and I'll never look at "jaw" in the same way again.
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
On reading
Me: I was just reading a couple of Iris Murdoch's essays (from a book I bought two years ago and never read till now) and now I want to go back to school and study philosophy and literature.
WN: Funny, I was just reading Eric Schlosser's "Reefer Madness" and now I want to be a drug lord. You must be reading the wrong books.
WN: Funny, I was just reading Eric Schlosser's "Reefer Madness" and now I want to be a drug lord. You must be reading the wrong books.
Sorry for the inconvenient
At the Cheers shop outside Tampines MRT is a sign that says (among other things):
Sorry for the inconvenient.
I rather like that. Perhaps I'll make a sign and put it up on my desk.
Sorry for the inconvenient.
I rather like that. Perhaps I'll make a sign and put it up on my desk.
Monday, May 24, 2004
Why do I never learn
that the ability to stay up all night without falling over the next day belongs with other relics of my youth, like tight jeans (ah Miranda) and Smash Hits?
Sunday, May 23, 2004
Still haven't written my notes
but I have caught up with everyone's blogs for the last three years or so.
(finally writing my notes of meeting)
Can I be really bitchy for a bit? Well of course I'm going to be anyway; this is fair warning.
One of the delegation members really annoyed me, so much so I found myself arguing the opposite of whatever he was saying. It wasn't that he was wrong, exactly; more that he had that insufferable smugness which attends (a) civil servants and (b) middle-aged men. You know? When they just know everything there is to know about a particular topic, and have no need of other viewpoints on the matter, even though their knowledge tends to consist of a string of banalities? When they're not willing to discuss issues, but they're more than happy to tell you how to think on any given topic? And he was a researcher by designation; shouldn't they have a little more intellectual curiosity?
One of the delegation members really annoyed me, so much so I found myself arguing the opposite of whatever he was saying. It wasn't that he was wrong, exactly; more that he had that insufferable smugness which attends (a) civil servants and (b) middle-aged men. You know? When they just know everything there is to know about a particular topic, and have no need of other viewpoints on the matter, even though their knowledge tends to consist of a string of banalities? When they're not willing to discuss issues, but they're more than happy to tell you how to think on any given topic? And he was a researcher by designation; shouldn't they have a little more intellectual curiosity?
Coming soon: Shibuya
We were walking through the empty space at MGM Grand at night, where the theme park used to be, and there were these huge boards announcing the shops to come. One said, "Coming soon: Shibuya."
There's an essay somewhere where Nietzsche says rather acerbically that Wagner's pathos topples taste. I think the sheer effrontery of Vegas topples taste. It's in the middle of a desert but there're fountains and lakes and canals and old-world European conservatories and soon there will be a Japanese garden the likes of which can only be found in Kyoto. First they have to build a mountain and then pipe in water for the streams and ponds and lakes and then bring in the trees and then they can sculpt the garden. In Singapore we just whinge about the weather being too hot and leave it at that; in Vegas they paint the ceiling has feathery white clouds and the blue fades quietly the dusk at the edges and the lighting is controlled to always simulate evening light (because they did studies which showed that that's when people shop the most, when they're all mellow and relaxed) and it's always 72 degrees F. As my colleague pointed out, Vegas works because Americans like to see things, but they don't like to leave their country. So they have the Eiffel Tower and Doge's Palace and the Colosseum and the Village and Shibuya brought to them, but all prettied up and air-conditioned. What complete lack of irony does it take to do such a thing, to say, well I'lll just create a scale model of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of my casino?
We met Steve Wynn, who is the American dream personnifed. He came to the Strip some 40 years ago, at 24, as a blackjack dealer. In 1989 he built the first of the mega hotel/casino/entertainment complexes, the Mirage, which was at the time about $400 million more expensive than any other casino built so far. He designed the damn thing and put a volcanic island at the front and fish at the reception and white tigers along the corridor (the sign above says: Phones. Restrooms. White Tigers. Shops.) and it's actually all quite nice. He built Treasure Island and then the Bellagio, which is still the pinnacle of achievement for these mega-whatsits, and then sold the lot to MGM because now that he has completely transformed the Strip, he wants to do something different there. He came to the Strip at 24 as a blackjack dealer! I'm 24, and I'm never going to build a $600m casino, not even in 20 years' time. No formal training, but he designs his own buildings. All the other meetings with the operators were very corporate affairs, we met the Board, they presented themselves as a body corporate, but Steve Wynn just flung himself into the room with his dogs. Oh and his Chief Operating Officer, whose job apparently was to open the door for his dogs.
In MGM Grand there was a sign that said, "Video arcade: virtual reality". As opposed, I suppose, to the actual reality of the rest of the casino/hotel/complex? It's impossible not to admire the scale of what was done in Vegas, and impossible to accept it entirely; we're schooled in British irony, after all. I almost said, impossible to accept it without any saving grace of irony. I'm not yet willing to put away a strong sense of the ridiculous, but perhaps this is an inhibiting quality? Perhaps what it takes is a complete abandonment of - not taste, exactly - but any self-consciousness whatsoever?
There's an essay somewhere where Nietzsche says rather acerbically that Wagner's pathos topples taste. I think the sheer effrontery of Vegas topples taste. It's in the middle of a desert but there're fountains and lakes and canals and old-world European conservatories and soon there will be a Japanese garden the likes of which can only be found in Kyoto. First they have to build a mountain and then pipe in water for the streams and ponds and lakes and then bring in the trees and then they can sculpt the garden. In Singapore we just whinge about the weather being too hot and leave it at that; in Vegas they paint the ceiling has feathery white clouds and the blue fades quietly the dusk at the edges and the lighting is controlled to always simulate evening light (because they did studies which showed that that's when people shop the most, when they're all mellow and relaxed) and it's always 72 degrees F. As my colleague pointed out, Vegas works because Americans like to see things, but they don't like to leave their country. So they have the Eiffel Tower and Doge's Palace and the Colosseum and the Village and Shibuya brought to them, but all prettied up and air-conditioned. What complete lack of irony does it take to do such a thing, to say, well I'lll just create a scale model of the Eiffel Tower in the middle of my casino?
We met Steve Wynn, who is the American dream personnifed. He came to the Strip some 40 years ago, at 24, as a blackjack dealer. In 1989 he built the first of the mega hotel/casino/entertainment complexes, the Mirage, which was at the time about $400 million more expensive than any other casino built so far. He designed the damn thing and put a volcanic island at the front and fish at the reception and white tigers along the corridor (the sign above says: Phones. Restrooms. White Tigers. Shops.) and it's actually all quite nice. He built Treasure Island and then the Bellagio, which is still the pinnacle of achievement for these mega-whatsits, and then sold the lot to MGM because now that he has completely transformed the Strip, he wants to do something different there. He came to the Strip at 24 as a blackjack dealer! I'm 24, and I'm never going to build a $600m casino, not even in 20 years' time. No formal training, but he designs his own buildings. All the other meetings with the operators were very corporate affairs, we met the Board, they presented themselves as a body corporate, but Steve Wynn just flung himself into the room with his dogs. Oh and his Chief Operating Officer, whose job apparently was to open the door for his dogs.
In MGM Grand there was a sign that said, "Video arcade: virtual reality". As opposed, I suppose, to the actual reality of the rest of the casino/hotel/complex? It's impossible not to admire the scale of what was done in Vegas, and impossible to accept it entirely; we're schooled in British irony, after all. I almost said, impossible to accept it without any saving grace of irony. I'm not yet willing to put away a strong sense of the ridiculous, but perhaps this is an inhibiting quality? Perhaps what it takes is a complete abandonment of - not taste, exactly - but any self-consciousness whatsoever?
Saturday, May 22, 2004
Move away from the icing
Spent the night hanging out in Su-Lin's room watching Sex in the City and eating cookies and playing bridge (though not all three at once because men are incapable of multi-tasking) and it was one of the best nights I've had in a while. It's been a while since we spent time just lazing and playing bridge, hasn't it?
home
and laden with duty-free alcohol. I've wine and Hoegaarden and Bombay Sapphire (just for you, Choon). Shall we make martinis?
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
We are made of such stuff
16 May: Water slides! A 68 degree water slide called the Leap of Faith at the Mayan Temple in the Lost City of Atlantis - this is Disney meets Underwater World, now in salmon pink.
(And there were meetings and stuff, more of that later. The water slides were the important bit. And the sea water pools with star fish and sting rays and baby sharks!)
17 May: woke up at 6 and went down to beach. Gorgeous blue-green waters and white sand, just like the postcards. No living creature in sight but a couple of gulls and a dog at what looked like a cairn of stones. Walked along the shoreline listening to the waves.
17 May, later: There was a bride posing in the lobby of the Venetian. The Venetian looks...well, Venetian. There's a copy of St Mark's Square (and oh, darlings, a MASSIVE Sephora. SMS me if you want anything) and a canal and gondola rides and of course a massive casino with cars atop some of the jackpot machines (so they can just jump up and give you the car if you win, I guess?) and trompe l'oeil on the walls and frescoes on the ceiling - not exactly the Sistine Chapel, but overwhelming nonetheless. Went for a walk on the strip - could see the strip from the airplane, and the beam of light from the pyramid that is the Luxor - the Duke's Palace (is that what it is? the one on the real St Mark's Square) next to a volcanic island (apparently complete with erupting volcano) and ahead there was Caesar's Palace with the Colosseum and Roman Forum and the Pantheon, all brought together for your convenience. And there are the smaller seedier slot machine parlours and all-you-can-eat buffets and Latino men standing on the street handing out soft porn (the Police guy with us collected them solemnly. Appendix A of my report, he said).
Truly fantastic, in the old sense of the word. It transcends kitsch. And terribly addictive - music on the streets the whole time through and everyone in party clothes (though the people are mostly pretty tacky - old retirees with permed hair (men and women) sitting rather grimly at the slot machines and lots of cute young couples holding beer bottles and more fat Americans in strangely Hawaiian gear) and all the lights from the casino and of course the single beam from the Luxor. This is the American candy-floss version of the world.
All the same, I think I'd rather create my own fantasy.
(And there were meetings and stuff, more of that later. The water slides were the important bit. And the sea water pools with star fish and sting rays and baby sharks!)
17 May: woke up at 6 and went down to beach. Gorgeous blue-green waters and white sand, just like the postcards. No living creature in sight but a couple of gulls and a dog at what looked like a cairn of stones. Walked along the shoreline listening to the waves.
17 May, later: There was a bride posing in the lobby of the Venetian. The Venetian looks...well, Venetian. There's a copy of St Mark's Square (and oh, darlings, a MASSIVE Sephora. SMS me if you want anything) and a canal and gondola rides and of course a massive casino with cars atop some of the jackpot machines (so they can just jump up and give you the car if you win, I guess?) and trompe l'oeil on the walls and frescoes on the ceiling - not exactly the Sistine Chapel, but overwhelming nonetheless. Went for a walk on the strip - could see the strip from the airplane, and the beam of light from the pyramid that is the Luxor - the Duke's Palace (is that what it is? the one on the real St Mark's Square) next to a volcanic island (apparently complete with erupting volcano) and ahead there was Caesar's Palace with the Colosseum and Roman Forum and the Pantheon, all brought together for your convenience. And there are the smaller seedier slot machine parlours and all-you-can-eat buffets and Latino men standing on the street handing out soft porn (the Police guy with us collected them solemnly. Appendix A of my report, he said).
Truly fantastic, in the old sense of the word. It transcends kitsch. And terribly addictive - music on the streets the whole time through and everyone in party clothes (though the people are mostly pretty tacky - old retirees with permed hair (men and women) sitting rather grimly at the slot machines and lots of cute young couples holding beer bottles and more fat Americans in strangely Hawaiian gear) and all the lights from the casino and of course the single beam from the Luxor. This is the American candy-floss version of the world.
All the same, I think I'd rather create my own fantasy.
What time is it now?
15 May, 4 pm: flight from Singapore to LAX (16 hours)
Transit at LAX (5ish hours)
Flight from LAX to Miami (4 - 5 hours)
Transit at Miami (3 - 4 hours)
Wait in Miami because have missed flight (1/2 hour)
Flight from Miami to Nassau, the Bahamas (1ish hour)
Wait in Nassau for luggage (2 hours)
Drive from Nassau to Atlantis Resort, Paradise Island (1/2 hour)
Reach Atlantis at on 16 May, 12 pm, local time.
Leave Atlantis on 17 May, 3 pm.
Drive from Atlantis to Nassau (1/2 hour)
Flight from Nassau to Miami, fortunately taking right flight (1ish hour)
Transit in Miami (2 - 3 hours)
Flight from Miami to Las Vegas (5ish hours)
Time spent talking to random Argentinian man on flight (1/6 hour (You live in Las Vegas? - No, Singapore. - Oh you are here on vacation? - Er sort of. - You come from Miami? - No, the Bahamas. - I am in Miami two days, on vacation. It is very nice. - I wasn't actually there but, er, yes?)
Drive from Las Vegas airport to the Venetian (1/2 hour)
Time spent gawking in Venetian lobby (1/2 hour)
Reach the Venetian on 17 May, 11 pm, local time.
Time left to sleep until breakfast/meeting tomorrow (about 2 hours).
Transit at LAX (5ish hours)
Flight from LAX to Miami (4 - 5 hours)
Transit at Miami (3 - 4 hours)
Wait in Miami because have missed flight (1/2 hour)
Flight from Miami to Nassau, the Bahamas (1ish hour)
Wait in Nassau for luggage (2 hours)
Drive from Nassau to Atlantis Resort, Paradise Island (1/2 hour)
Reach Atlantis at on 16 May, 12 pm, local time.
Leave Atlantis on 17 May, 3 pm.
Drive from Atlantis to Nassau (1/2 hour)
Flight from Nassau to Miami, fortunately taking right flight (1ish hour)
Transit in Miami (2 - 3 hours)
Flight from Miami to Las Vegas (5ish hours)
Time spent talking to random Argentinian man on flight (1/6 hour (You live in Las Vegas? - No, Singapore. - Oh you are here on vacation? - Er sort of. - You come from Miami? - No, the Bahamas. - I am in Miami two days, on vacation. It is very nice. - I wasn't actually there but, er, yes?)
Drive from Las Vegas airport to the Venetian (1/2 hour)
Time spent gawking in Venetian lobby (1/2 hour)
Reach the Venetian on 17 May, 11 pm, local time.
Time left to sleep until breakfast/meeting tomorrow (about 2 hours).
Saturday, May 15, 2004
Possessions
I have: a ticket, laptop, credit card, passport, and a suit in my, uh, suitcase. That's it, right? Do I need anything else? Anybody want anything from Vegas?
boo
Alright my loves; I am finally going; whatever I've forgotten will just have to stay forgotten. I'll have my laptop along (of course), so write to me and I'll, um, tell you about all the meetings I had to take notes for. See you in a week.
Still not packed
But oh I got the sweetest email from Tomoko saying, yes Tokyo may legalise gambling soon, so you might come to Tokyo more often?
Heh.
[Though there is a limit to the number of gambling study trips I can possibly take. Yes really.]
Heh.
[Though there is a limit to the number of gambling study trips I can possibly take. Yes really.]