kijun | of drama, shades and edifices
rewind your time.
20090421 - 00:21

Amusement is fairly subjective. lol.

hear my song.
20090415 - 00:19

I hate being wrong. It's clear that it is undesired to be so by many, but I despise the feeling to the very core. It's a state of mind to me. One that I scorn at being.

I give a lot to what I do. Whatever I do. Most importantly, I stay honest. In whatever I do. Not in the honesty is the best policy kinda way, but in an inherently sincere disposition kinda way. Regardless the venture, be it the work, relationships of any kind, personal deeds of sorts, I stay and be honest to myself foremostly. I believe that in being so the effort gushed will be duly just and well, honest. Not so much a satisfaction but a belief that by being honest I can do right. I can be right. Care less for the results, for in being so the results and outcome will most certainly oblige. Or so I thought.

By doing so I think rationally. I'm reasonable. I'm logical. I'm rather diplomatic. I look at both sides of the fence. Over the fence, under it, top, bottom, front, back. I see things at a larger picture. A larger scope. A larger context. Cos that's just who I am to fact. Quote by quote, point by point, I see things by reason. I need reasons. With reason I get purpose. With purpose I get cause. And with cause I react. I need answers to respond. That's how I work. That's how I see. Directly and indirectly. Don't make sense to you.? Absolutely fine. I'm just being honest. With myself.

By doing so I risk being taken for granted. I despise that word too, moreover being treated as such. Does having the tendency to understand things denote you as an understanding person.? To push the question further, the denotion of being nice. I retort with a big big no. Understanding the wrong in things does not make you any more wrong. Knowing and comprehending the fault in me or thee simply gives the advantage of doing better. At doing the right. It doesn't mask the emotions and sentiments, that can never be second guessed. With that I generate trust and loyalty from my understanding, my comprehension. I be nice. I be honest.

By doing so I become indecisive. Some people are resolute in their thinking, clear cut in their decisions and desires whatever they may be based on. Perhaps judged as the stronger and clearer minded people, I refute as being indecisive and personally challenged in decision-based issues does not necessarily make you any weaker nor any more dense. Just cos I see things in grey doesn't make the world black and white. Vice versa. No doubt this will shadow me and prowl behind my every action or non-action rather, but hey, I'm just being honest. With myself.

By doing so I become different. Not so much in a green pea on a white plate kinda way, but I stand out loosely. As a matter of fact, I revel in being different. Always have been, always will be. Not so much a manifesto nor life or death policy manner, but I have the tendency of just being so. It's not like I make it a freaking struggle to break free from who I really am or what I really like simply to be different, it's just the way it is. The way I am. The way I are. People may accuse all they want, people may intrude to influence or sneer due to disparities. I could care less about other people caring more about me being unlike other people than themselves. I can take it. I can take it all. I'm just being fucking honest.

And yet. I somehow feel that I'm wrong.

I make mistakes. I'm not perfect. Point taken. Dissatisfaction overwhelms me though. When the problem can perhaps be solved by just being dishonest in the first place. Or when the problem may perhaps not be a problem at all. Maybe I won't feel like such an asshole and look like one whenever I pass the mirror. Neither would it mend the wounds that skin my skin and will carry with me from now till forever. Perhaps it's rather justified after all to cry like you never see sunset before. Nevertheless, my fibre and soul has been scattered all over thee that I can't help but exhaust and feel the way I'm feeling. I simply prod deeper. It brings the very best and worst in me.

Truth to be told my classifieds have always remained under my wraps to my disclosure upon my discretion. I'll feel safer. Critics supposedly are filtered, and selected. But how can I do so when the requirements are all so jargoned and contradictive. To impress oneself or to impress manyselves. Amass the fact that oneself becomes impressed solely by the impression of others. By simply suppressing, opinions and perceptions will not have to be dealt with so explicitly at the risk of prodding further. I need not be perturbed for I have more than enough to pore over from myself. Things that concern me should somehow or rather be of my concern only. I, by some means become my own worst enemy, or friend.

Having said that, I'll persist, but I'll know when to release. I'll erase. I'll delete. But I won't empty the recycle bin. I need no sympathy, I simply need time.

I demanded honesty, honesty is what I got. I appreciate the honesty, but the honesty in return did not. Honesty became me, and in due, honesty reduced me. Strike three, I'm out.

And I'll never whine again.

i got to let it go, and just enjoy the show.
20090412 - 21:47

So I went for a show in KLPac yesterday. Yes, again. I might fall victim of being indicted as a strong voice of endorsement to the instituion but hey, I invite such claims. This place seems too good to be in KL.

Experienced rain there for the first time though. And was as picturesque as if the sun was shining in sanctity. The rain drops streaking at the concrete entrance was wonderful. I can't help but relate to the soon-to-be Balecave, but the texture created was better than I intended. Haha, "I love rain".

We watched a show entitled "A Madman's Diary...after Gogol" adapted from prolific Russian writer Nikolai Gogol's The Diary of A Madman. It was also my first time being in audience of a performance in Pentas 2. I had no previous account to such a book nor the plot of the story, which was fine with me. Best to hold no expectations of any, low or high. Performances are best experienced as such. And indeed I experienced.

The show was really really captivating. And disturbing. All in debt to the brilliant acting. Best acting I've experienced first hand. There were only 2 actors throughout the 1 and a half hour play. Might sound a tad boring or taxing to some, only having the pleasure of 2 characters, only one with utterance. Heck, it was a one-man-show all along with the other character inducing pleasures of another kind. But yes, it is not pretentious to assert that the lone actor (Will Gluth. Has an imdb page, wow.) was flawless in portraying Ivan, a low-class figure slowly sliding into the brink of insanity and schizophrenia as we learn of his delusions and hallucinations.

The play was a monologue enscripted story, which follows the character's diary written in a first person point of view. It was highly entertaining watching the character physically and facially jotting his thoughts, indirectly telling his story to the audience. A connection was assumed, as the audience immediately responded to his every expression; filled with laughter whenever he impeccably feigned a feminine voice, and stoned with silence as he glaringly endures himself to what he thinks is a strange coronation of kingdomhood. The show develops seamlessly from a very light and comical tone (the character suspected two dogs talking, writing letters to each other, and having an affair. -.-.) to a very self-descending and depressing realm of lunacy as the audience thoroughly sees him strip himself with anguish and torture all inflicted by none other than himself. What's more, was I very puzzled to whether the events happening were all upon his narration in reality or just a phantasm subconsciously created by his paranoiac mind, suspecting himself mentally in so many levels. And I still am.

The stage design was subtle yet fascinating. Everything was grey. Think modelling board. The backdrop was a grey wall slightly smudged on its surface at the right, with an opening fit for a door. Props were basically grey cubes of the same hue, intelligently articulated to fit the scene. Whenever he sleeps, two cubes becomes a bed; when he writes of him being in office, a bigger cube becomes the table, the smaller becomes the chair, etc etc. Acoustics and lighting were amazing, can't help but to think if the Angel were to be performed there instead. The size of Pentas 2 was perfect, not too big, not too small. Nevertheless, I didn't even need the help of the temperature to bloom goosebumps whenever the light shuts out with bewildering tunes playing whenever they changed scenes in the dark. How very appropiate for the ending to be very blinding as well.

I left feeling slightly tinged with uneasyness and incomprehension. Nothing about the play was literal in its approach, but it is the very abstraction of the performance which really invigorates me. The kind that makes you question and question alone. The kind that makes you google the play, the book, the actor. The measly Condors may flutter back and lay eggs, nothing made me query as much as Gluth did. That to me is indeed how a performance should be.