tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-141874872011-07-28T21:52:11.672+08:00the persistently political pine stays green in the winter of the patriarch ... not for the lack of blood from the hanging of minionsdansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.comBlogger681100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-62712126470769576242010-07-07T17:16:00.005+08:002010-07-07T17:36:11.459+08:00

For two years now I have not felt the urge to write, to muse, to introspect, to inspect, to speculate, to criticize, to comment, to be persistently political, to blog. I am not sure this singular urge has returned. In part, it left because the urge went into a channel of research and academic inscribing inspired by my implausible city, heartland monument and ethnosophy series musings. I am almost

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-59998446396046128252008-05-26T13:49:00.005+08:002008-05-26T14:01:38.941+08:00

This is a series inspired by the illogic of some common arguments put forth by Singaporeans in the arena of public opinion and debate. ‘S’porious’ is a play on both ‘spurious’ (not valid) and ‘porous’ (full of holes) with ‘serious’ and ‘S’porean’. It sounds horrible, I know, but that is precisely the point, the illogic is horrible too.Class 95FM was discussing the fresh ballyhoo about schoolwork

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-28073316448993438292008-04-06T03:57:00.004+08:002008-12-11T07:06:27.420+08:00

It is one of those nights again. I am painfully aware of everything, my thoughts, my twitching muscle below the left calf, the slight jogging ache in the right thigh, the pressing pressure on the temple, a tiny bead of sweat forming at the back of the neck, a nervous pinch in my molar, the crackling of the malt which only serves to heighten the awareness, my unquenchable thirsts, the humming

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-74116890793215073582008-03-22T04:41:00.006+08:002008-12-11T07:06:27.570+08:00

I can’t write a ticker. Reading the Straits Times, after the budget hot air, Singapore seems to have gone placid, flat, even flaccid. That is not true. Go out into the heartland streets and the shady corners of downtown, and one could tune into the energies of a people, their faces and eyes giving off dreams, hopes, fears, fantasies, joys interspersed with moments of ennui. The people, ever

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-38485117161511724382008-03-17T22:54:00.006+08:002008-12-11T07:06:27.745+08:00

I’ve been thinking for quite a while now about what a senior grassroots leader told me some time ago at a racial harmony education event. He was an old guard who worked the ground when the PAP was still a left-wing party campaigning to build a nation out of disparate communal groups wrecked by racial politics; July 21, 1964, after all, came in the wake of the PAP-UMNO electoral battle that was

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-54337953396281213552008-01-02T17:12:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:28.047+08:00

My friend and fellow culture/history traveler, Lai Chee Kien, wrote this beautiful short reflection with many layers of meaning, sending it to me as New Year's greetings. I'm republishing it here with his permission. Happy 2008 everyone!About a year ago, Keppel Land announced a (then) new condominium project, Reflections at Keppel Bay at Keppel Marina (the former Chermin Wharf). Besides the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-61579669761530044722007-11-21T09:02:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:28.302+08:00

Punggol 21, the new town of the 21st century, the universal model of harmonious domestic living, where the kampung spirit returns through the farmland soil, naturally, to the technocratically ordered environment of steel, concrete, plastic, rubber and nature arranged in straight grid lines. In the doldrums of finance capital fleeing from its heart of darkness, Punggol 21 lay dormant. But as the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-87702493725339226362007-11-04T18:02:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:29.254+08:00

Dream. A man without acclaimed qualifications, no lofty words to impress the savant, only a dream to be recognized by society for his work. Only a petite bureaucrat, an employee of the swollen state, he painted imaginations beyond the dreariness of dispensing grace to the population according to the rules and norms of laws and conventionality. His unconventional images spoke of fantastic realms,

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-64172500387083805612007-10-23T17:39:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:16:37.854+08:00

While homosexuals are a numerical minority, there is no such thing as 'sexual minorities' at law. Activists have coined this term to draw a beguiling but fallacious association between homosexuals and legally recognised minorities like racial groups. Race is a fixed trait. It remains controversial whether homosexual orientation is genetic or environmental, perhaps both. There are no ex-blacks but

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-7105827806995346882007-09-24T21:57:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:29.641+08:00

On this historic site Sir Thomas Stamford Raffles First landed in Singapore On 28th January 1819 And with genius and perception Changed the destiny of Singapore From an obscure fishing village To a great seaport andModern metropolisSo reads the inscription on a white statue of a European, implausibly standing on the riverbank of a malarial river, implausibly decked out in Victorian tights and

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-69383328236995951712007-09-20T23:17:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:29.980+08:00

Two gestures that signify the serial complementation of monumental forms in the heartland, two vectors that stream from the symbolic impositions and authoritative inscriptions on the everyday consciousness of material life lived as such.One speaks of the eruption of heterodoxies that open up schismatic tears in the orthodox fabric of space and time. Here, random enunciations rise from the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-89363776016831242652007-08-16T01:16:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:30.225+08:00

Isamu Noguchi, The Sky, 1964Sometimes, I just cannot get to sleep. There would be a swirl of images, illicit, secret and banal, combining to lull me to the curving tunnel that seeps away from my consciousness. But I would wake with a tremble or two as I touch the glossy blackness of the planar darkness of the tunnel. I don’t know. Perhaps, this time it is a confluence of incitements to invest. A

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-42462321442950055682007-07-21T17:01:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:30.700+08:00

Rodin sculpts six despondent figures in varying postures of existential angst. They are unlikely images of heroes remembered in the historical imagination of the French nation: six leading citizens of the besieged city of Calais being led to their imminent death in the bloody hands of the marauding English, their own hands expressing the pain of their impending sacrifice. They were to be

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-24325820808852218652007-05-16T15:42:00.001+08:002007-11-09T00:17:40.018+08:00

The ringing brings forth the voice of loveInterrupting the slumbers of dream and frightThere, affection glides along the slope of timeSliding down the gradient of truth towards spaceImages slip to and fro and through emoting wavesA late night of inspection reveals nothingOnly the beckoning of early morning soursMy spirit soars to circle the plains of innocenceForce, this life settles into the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-37427957442684019732007-04-06T11:17:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:31.595+08:00

Rene Magritte paints a pipe and paints an announcement of surreal negation: “this is not a pipe”. The image takes on a new significance, or rather, it is almost emptied of meanings, in the sense that meanings become residual, remnant and on the edge of being ruined. With the pronouncement that this is not a pipe, we no longer see a pipe but a painting of a pipe. The pipe, the pronouncement and

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-32900665913107277342007-03-26T20:21:00.000+08:002008-12-11T07:06:32.052+08:00

Time is a precious entity when one is so consumed by the ever-receding horizons of passions, of indulgences in family, friends and students (apologies for being consumed, only just, as it was all productive). In the silent corridors where the insecurities resonate with vacuous sound and fury, reverberating as rants and boasts in other spaces, the latter, the students, is the sanctification of my

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1170086143006033002007-01-29T23:48:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:37:13.128+08:00

Keith Haring junks his brushes, moves to New York, descends into the subways, crayons his iconic gestures on black advertisement boards, leaves a semiotic equivalence, a message for democratic posterity. Here, a middle-class artist seeks not to identify with plebian voices, knowing the outcome is only an artificial communality that hides the condemned individuality of the bleeding-heart gentry

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1168419738942382122007-01-10T16:59:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:34:06.900+08:00

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1168014998926908672007-01-06T00:26:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:37:13.128+08:00

Christo and Jeanne-Claude wrap the monument to focus collective consciousness on an icon in our habituated visual field. Plastic and fabric render the static and the predictable a dynamic flow of soft edges. Likewise, the public turns away from the structure of orthodoxy and heresy into a variegated terrain of clashing, merging, ricocheting opinions. The public is set on edge. The monument

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1167857084515515462007-01-04T04:43:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.135+08:00

A drizzle, windy tones, the passing howls returning home. I fell to the sighs of fulfillment, consumed by the play of images. Then a message in the night brings words that refused to fade away. Realities merge in my consciousness, and I hear the flapping of the wings of dream. Refusal, variations on a theme, renditions on a whim, where is this taking me?Not rejection, the emptiness of pushing

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1163083044529611222006-11-09T22:25:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.136+08:00

Monty's dare

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1162870363291888142006-11-07T11:23:00.000+08:002006-11-07T11:32:43.976+08:00

Hardback or Paperback: Paperbacks, as I believe in the ephemeral existence of wordsHighlight or Underline: Highlight, the colors are psychedelic and fade with timeLewis or Tolkien: Tolkien, as Lewis cannot deal with his lonelinessE.B. White or A.A. Milne: White, the spider made me cryT.S. Eliot or e.e. cummings: cummings, for his prescient post-structuralist iconoclasmStephen King or Dean Koontz

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1161097231532697072006-10-17T22:50:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.136+08:00

The cry of desperation that deflowers the innocentPrecious acts of revenge plunged with full cognizance A prayer for redemption that spills the blood of anotherCasting off the used vessel that has ceased to botherQuiet nights of saving grace enacted only for gainWords of love spoken to be turned into painful baneStealing intimacy with a dizzying conspiring scentAn illicit touch to send the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1160488038856224442006-10-10T21:43:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.136+08:00

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1157990222348806752006-09-11T23:43:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:15:32.289+08:00

There are two sides to the coin that bears the face of neo-liberal globalization. One is the maximum security state, its forces out to police the perpetual state of emergency. The IMF and World Bank meet for the annual think-in in my country, under such a security state. This is globalization symbolized by the twin towers of 9/11. The commemoration is danced with bullets to American rock songs

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1157683927361251952006-09-08T10:49:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:35:04.657+08:00

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1156532135519025822006-08-26T02:54:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.136+08:00

The wake of a realization sends the bleary eye ablazeArousing from the slumber when scales fall offTangents return to their eternal revolving recoilFutures remembered, pasts imagined, presents forgottenUnconscious forces assert the order of peace once moreThe dissenting will suffers the return of lackNothingness, as desires return to the darkness of nightWhen fantasies are laid bare by vicious

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1156090061419138382006-08-21T00:06:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:25:42.879+08:00

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1156007002330745592006-08-20T00:56:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:17:00.749+08:00

The richness of life can be fathomed, The texture of time tasted with a single beat.Strum, whine, hum, lick and dig from the mines.A shout to blind heavens, swinging soul, cry,Beat the skin, tear the strings untouched.Spit on the Chinaman, the rubbers of the rakyat.Noble screams of savage presents, future tears of opiated pasts.Malaya, O Malaya, white ghosts haunting the yellow-brown

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1154804597409340052006-08-06T03:01:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:14:19.137+08:00

A morning chill shivers the seasoned travelerNights of long adieu haunt a clear summer skyThe sail is folded against the call of the gullsSailors heartened to the embers of homely loveThe tide inches them towards the ashes of timeA horizon as blue as the deepest oceansHolds dangers already foresaw in cardsAn Italian night of shattered hopes and dreamsA French night of safe delusions and balanced

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1152282551500642352006-07-07T22:24:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:18:02.385+08:00

The exilic intellectual does not respond to the logic of the conventional but to the audacity of daring, and to represent change, to moving on, not standing still.- Edward W. Said, Representations of the IntellectualBrown has been banished into exile. Again. We have always been banished, those of us who call ourselves fully Singaporean but do not fully agree with Singapore as defined for us by

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1151509480517874562006-06-28T23:43:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:34:23.332+08:00

In my very first post, I wrote, not knowing where this journey is going to take me (I still don't):‘We mortals feel that there is always a beginning and an end. Perhaps so. But this blog is more an intervention than a story. A comment on the flow of history from one sinking ever deeper into the mud. I don't imagine I can ever change its persistent course. I can perhaps create a few eddy effects

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1151175027641396462006-06-25T02:49:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:22:27.587+08:00

I sat at the grave of my grandfatherAtop a knoll peering into a verdant treelineDark clouds hung in the horizon of duskThe scent of a distant rain saunters through the airHe has never met his progeny, the son of his daughterWhat would he say to a man in his dreams?Love is a pained illusion clinging to lifeI cling to love because desire gives worth to my lifeThe sentiment of generations inherits

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1149320276689367002006-06-03T15:28:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:20:24.710+08:00

Downplaying Desire for Democratic Change and Socioeconomic ConcernsKudos to the Institute of Policy Studies for conducting a post-election survey to understand Singaporean voting behavior and releasing the digested results to the public. Alright then, with that short congratulatory note connoting respect for a worthy effort, here comes the critical blows. Highlights of the survey are published on

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1149252665622121272006-06-02T20:49:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:20:24.711+08:00

In my last blog entry on the GE results, I asked several questions concerning the two mainstream opposition parties. What distinguishes the WP and SDA? Why did the WP get 38.44% of the votes in the constituencies it contested compared to the SDA’s 32.52% (see table in last blog entry on GE results)? Why were more voters choosing WP above SDA? Additionally, why were around 9% of the voters

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1148058657303786602006-05-20T01:07:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:21:28.226+08:00

A glimmer of transparency as Mr. HL Lee releases a seven-page letter on ‘Rules of Prudence’ to his PAP MPs-elect. It is a little late, with all the Gomez overhang of the elections when leadership and ideas were meant to be showcased. Better than never. Nevertheless, it is great to see our country’s leader for the next half-a-decade moving on and rallying his troops in a heartening manner, without

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1147541979396622082006-05-14T01:37:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:20:24.711+08:00

There was quite a buzz about the opposition in this GE. Voters finally felt that there was a real contest and a semblance of a choice put in front of them. Nothing like a real competition over one’s vote to give us the sense of citizen power we abdicate in between elections. After two successive ineffective use of the by-elections strategy, when government was effectively surrendered to the PAP

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1147021266348217012006-05-08T00:46:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:20:24.711+08:00

Now that Singaporeans have made our choice, it is time to divine how and why we voted the way we did. The sycophantic media will be busy churning out drab analyses in the next few days or weeks, analyses that will be choke-full of ‘expert’ opinions from ‘experts’ in academia and think-tanks. Rather than rely on ‘expert’ imprimatur, I want to give my opinion using the result statistics. Instead of

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146731149503086442006-05-04T16:18:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:23:39.000+08:00

One last post before the exercise of citizen power on Saturday: an expression of disappointment with the self-proclaimed guardians of rational political discourse. I have looked forward to this campaign period with the eagerness of a fisherman waiting for the tug of his line, waiting for a vigorous debate about important issues facing our nation in this brave new-again world. And it has been

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146588129698046062006-05-03T00:33:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:23:39.002+08:00

(PAP's Hougang Not-Quite-Rally, 1 May 2006) Its scorching light has shone over five hundred moons, eternally paternal, malevolently benevolent in its high noon.But the setting sun casts shadows as long as ascendant dawns;Minerva’s owl nods as it prepares its wizen call.The sands of time whistle with the laughs of forgotten names,echoing the spirit of ideals that has been laid to shame.Blunt

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146561716288183472006-05-02T17:02:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:21:28.227+08:00

“They make it sound like they want the government out of the unions. What it really means is that they want the union representatives out of the cabinet. And they call themselves the Workers’ Party. So, you have a choice, choose to create more jobs tomorrow, even if you have to change today’s jobs. Choose to have a safe home, a clean government. Choose a strong partnership between the government,

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146480277266232472006-05-01T18:33:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:23:39.002+08:00

Now that the Progress Package (Providing Opportunities through Growth, Remaking Singapore for Success) has been given out over the symbolic Labor Day, it is time to look at fulfilling the rest of the five commitments that we made when we started out to build our nation. Let not the crescent moon of our youthfulness be an excuse to deny our five-star dream. So this is my proposal for a second

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146387996497039142006-04-30T17:02:00.000+08:002006-04-30T17:09:56.423+08:00

“He (Gomez) should not think Singaporeans are simpletons. I would like to move on too, but please give us a proper reply. “Don't think Singaporeans are such simplistic, gullible people. You go to a supermarket, you take a big item and put it in your shopping bag. Having walked out, you get caught with your hand in the bag and you say it was an honest mistake. I don't think it's that simple.” Mr.

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146335844289615202006-04-30T02:33:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:28:14.004+08:00

In the middle of my hallucinations of Potong Pasirs, I awoke to familiar words, images and feelings. When I first heard the PAP leaders calling the opposition parties not “first world” enough and the WP responding in kind saying that the PAP governments are not quite “first world” either and that credit for Singapore’s achievements should go to “first world” Singaporeans, it sounded like the

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1146231805262512072006-04-28T21:37:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:22.026+08:00

“… so we must be having hallucinations …”, Mr. HL Lee, PAP candidate in Ang Mo Kio group constituency and prime minister in the last government, when asked to comment on alleged dissensions in the Singapore Democratic Party, 28 Apr. 2006.“Can you imagine Potong Pasir? There is a feeling one gets when you step into Potong Pasir. Its a little thrill that you are somewhere different while in

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1145672859713993332006-04-22T10:22:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:58.461+08:00

We never quite realize the rhythms of our lives until their synchronization becomes disjointed and disjunctured. When things skip a beat, we have two choices. Snap the rhythm back into place to recover the old concert, or re-orientate the rhythms to create a new song. I recently discovered a third choice: to let the skipping continue, to see where the disjuncture will lead me. Here, the off-beat

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1144294095649528402006-04-06T11:22:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:58.462+08:00

"if they persistently propagate, promote or circulate political issues relating to Singapore"White Bishop: nay, nay, too many people are having their sayWhite Knight: oh far perceiving one, where, where?White Bishop: there, in the vast emptiness they call the NetWhite Knight: ah, I see if I peer over the Myriad PawnsWhite Bishop: those strange amorphous pieces they call BlogsWhite Knight: yes,

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1143306957738816382006-03-26T01:12:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:22:27.587+08:00

A ponderous night of still winds,where the malt stings but refuses to soothe.There, the touching pair denies the appeal,where affects and pleasures cross,clash and combine to form a tearin the weaving of Neptune’s moons.The sadness of a sentiment,of a future foretold, already drawn,as we surrender to a fateful reasonthat dictates the meeting of dreams.Sleep, sleep to a tremble of tears,for desire

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1143045351807019472006-03-23T00:34:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:26:10.104+08:00

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1140327401477535792006-02-19T13:35:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:22:27.587+08:00

Half score years and the demons are backand my counsel is many oceans away;I am alone, terribly alone in this hollowwhere echoes fall unheard on the litterof memories deprived of color and joy.I find no hands to hold on this solitary trackWeighed by compromises and promises I betray.Age proposes to deepen one into a sweet mellowand to render a short life into a secure kilter,but I have no desire

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1140066010078947022006-02-16T12:58:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:22.027+08:00

And so the wind sways. I feel the breeze blowing this and that way, a moment of heat, then a moment of frost. I wonder when the freeze is going to descend to blanket the fickle field. It is not the frightening certainty of cold, but the tiring uncertainty of anticipation that bores. Security and fear are conditions of the mind reacting to impinging contexts, and it is in their balancing sum that

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1139328514631659002006-02-08T00:06:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:22.027+08:00

So then my life has just gone up another notch in intensity as a recurring wound opens up. Again the standard of disappointment and dissatisfaction is raised against my head. And we are separated for more than a night. I am tired. I am charged with too many crimes and sins to be redeemed. In a community of saints, there would still be sin because sin is only but an expression of the norms that

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1138550667315567322006-01-30T00:00:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:27:22.027+08:00

I am tired of poemizing and analyzing. Since the academic year restarted, in what is my very first term of professing, my life has reached an intensity I have not known in a long while, the flavor is indescribable, a scent, a taste once imbibed does not leave my consciousness, but becomes part of my being. I bask in the intensity. I revel in the delight. I am addicted to its exquisiteness. And

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1137856003006176332006-01-21T23:05:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:26:10.104+08:00

If I am asked by a superior sentient being arriving on Earth as a galactic anthropologist to study human societies what made Singapore and Malaysia the way they are today, I will give him an answer based on the picture on the right. Well, definitely not some hokey opinion on Asian (read Chinese-Confucian) values, British virtue or Malay honor, which all amount to the same amorphous ephemera

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1136856737722169722006-01-10T09:31:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:22:27.587+08:00

What explains this sudden poetic pretense of late?Perhaps the stars mock the vanity of a restless mind.The furtive gaze, the spicy scent, the nervous touch,it all seems like a delirium of past dreams gathered in one.Reality untangles and weaves a generous snare.The wind of breaths blows with desires unsateand the hands feel an allure no magic can bind.A dizzying rush to where fears are laid to

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1136304613513587242006-01-04T00:06:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:22:27.587+08:00

A mental block, a becalmed mind,emotions at a crawling standstill,drives spilling out only to be blind,desires pushed against no will.And so as words pile up against each other,the songs of ere take up their hum,a gentle whistle mocks me asunder,what settled soul have I become?So my best buds if you are to read this,it speaks from the deepest wellsprings,we have traveled through rind and bliss,

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1136044696562828562005-12-31T23:55:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:33:17.819+08:00

A reflection of things past, conclusions foregone, of paths missed, love forsaken, hopes forlorn.What has become of an anger that boils,seething to comprehend a world that roils?It is still in here, that uneasy furious pain,hidden, ready to spring from quiet restraina strike in October, an ambush in November,in memory of tears the multitude remembers.But there sits the Angel with the look of

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1133682362854499742005-12-04T15:26:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:33:07.421+08:00

Aung San Suu Kyi walks on and the murderous Burmese regime continues to cage her and others who oppose tyranny. The long standing premise of ASEAN that it is better to stay in engagement with the regime in order to change it has rotten away with masterly inactivity. Take a stand now, ASEAN. Burma, or if you insist, Myanmar, is the stumbling block to our regional peace and development. Shadow

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1133541615865090102005-12-03T00:34:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:30:22.573+08:00

Today Nguyen was hung by the state for petty desperation and I went to watch A History of Violence with Girl. I feel very uneasy today, a throbbing ache coming from the hole at the heart of my being. I shan’t say anything about the hanging and I have observed too many silences for every bloody atrocity already. I’ll write instead my situated psychoanalysis of A History of Violence, which I

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1131978577431076222005-11-14T22:13:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:33:07.421+08:00

Journalist Laurel Teo opines (Straits Times, Nov. 11, p. 35) that activists against the death penalty “must be consistent” in their lobbying, pointing out that they currently labor only for those sentenced to hang for drug smuggling while quietly avoiding campaigning for murderers on death row. Teo seems to have a point. She notes that while activists argue that the death penalty is out of

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1131075289621246062005-11-04T11:30:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:31:40.579+08:00

A casual and relaxed breakfast on the Hari Raya Puasa holiday, complete with toast, coffee and the papers, when Girl exclaimed with uncustomary venom at a customary target: “Ethical?! Photoshop magic ethical?! Why don’t they consider other issues as ethical issues?! What so important about this?! Stupid Straits Times.” A bemused glance at her and I see only the cover of Urban, the Straits Times’

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1130485513389838302005-10-28T15:40:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:30:22.574+08:00

The hyperbolically positive Mao fetish has led me to daydream of Warhol’s Mao. Hazy memories recall a moment of aesthetic and ideological intrigue with a larger-than-life silkscreen image of Mao that I encountered at the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art in Nice, France, an image I have personally appropriated as my “monumental Mao in pink”, a piece that makes me smile when faced with

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1129619664437849392005-10-18T15:09:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:33:32.980+08:00

A rather interesting letter to the otherwise dreary and insipid Forum of the Straits Times today: the Press Secretary to Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew criticizing the paper’s headline for “arrogant conceit”. The Mentor addressed Russian academics and students at the Moscow State Institute of International Relations University on 11 October, when he opined that Russia, while a great nation in

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1128443000936872122005-10-05T00:22:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:30:53.443+08:00

It has been 50 years since Graham Greene published his prescient “The Quiet American” (1955). The novel, set in Vietnam at the threshold of French defeat by Ho Chi Minh’s anti-colonial revolutionaries and the onset of the tragic US intervention, tells the story of a love triangle between an ageing British journalist, his demure Vietnamese mistress and an American secret agent. Pyle, the American

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1126661476511455242005-09-14T09:30:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:32:23.366+08:00

Should NTUC FairPrice Cooperative be listed? Retiring FairPrice chairman Chandra Das says no on the basis that profit orientation would conflict with its social mission (Business Times, 6 Sep 2005). No, it won’t, says businessman, former chairman and member of FairPrice’s board of trustees Gopinath Pillai, who argues instead that listing would “unlock its value” for members of the cooperative

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1125250117389390002005-08-29T01:26:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:33:32.980+08:00

For the powerful, who are used to petitions and implorations, it is natural that they grow a little resistant to mundane pleadings from ordinary folks. Thus, the eight cardboard white elephants placed at the unopened-but-ready-for-the-past-two-years Buangkok train station by Punggol South residents were simply ingenious. If feedback to the government through official channels does not seem to

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1125077421643812412005-08-27T00:50:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:32:23.367+08:00

The National Kidney Foundation (NKF) saga is probably the best gift for our collective 40th birthday. I mean this not in the vindictive sense, but in a more positive way. One of the good things that have come out of the whole affair is the resurgence of the Singaporean public. Our country is a republic, which means that the authority and legitimacy of the state is derived from the public. The

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14187487.post-1124722586225955872005-08-22T22:42:00.000+08:002007-11-09T00:34:34.395+08:00

We mortals feel that there is always a beginning and an end. Perhaps so. But this blog is more an intervention than a story. A comment on the flow of history from one sinking ever deeper into the mud. I don't imagine I can ever change its persistent course. I can perhaps create a few eddy effects here and there. Some philosophers say that the author is dead and there is only discourse.

dansonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08013529085453257174noreply@blogger.com0